Commander in Chief (White House #2)(39)

“Yes, sir.”

Dale Coin walks in as she heads out. “A bit like a needle in a haystack, no?”

“Yeah, well, haystack’s all we’ve got now.”





23





PLANNING





Charlotte



Work doesn’t stop. In the midst of the wedding preparations, little Matt is coming to the White House.

I’ve been excited about his visit. You just never know when you will meet someone who’s going to touch your life. In ways you’ll never forget, I suppose sometimes good, and sometimes bad. Even the most fleeting encounter can leave the most lasting mark. And since that day Matthew visited Children’s National on Michigan Northwest, where the boy was being treated, and met with young Matt Brems, the seven-year-old boy has held a special place in my heart. Not only because he’s the son of one of the women that I worked with at Women of the World. The boy is simply a fighter, living with an aggressive type of leukemia that he’s fighting to conquer, his dream of visiting the White House becoming a reality today.

“Matt Brems is here, Mr. President.”

“MATT!” the boy cries from the door of the Oval Office.

“Mr. President!” his mother chides the boy, horrified. “Mr. President, thank you for having us.”

“Hey, tiger.” Matt approaches and lifts his hand for a high-five.

I greet the boy’s father and hug his mother, Catherine. “How is he doing?”

“He’s a fighter.”

The boy looks around, smoothing a hand over his tie, his awe of the Oval etched on his face. “I want to be president one day.”

Matt motions for his chair.

The boy approaches with mounting disbelief.

Matt sits him down. Our eyes connect over his parents’ heads—and I know what he’s thinking. That we may have one of these, one day.

“Are you getting married?” the boy asks, surprising us.

“Yes.” I add, “Do you want to come to the wedding?”

“YES!” He giggles happily. “But Sara will be mad she couldn’t come too.”

“Who is Sara?”

“A girl at the hospital.”

“I suppose we should invite all of the children—they’ll be our special guests.”

I glance at Matt, and he stares back at me with this half smile that makes me blush and a look in his eyes that says go for it, baby; it’s your only wedding.

I’m grateful when Matt turns to the boy, giving me a moment to recapture my first lady role.

“Do you think your friends would want to come?” Matt asks the boy.

“Definitely!”

“Can we count on you to deliver the good news?”

“Yes!”

The boy hops off the chair and walks with his chest expanded, as if he just grew a couple of sizes because of the task ahead.

Before they leave, Matt sits across the coffee table from his parents and tells them, “I want you to check all options. I would like to personally support his treatment. I’ll also be starting a special fund in his name.”

“Thank you.” His mother starts crying.

When they leave, my eyes sting too. “Here we are with so much power but no ability to help him.”

A melancholy frown flits across his features. “We do what we can.”

Our eyes connect once again, and my heart somersaults in my chest. The vitality he radiates pulls at me, but the way his steady gaze bores into mine with silent expectation holds me in place.

“Were you thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask.

“We will have one of these in the White House.”

I nod.

Standing less than a foot away, he glances down at me, his gaze admiring as a corner of his lips hikes up. “You’ll make a great mother.”

“You’ll be the best dad.”

He runs his knuckles down my cheek, and sparks ignite all over my body. “I look forward to making you my wife soon.”



During the day, I don’t see Matt much. He’s been working nonstop and traveling occasionally too. He wants us to escape to Camp David for a few days after the wedding—a place where there will be no press, just us, and I’m looking forward to the peace and quiet.

Thoughts of our nights together keep filtering into my mind as I plan the wedding and make tour stops around D.C. and Virginia, visiting children and speaking to them about their futures—and how our future as a nation depends on them.

We’ve been running together on the White House grounds every morning when he’s in D.C., though. Having dinner together, then spending the night closeted in his room.

Every time I see him step across the threshold of his bedroom, my heart grows giddy and I’m breathing faster. I know it’s because we’re in love, but it’s also from the fact that we have never been openly dating each other until now, and I cannot get enough of him.

He cannot seem to get enough of me either.

It’s as if his masculinity has grown tenfold, his testosterone at an all-time high. We have sex multiple times a night. Shower sex, sleepy sex, morning sex. I sometimes watch him get dressed with a look of disbelief, wondering if he’s truly my fiancé. Sometimes, when I’m the one in a hurry to get dressed, I catch him standing in his towel, watching me dress with the look of a man who admires his woman, who wants his woman, who plans to keep enjoying his woman anytime he wants.