by Kathy Myme
In my opinion, it’s kind of a weak excuse. But Emily and Harry seem to lap it up, nodding sagely at his words.
When breakfast is cleared away, I take a deep breath. “David… may we have some time together this morning?”
David’s head turns to me with such breakneck speed that you’d think I’d started speaking Russian. Emily tilts her head, watching with some interest.
“Darling,” David says, “I have quite the morning planned. I’ll be discussing things with the ambassador-”
“Please?” I ask, as softly and gently as I can. “It’s important.”
I need to get to the bottom of this. Something happened between us last night… and now the man can’t even look me in the eye. The only way I’m going to get answers here is if I do it myself.
And I can’t exactly talk about what occurred between us last night here at the breakfast table without causing an international scandal. The joys of being the President’s fake-fiancée, ladies and gentlemen.
David shakes his head, making my heart sink. “I’m sorry, Veronica. There just isn’t time-”
“Oh, let your woman take a walk with you,” Harry interrupts, laughing jovially. “Emily here was just saying that she’d love to take a stroll through the White House grounds anyway. I’m sure the two of you can squeeze in a brief break.”
David doesn’t look relieved at this, his eyes darting to the ambassador. “Emily-”
“It’s fine, David,” she says, smiling. “Harry is right. Take a walk with the lovely Veronica here. We’ll find each other shortly.”
He doesn’t look happy about the suggestion. In fact… he almost looks actively displeased. Whatever reaction I’d expected from David, it isn’t… this. This coldness. It’s like he doesn’t want to spend any time with me.
What went wrong last night?
Emily and Harry leave the room, with the former promising to meet David for their discussion very shortly. Which leaves me and David in the room together, with only the Secret Service there waiting as silently as ever.
The pause is awkward, to say the very least.
I gesture to the Secret Service. “Um, David, do you mind…?”
He stares back at me blankly. “Do I mind what?”
I don’t want to state the obvious, but he’s making me. “Could we have some privacy?”
“Why would we need privacy?”
Is he acting intentionally ignorant? Surely he knows what I want to talk about. What I need to talk about. The memories from what happened last night are burnt into my memories with a scolding heat, imprinted there forever. Is it not the same for him?
“David. What happened last night…”
“Yes?” he raises an eyebrow expectantly. As if he’s waiting.
I swallow tightly, summoning my bravery. “Why did you run away?”
He glances towards the Secret Service and lowers his voice a notch, leaning in. “Veronica, last night was a mistake.”
His words sting like he’s slapped me in the face. In some ways I might have preferred the physical pain to the emotional one. At least a slap would have been over in a moment. The full force of the President’s words linger.
“A mistake.” My voice is hoarse as I repeat his words.
“I’m sorry if I led you on in any way,” he says quietly.
If the Secret Service can hear, they’re in for a juicy day of gossip. The part of my brain with common sense tells me I shouldn’t continue this conversation for secrecy’s sake, but screw that. I need answers.
“Led me on?” I hiss. “You slept with me.”
Now it’s David’s turn to recoil, backing away from me with a rough jerk.
“I think it’s best if we maintain a sensible distance from now on,” he says at last.
“A sensible distance?” I cry. “We’re meant to be engaged, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Then perhaps we should limit the amount of time we spend together away from the cameras.”
I can’t work him out. What the hell is the President’s problem?
“Are you mad at me about Trevor?” I press, searching for answers.
“Well, obviously you shouldn’t have run off like that,” David says, his face betraying nothing. “But no, Miss Waters, I’m not mad. I’m just coming to my senses.”
I stare at him. I look into the eyes of this man, my President. David Shepard. Somebody I had respected. Somebody that I’d even been beginning to fall for, as the heat of last night reminds me every time I think back to it.
The man I thought I’d been getting to know - the man who’d shown me his secret garden, who’d taken care of me despite the messed up situation that we’re in - is nowhere to be found. It’s like I’m looking at a stranger.
“Fine,” I say at last. “Time apart might be a good thing.”
Relief floods through his face. As if he was worrying about my reaction. As if he was almost… afraid of it.
“Good,” David says, turning for the door. “Well, then. You will excuse me. I have that meeting to get to. I have an ambassador to speak to.”
When he leaves, I watch him go. I don’t know who the man in front of me is, but it’s not the David Shepard I know.
“Ma’am?” Jackson is tapping me on the shoulder, having appeared from nowhere. “Are you ready to leave?”
I take a deep breath. “No.”
“No?”
“You’re dismissed for the day, Jackson,” I say, gently but firmly. “I’m going to take a nap.”
“You have an itinerary, ma’am-”
“Jackson, I was attacked last night and I could have died. I think we can stop talking about my schedule for a few hours.”
He looks nervous, like I’ve just threatened to twerk through a line of people on a White House tour. “Let me just check with the President--”
“There’s no need to check,” I say, with more authority than I’m usually comfortable with. “I’m going to head to my room now.”
