His First Lady (Capitol Hill Series Book 1)

by Beth Fred

  I put the phone down, but I’m too keyed up to sleep. I take my laptop into the den to work on my thesis. My heart falls when Eric isn’t sitting on the couch with his laptop over his legs working. Mandy, get over it. You shouldn’t want to see him.

  I address a couple of my prof’s comments in my thesis, and my stomach growls. Cornflake time. I pass the room Eric stayed in when we came here before the wedding. I shouldn’t do it, but I want to know if his jackass campaign manager fed Kristin lies, so I knock. He’s not awake, or he’s not talking to me.

  Mandy, you should not want to talk to this guy. He took money from a freakin’ terrorist. He’s not even safe. Whatever. If he weren’t safe, Dad would have killed him already. You know that. Then again, he’s not around, and the pigs get fed at five.

  Mom is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee when I get there. “Hey, sweetheart. Can I get you something?”

  “No. I just want cereal.”

  After making my cereal, I sit down across from Mom. “Where are the guys?”

  “They flew out. Eric’s going to be on Good Morning America this morning, and your dad has gone back to DC.”

  I nod. “Of course, he has an interview.”

  She smiles a pained smile. “Baby, this is what it’s going to be like. You know that. That’s why I’m surprised you chose this.”

  “I should go work on my thesis.”

  I take my cereal bowl upstairs without Mom saying she hates food on the carpet. I head back up to the den, but I ignore my laptop. Instead, I turn on Fox News. And who do I see? None other.

  “So, Mr. Martinez,” some bleached blonde reporter on a blue couch says, “do you want to explain the allegation that you took money from a known Islamic radical? And that the allegation came from your wife?”

  “If you recall back in the primary, there was a day I offered to match scholarship donations for any private school to promote school choice. Mr. Al-Gazali called and asked me if I would match a donation to set up a school in Syria. I thought it was a good way to circumvent radical Islam from spreading in Syria, and I know some of Al-Gazali’s notions have been criticized, but it’s important to point out he’s an American citizen and never committed a crime.”

  Bleached Blonde cocks her head. “Are you saying the money is for a school in Syria?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why hasn’t the school been set up yet?”

  Ha. Yeah. Answer that, Eric.

  He smiles his heartbreaker smile. “Because members of my team and members of Al-Gazali’s team are still working out logistics.”

  “Why did the money go to your personal account?”

  “I didn’t want it to be comingled with campaign funds. And I’d like to point out it went in an account I use only for transfers. I can offer financial evidence of that. It was never comingled with my personal funds.”

  I roll my eyes. How did I find it then?

  “And what about this allegation coming from your wife?”

  He shrugs. “She’s a reporter. She was doing her job. She might have asked me about it before she went public, but that’s okay. She’s bought me free airtime.”

  The reporter smiles. “She claims you only married her to be more appealing to voters, and she married you because she’s in need of tuition.”

  A crease forms in Eric’s forehead. “The first year of marriage is rough. Everyone knows that. And we’re facing the added challenge of a presidential campaign, mudslinging journalists, and tabloid trash at every turn. Mandy and I will be fine.”

  “Still, don’t you think it’s an odd claim?”

  “Do you really think Senator Buchanan can’t put his daughter through school?”

  I turn off the TV. He’s playing this nicely. His polls are down, but he’ll come back. The post didn’t destroy him. Thank God. Although I’m not convinced Eric cares about starting some school for Muslim kids in Syria.

  Chapter 47

  Mandy

  A couple of hours later, Mom comes up the stairs with a plate of BLTs. “Are you about ready to eat?”

  I close my textbook. “I guess. What are you doing up here?”

  She sits down on the couch beside me. “I thought it was about time to eat. You haven’t been downstairs much today.”

  “I’ve been working on my thesis.”

  “And crying in your sleep.”

  I glare at her.

  She puts her hands out as if to apologize. “I came up earlier with tea and cookies in case you were hungry. You were rolled up in a ball on the couch, wrapped in your blanket, with tears stains all over your face. It was like Adam dumped you after prom again.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  She purses her lips. “Not really. You’re so rarely home. When you’re here, you have to talk. That’s the rule.”

  “You realize I’m not six.”

  “And you realize you’re my only child, so you never get to grow up.”

  I push a strand of hair out of my eye. “There isn’t much to say. You want in on a secret?”

  She places the plate of BLTs on the coffee table between the couch and TV. “Always. Secrets are way better than BLTs. This requires a trip to Little Rock. Get up. We’re going to the tea room.”

  “I cannot tell you this at a tea room with every old gossip and her granddaughter waiting to hear it.”

  “I said we’re going to Little Rock. You can tell me on the way.”

  “No.”

  Mom stands. “What do you mean no? I’m your mom, and I said we’re going.”

  I bury myself in the couch. “I don’t want to go anywhere. Our marriage was a contract. He married me to be electable. There. Now any trip to a tea room would be anti-climactic.” My words are muffled by the couch cushions.

  “I kind of thought so.”

