Commander in Chief (White House #2)(4)

I didn’t.

My heart hurts right now no matter how much I will it to stay strong.

God.

How will I bear to look him in the eye tonight?

He will see right through me.

I’m hoping that with the several balls going on, his visit to the one I’m attending will be brief. That we’ll just say a quick hello and he’ll have to continue down the line of people eager to greet their new president.

Still, I dress with the same care that a bride might on her wedding day.

I’m seeing the man I love, and it might be the last time, and the girl inside me wants him to remember me looking as stunning as I can possibly look.

As desirable as he previously found me to be.

I brush my red hair and let it fall down my shoulders. I go for a strapless blue dress that matches my eyes. I paint my lips a deep shade of red, and I ask my mother if I can borrow my grandmother’s fur coat. I’ve never bought a single fur thing in my life due to animal cruelty—but that coat has sentimental value to me, and it’s freezing outside.

My parents are attending a different ball than I am. “You really should consider coming with us,” my mother said this morning.

“I’m going with Alison—she’s the new White House photographer and she’s got to be at this event to capture the moment.”

“Oh, all right. Charlotte?”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

I knew what she was asking. She knows that there was something between Matthew and me, though I never gave her details. She knows I fell in love—and having a daughter in love with the hot, young president is enough to make any concerned mother worry.

Emotion makes it difficult to speak, but I nod, then I realize my mother cannot see me. “Yes.”

I know it won’t be easy. But I need to see him today.

I want to congratulate him. I want him to know that I’m okay, that I’m proud of him, that I’m going to move forward, and that I want him to do the same.





2





INAUGURAL BALL





Matt



“President Hamilton. Mr. President.”

I pull my gaze to the man drawing my attention. I’m at the luncheon, and my damn mind keeps wandering to tonight.

“I apologize; it’s been a long day already.” I grin and run my hand restlessly along the back of my hair, leaning to speak to the Senate majority leader.

It’s incredible how we never rest. Even at social events, we’re discussing policy.

I try to pick the brains of most men there; it’s in my and the country’s best interest that my ideas for change are aligned with those of Congress and the Senate. Whether they’ll be easy to align remains to be seen.

“I asked if the first bill on your agenda will be the clean energy bill?”

“It’s one of my priorities, but not necessarily at the top,” is all I give him for now.

All in due time, old man. All in due time.

I’m relieved when we get ready for the parade down Pennsylvania Avenue. We walk surrounded by black presidential state cars. I’m flanked by my grandfather and my mother as we head to the most famous address in the country. Hundreds of thousands of people line the streets to watch the parade. U.S. flags flap in the wind.

It’s an honor to be the one heading to 1600 Penn.

Grandfather is marching like a proud king, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m proud of you, son. Now you need to get in line with the parties or you won’t do shit.”

My grandfather isn’t necessarily my hero, but I know when to listen. And when to brush him aside. “The parties will get in line with me.” I wave at the crowd.

To my right, my mother is silent.

“You have a room in the White House,” I tell her, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

“Oh no.” She laughs, looking like a young girl for that fleeting moment of happiness. “Seven years was enough.”

I release her hand so we can greet the crowd again. I know she’s remembering a day like this a decade ago. Not only the day she rode the motorcade parade for the first time with my dad. But the day he died . . . and the motorcade that carried his coffin.

“Besides, I have a feeling it’ll soon be occupied,” she adds.

It takes me a moment to realize she’s referring to her room in the White House.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I know you. You won’t let that girl go. You haven’t. I’ve never seen you . . . look sadder, Matt. Even after you won.”

I’m so blown away by how well she knows me, I can’t think of a reply. That she knows it’s taken every ounce of my restraint not to call Charlotte. That for months I’ve told myself it’s for the best, that I can’t do it all, that I will fail if I try. But I don’t buy it. I want my girl, and I will have her.

“She’s the light. Walks on water,” I tell my mother.

We reach 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

The gates open, the red carpet is rolled out. From within the house, my dog Jack, who was transported from Blair House earlier today, bounds down the steps to greet us.

My mother is dressed to impress. You’d think she was thrilled that I’m back in the White House. Maybe a part of her is. I know that another part is full of fear that I’ll meet the same end my father did.