Without waiting for an answer, I stride out of the room. I do feel a little bit bad. Jackson is just trying to do his job and I’m making it a whole lot harder for him.
But after the President’s attitude this morning? I can’t take a second more of this.
A plan begins to formulate in my mind. It’s probably risky… but at this point, I don’t have a choice.
I have to get out of here.
David
I had made a mistake. I had done the one thing I’d promised I’d never do. I had lost control. And the worst bit of all was how much I’d enjoyed it.
But it won’t happen again. No, I will never slip up again.
My father had a number of problems in his life. Gambling and drinking were the big two, but at the end of the day they were just symptoms. The real problem he had was an inability to say no. He couldn’t help himself, no matter how much he tried. The man lacked control over his life.
My mother and I had coped, barely. We bore the cost of it. The shouting matches, the debt, the drunk driving fine, all ultimately fell on us to deal with. I never chose to resent him for it, but it was hard not to. It is hard not to.
I still remember the night he died. His car had crashed into a tree. The police said it was instantaneous, that he wouldn’t have suffered. They said he was drunk and had lost control. Typical Dad.
At first I was mad at him. How could he do something like this to us? Leaving us alone, with nothing, to fend for ourselves. He had let us down yet again. He’d been caught enough times and was one failed breath test away from prison. The man wasn’t an idiot, he knew the risks. And yet that didn’t stop him.
Over time though, the anger has given way to the realization that the lack of control was just who he was. He truly couldn’t help himself. And though it was too late for me to help him, it wasn’t too late for me to help myself.
I swore I’d never end up like him. I swore I would stay in control of myself, and not lose myself to vice. I swore that I would give hi
s death some sort of meaning, that I’d learn something from it and become a better person.
And so I have. I’ve watched myself and kept myself disciplined. I’ve played the game and now I’ve risen all the way to the top. The President of the United States.
I don’t have to wonder about it, I know my father would have been impressed. It is just... maybe I wouldn’t have gotten here if it hadn’t been for that car crash. Maybe I wouldn’t have got here if I hadn’t learned to stay in control. And now, maybe I am going to lose it all if I let that control slip from my grasp.
I have to stop this now. I have to take charge and put us back on track.
My phone buzzes. I pick it up and see it’s a message from my mother.
‘Can’t wait to meet Veronica, you look so happy. Talk to you soon.’
I stare at the message. It’s strange. I don’t think my mother has ever described me as happy before.
I… I think she is right. I’d never realized it, but in the time I’d spent with Veronica, I’ve been happy. Happier than when I’d graduated law school, happier than when I’d won the Presidency. Happy.
I frown. I am going to give that happiness up. I had to, didn’t I?
Because if I give myself up to it, then that’s it. No more control. And without that control, I don’t even want to think about where I could end up.
I read the text again. If only there was another way. If only I could maintain control and keep Veronica. Slowly, I start walking towards my office door. Maybe I have another choice here, one I haven’t really considered. I don’t quite know what it is, but maybe there is a way.
Hoping I don't have any meetings scheduled now that I’ve finished with the ambassador, I head towards Veronica’s room. After our last meeting, I can’t imagine she wants to see me. But I have to. I need to chase that happiness, the spark I feel for her.
Maybe we just need to take things slowly. I’m not saying last night wasn’t a mistake, because it was. But maybe the mistake wasn’t that it happened, but when it happened.
As I climb the stairs, I wonder what I should say. An apology, I suppose. I can only hope she understands.
Yes, I’ll apologize properly for what happened last night, but also for being so distant this morning. And I’ll see if she’s willing to work with me, and play by my rules. No more spur of the moment sex. No unplanned dalliances. A carefully planned out relationship where we take things slow and measured.
I give a nod to the Secret Service agents outside her room, as they stiffen their backs on my approach.
“Veronica?” I call out, knocking on the door. There is no answer, so I let myself in.
“Veronica, we need to talk.” There is no response. I check the rooms and the bathroom, but it’s clear she’s not here. I feel a drop in my gut as I open the door back up.
“Do you know where she is?” I ask the Secret Service agents.
“Inside,” one responds.
“Not anymore,” I say.
There’s a hint of panic in their eyes as they rush in. For a moment I wonder whether this is Trevor, come for revenge. Whether he’s snuck into her room and taken her.
But some part of me knows it’s not. Some part of me knows exactly where she’s gone. Home. The question is though, should I follow? Should I chase after her, or should I let her go?
Right now, I don’t know.
Veronica
“Darling,” my dad says, dropping a stack of clothes he’d been holding to embrace me. “I didn’t imagine you’d be coming home anytime soon.”
“Neither did I,” I reply, shaking my head. I hug him a little bit tighter than I usually would.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, looking me up and down. “Is it Trevor? I turned on the TV and… they’re saying horrible things, sweetie. I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up.”
“Trevor…” The mention of him makes me feel even worse. It’s been an insane day. “No, this isn’t about Trevor.”
“But he attacked you? Is it true?”