  I sit up. “You knew? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  She’s quiet for a minute. “You’ve made your disdain for politicians and especially Republicans absolutely clear. We were both surprised when you showed up with a man who has never been on your Facebook feed or your Instagram and who you’ve never mentioned other than to call him a jerk in reference to policy decisions you never claimed to have more than cursory knowledge of. We thought it might be a bargain of sorts. That’s why your father had his attorney review the prenup. Marriage is hard. If it’s a bargain, he wanted you to have the better end of the deal.”

  I roll onto my stomach and bury my head in my arms so I don’t have to face her. “I can’t believe you let me go through with this if you knew.”

  “You’re not six.” She throws my words back at me.

  “I love him,” I moan. Might as well get it out while she can’t see my face.

  “I know.”

  I stand and walk to the window at the back of the room, keeping my back to Mom. “I thought you knew it was a bargain. What made you think I love him?”

  “You’re too stubborn to do anything you don’t want to.”

  True.

  “He loves you too,” she says.

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Baby, I know you’re in a bad place right now, and you probably will be again. But marriage will have its highs too. He loves you.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because he took the worst end of the deal. He didn’t complain about it. He agreed with your dad that the stipulations were best for you. I’ve never known your father to say a kind word about the man, but he says Martinez never even flinched when he pointed out that what was best for you would come at a huge cost to himself. And, Mandy, this arrangement was a bargain? He could have found better bargains. He’s easy on the eyes, powerful, and richer than a Walton. That’s a good combination for finding a wife. Now, if we’re not going to the tea room, come sit down with me.”

  I walk back to the couch and sit beside my mom. “Do you really think he loves me? Well, he’s
a terrorist anyhow.”

  “You know not everyone who takes money in Washington rallies the cause. They just speak in half-truths.”

  I shrug. “He took money from a suspected terrorist. That’s too much for me.”

  “Your dad says no, but I’m sure you did your research.”

  I pick up a sandwich from her platter. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  She grabs the remote from the coffee table. “Fine. Let’s watch TV.”

  We turn the TV on again. It’s still on the news station. A Mideastern man in a purple shirt and a blue and purple striped silk tie sits across from a blonde reporter. Is this chick like the only reporter they have? “How long have you hated Eric Martinez?” she asks.

  “Since he emerged from his little fly-over state in aspirations of national politics at the expense of the rights of Muslims and minorities.”

  “So you admit you’ve hated Eric Martinez the entire time you’ve known of him?”

  “I have.”

  “What brings you on my show today?” she asks.

  “A lack of anything better to do,” he says.

  Mom pats my knee. “It doesn’t really get better. But if Eric wins this election, ya’ll can retire young. Hopefully that works out. It’s hard to deal with this kind of mess for a lifetime.”

  I look at my mom, at the worry lines on her face. I have never thought about how much she’s given up to further my father’s career.

  “I’m on your show today because I’m not a terrorist. I’m tired of defending myself against these accusations. I work for Muslim rights. Something no one else cares about right now. That doesn’t make me a terrorist. I’m suing Simpleton for slander. But I’m also here today because I have no doubt that reality TV star released this bogus attack to win an election. And she has to do it dirty since no one is stupid enough to vote for her in a clean race.”

  “I should point out that Simpleton is a Democrat. You’re also a Democrat. Isn’t that right?”

  “I’m a liberal. I’m not sure I’d label myself a Democrat anymore.”

  “And you’re blaming Simpleton for these attacks, but that article was actually released by a small-time blogger Sarah Moore, who is reportedly Martinez’s wife.”

  “Simpleton probably paid her to do it. I don’t know. But I’m not a terrorist, so Martinez didn’t take money from a terror organization. Yes, the money was to be donated to Syria, and that donation was to be overseen by that campaign. I called the Senator and heckled him during the primary season last year. He said he so strongly believed in school choice, he’d match any donation for scholarships given to any religious school. I called and offered him money to set up an Islamic school in Syria, thinking he’d refuse to match it. I was surprised when he agreed, but he wanted his staff to handle things directly to make sure money didn’t fall into the wrong hands. I thought that was a good idea, because when the insurgents get money, people die. There you have it. When it comes to building schools for poor kids in underprivileged areas, I will make a deal with the devil. But in this case, the devil is not guilty.”

  The reporter pulls the microphone under her mouth. “There you have it. Khalif Al-Gazali on the Martinez-Gazali controversy.”

  Chapter 48

  Eric

  I come in and throw my briefcase on the desk.

  “Rough day?” Evan leans back in my office chair with his cowboy boots propped up on the desk. He knows the answer to that.

  “You did okay. You handled your own.”

  I fall onto the bed. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Your homework. What else?”

  I get to what’s really on my mind. “Has she called?”

  “No.”

  “What does Roommate Girl say she’s mad about?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I’m married to her. For the duration, it matters.”

  He spins the chair around to face me. “I’d be less concerned about answering that question if I thought you wanted to know because you’re married to her for the duration. But you want to know because you care, and I don’t think you should.”

