Commander in Chief (White House #2)(66)

“I respectfully declined,” he told the press when rumors of the meeting started making the rounds.

I wonder today when he’ll announce his intention to run for reelection.

“Why do they all want to be Dad?”

“Hmm?”

I glance at Matthew Jr., the most adorable two-year-old you could ever know, with a head of dark hair, a toothy grin? and a Dennis-the-Menace attitude.

“They all want to be pwesident.” He frowns menacingly.

“Yes, because the president gets to make the important calls,” I tell him as we walk outside in the gardens.

“I want my dad to be pwesident,” he states simply.

“Yes, he is the pwesident.”

“I don’t want to leave home.” His voice cracks, and I stroke the top of his head. Has he overheard someone talk?

“Home is where we are all together, no matter where that is,” I assure him.

But my son’s words follow me throughout the day. I think about what it would be like to start fresh. A part of me finds it relieving, to be able to have a bit more privacy, but a part of me is not ready to leave here yet—and I’m certain that my husband is too motivated, too dedicated, and too passionate about his job to be ready to leave.

Plus, this house has been our home for three years.

I know the chief usher so well, I’ve hosted birthday parties for him and went to his son’s christening. I know that he handles over a hundred employees, looks out for Matt’s and my schedules, runs everything efficiently, and is the head of the household staff and in charge of all the daily operations. Tom makes sure our lives run smoothly, and they do.

I’m fond of the chef, who is just like Jessa was when I grew up, loving to make us our favorite cakes and dinners when we have special occasions. Who somehow knows when Matt has had a rough day and makes a particularly tasty dish to bring a smile to his face. And who indulges me in all my kids’ luncheons.

I’m fond of Lola and all her stressing about the news and dealing with the relentless press.

Even the Secret Service. All-seeing, all-knowing, tight-lipped, never sharing the information, always not only protecting us physically, but ensuring that our private lives are as private as they possibly can be.

Every room I stand in has meaning. Has a story. Has presence.

The presidency is not just a political agenda, or standing strong against opponents. It’s about keeping us together, proud and safe. Taken care of and motivated. It’s not only about protecting our rights and freedom, it’s about providing examples and inspiration—that is what made America what it is today. I cannot imagine anyone doing a better job than my Matthew Hamilton.

That night after we have dinner in the Old Family Dining Room, Matt Jr. asks his father why he’s letting all those men run for president.

“Because it’s their right; it’s one of the most sacred of our rights, in this country. Our freedom,” he explains as we retire to the Yellow Oval.

Matt Jr. frowns in confusion as he listens, then simply declares, “I want you to be pwesident.”

Matt laughs, dragging a hand over his face as Matty heads off to run and play with his toys, Jack trailing behind him.

“I’ll put him to bed,” his nanny, Anna, tells me as she rushes after him.

Matt looks at me then, pouring himself an after-dinner drink and bringing me one as well. “I’ve been thinking about it. For years, it seems.” He looks at me as he takes the seat across from mine. “I’ve been obsessively counting.” He looks into his glass, then at me. “How many days I’ve been able to be here for you, how many days I haven’t. It’s a tough call,” he admits, with a wry, sad smile. “The day Matt was born—”

“There was no way I would have let you stay with me,” I quickly interject.

He seems amused but refrains from smiling. “That’s not the only time. On your twenty-fifth birthday—”

“The airport was closed due to the blizzard. How were you supposed to land? All that was not in your control,” I assure him.

He exhales, then looks at me curiously, calculatingly, laughing softly. “Charlotte, listen to me.”

“I’m listening and you’re not making sense.”

“Baby,” he says, more sternly now. “We need to discuss how you feel about me running. And I need you to be honest with me, honest in ways my mother never was with my father.” He’s completely somber now, looking at me between drawn eyebrows.

My chest sort of hurts that he even has to ask. I have never wanted him to feel worried about neglecting us; the truth is, he always goes above and beyond. “Were you considering not running?”

“I won’t run if it’s an issue with my family. You know I love being here, Charlotte. I’m driven to do what I do.” He gives me a smile that sends my pulse wild. “But I love you two more than anything.”

I’m so in love with this man sometimes it hurts just because.

I know that Matt has never wanted to miss out on some important things that he’s unfortunately sometimes had to miss out on. I know he’s tried harder than any man ever would to make me and our son feel loved, supported, and protected.

“We’ve both come a long way,” I say as we both sit here, looking at each other for a while—and I’m realizing at this moment just how much we’ve both slowly fought our wars to make this work. “I never thought I could live this life, come to these heights with you—and yet here I am. Not doing too shabby.” I grin, and he laughs softly, his eyes sparkling. “And you . . . you have to know that you’ve proven more than capable of being both a president and the best husband and father we could ask for,” I add, not bothering to hide the admiration in my voice.