“I mean, yeah…” It’s hard to explain the full situation to Dad when I don’t even understand it myself.
“I take it he didn’t take the news about you and the President very well,” my dad says.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He didn’t. He had a knife and- oh, god, it was-”
My dad silences me, pulling me in for another hug. I’ve missed him.
“Bastard,” he says, looking grieved. “I never liked the boy. At least he’s behind bars now, according to the TV.”
“You didn’t like him?”
“You were always too good for him,” he tells me.
As horrible as thinking about Trevor makes me feel, it’s not the reason I’m upset. It’s not the reason I’m running away.
“Dad, I need to stay here for a while,” I sniff.
“Of course, sweetie…” He hesitates. “Is there something else you want to tell me about? What’s wrong?”
It’s all I can do to hold back a flood of tears. “Everything.”
He takes me into the living room, a comforting sight. My dad presses a mug of hot peppermint tea into my hands and lets me curl up with a blanket.
David probably figured out I’m missing pretty quickly. I sent all the Secret Service members to stand guard outside my rooms, demanding privacy. My complaints had never made them follow my orders before, but something in my face this time must have alerted them to the fact I was serious.
Unfortunately for them, this was the one time I’ve planned on causing trouble.
Slipping outside was a challenge, but I had time on my side. My Secret Service agents might have been vigilant, but they are only human. The second they were distracted, I slipped away.
I didn’t employ fancy techniques or anything like that. I just held my head high and walked away like I was meant to.
When I got to the guard post at the gates, I didn’t even bother waiting for them to ask my business. “You know who I am,” I said, striding through without stopping.
It really shouldn’t have worked. Someone, at some point, should have stopped me.
But I guess the one advantage to being the President’s fiancée is that nobody wants to question you.
And then I hopped on the first flight back home. Six hours on a plane was grueling, but my thoughts kept me preoccupied enough.
“What happened to your thing with the President?” my dad asks, clearly concerned. “Aren’t you meant to be pretending to be engaged?”
I sip my peppermint tea silently. I want to talk to Dad, I really do. But how am I supposed to tell him about what happened?
About what caused David to turn his back on me?
“I know that look,” Dad says at last.
I blink. “You do?”
“It’s the look every girl has,” he continues, “when she’s developed feelings. True and real feelings.”
I nearly drop my hot mug. “You think that I…” I gasp. “No, no way.”
My dad sighs. “This is awkward to talk about. We both know I’m not the best at emotions and all that stuff.”
“Dad…”
“But your mom isn’t here, Veronica, so I’m going to say it.” He looks me in the eye. “Are you really telling me that you don’t find the President of our nation attractive?”
I squirm in my seat. He could have asked me whether I find… I don’t know, Ryan Gosling, attractive and I still would feel weird about it. It’s my dad I’m talking to, after all. There are some things that are just not meant to be said in front of one’s parents, and talking about having the hots for the leader of the free world is one of them.
But of course I find him hot. Just the memory of his lips on mine makes a violent shiver run down my spine. The man is like a Greek god dressed up in a business suit.
“Sure,” I say finally, wondering if drowning myself in the peppermint tea is an option. “He’s attractive. Who doesn’t think that?”
“Do you get on well?” D
ad continues, eyeing me up.
I think back. Talking with David is like… nothing I’ve ever experienced before. He’s a man quite unlike any other, but then I suppose he’s one of a kind.
He makes me nervous, naturally. Talking to the President is the kind of thing that should rightfully make anyone nervous.
But he’s… kind. Intelligent and sharp, as I quickly learned. And sometimes even funny. He hadn’t held back from teasing me.
In a regular guy, I guess those… might have been the kinds of qualities that I could find attractive. A big reason that I’d ever gone out with Trevor was that he could be funny, sometimes. He used to send me funny Facebook posts he found on the internet for years.
The feelings I get from being around David… I’d never felt them with Trevor. They’re new and fresh and I have no idea how to control them.
Horror dawns upon me like an anvil falling from the sky.
“I like the President,” I whisper.
The realization doesn’t make anything any better. If anything, the hurt I’ve felt for the last day is amplified a million times over in my mind.
I have feelings for the President. Not only that, but… we slept together. And then he turned his back on me, pretty much literally. He’d hightailed it out of the room this morning lightning fast.
With a groan, I curl up into an even tighter ball on the couch.
Oh my god.
What kind of situation am I in? How am I supposed to process this information?
An expression comes over Dad’s face. “Has he hurt you, Veronica?”
I don’t know how to answer that. Of course the truth that I want to scream out loud is a resounding ‘yes’.
Yes, he’s hurt me.
Yes, I’ve run away because of him.
Yes, thinking about him at all makes me feel like the world is ending.
Instead, I settle for a simple nod.
“Then he’s a bastard too,” my dad decrees. “Didn’t I always tell you to stay away from boys?”
“I’m twenty-four, Dad,” I remind him, although the corners of my mouth twitch. Dad will always be the same.