  “Evan, what is my wife upset about?”

  “She thinks you replaced Clarissa with her.”

  I sit up. “Wouldn’t any woman I dated now be replacing Clarissa?” That is how that works. You don’t get a new girlfriend until the old one is gone, so by default…“So she’s really angry that she’s not my first girlfriend?”

  He grabs a water bottle from the desk and gulps it down. “She went to see Clarissa.”

  “So I heard.”

  “She thinks that Clarissa looks like her but better. She’s jealous.”

  “She doesn’t look anything like Clarissa.” And then it comes together in my head. Mandy told me she resembled Clarissa when I went to Dallas to find her that night, and I dismissed it. But her words from our wedding night rush into my head: “I was used as a placeholder until he got his girl back.”

  “Their hair is the same color. Their eyes are the same color.”

  “Her last boyfriend broke up with a girl people referred to as Mandy’s doppelganger then showed up to prom with the girl and neglected to officially break things off with Mandy.”

  Evan raises a brow. “I think you’ve got your answer then, but this girl hasn’t dated since high school?”

  “She goes on first dates, not second dates. She’s high maintenance. It really shouldn’t be that surprising. And I can’t blame her. Law school was ten years ago too.” I walk to the mini bar and pour myself a shot of scotch. “Mandy’s appearance is nothing like Clarissa’s. Clarissa is tall, lanky, and sickly.”

  He shrugs. “I told you that when you tried to marry Clarissa, but I’m not the curvy blonde who wrote the blog post. So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m pissed she associates me with her jackass ex-boyfriend. If that’s what she thinks of me, why did she marry me, anyway?” Evan opens his mouth like he’s about to speak. “Don’t answer that.” I’m not in the mood for anymore bullshit.

  I want to break his neck for calling her curvy. But it’s not like I can expect to be the only man in the world to notice that. I let my back slap the bed again. I don’t give a damn about the blog post.

  I take my phone from my pocket and text Mandy’s dad.

  Me: Is she okay?

  Senator Buchanan: Yeah. But when you get brave enough to see her again, I’m not so sure you will be.

  I throw the phone against the wall. It hits hard. Evan stares at me. If she outed me, don’t I get to be the one who’s mad? “Send someone to replace that.”

  He sighs. “I’ll do it. I don’t actually want your staffers to know the man they’ve been working their asses off for is pouting like a two year old.” He moves to the door, opens it, and then stops. “Eric?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You break it again, you’re not getting another one. You shouldn’t be texting Goldilocks anyway.”

  “It wasn’t Goldilocks.”

  “So who was it?”

  “Her dad.” That is probably more pathetic, but what’s the point in lying?

  Chapter 49

  Mandy

  I turn off the TV, throw the remote, fall into my mom’s lap, and burst into tears.

  “Mandy, what’s wrong?”

  “God, he’s not even a terrorist, and it’s published. There is nothing I can do about it. I’ve thrown his whole career away, and he’s probably never going to speak to me again.”

  She runs her fingers through my hair with one hand and pats my back with the other. “Sweetheart, I’m not judging, but why did you do it?”

  “When I wrote it, I thought it was true. I would have never put it in writing if I didn’t think so.”

  She pats my back again. “I don’t doubt you thought it was true. But why did you do it? From what I’ve seen, when you two are together, you have a good enough relationship you could have asked him a
bout it before blogging. So why?”

  “The whole point of the agreement was to get blog dirt.”

  “I don’t buy that. Why did you do it?”

  I sob harder into her lap. It’s like being a little kid. Except my whole world is crushed. I’ve lost the only thing in the world that matters. It can’t be fixed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I bet I would.”

  She totally would. There isn’t anything complicated about it. But I can’t relive the humiliation, and it’s seriously not something I want to talk to my mom about. “I can’t tell you,” I say through tears. I sit up and wipe the tears off my face with my hand.

  “Well, tell me this. How are you going to fix it?”

  “There is no way to fix this.”

  “Amanda, you haven’t been married long enough for that. It’s too soon to throw in the towel. So tell me how you’re going to fix it.”

  “He’ll never trust me again.”

  “It will be hard to get his trust back, but I don’t know about never. If you care about him, you’re going to have to find a way to make it up to him.”

  “I’ve destroyed everything he has worked for. How am I going to do that?”

  Chapter 50

  Eric

  Evan stands behind me at the largest rally we’ve had in a week. The press is mixed in with the spectators.

  A lady on the front row raises her hand. “You’re down by twenty points in the polls. How are you going to beat Kourtney Simpleton?”

  It’s a general election. There is no way to depict how my answer will play out, but it’s the answer, and I’m not willing to lie. “This will sound absurd to someone who doesn’t believe in God, but I think whoever is supposed to win this election will. Things usually happen for a reason. I’m stronger on both foreign and domestic policy than my opponent. And if God thinks that is what we need right now, that is what we get. I know I’ve had a rough week, but I trust my electorate enough not to elect a reality TV star as commander in chief.”