Capitol Promises (The Presidential Promises Duet )

by Rebecca Gallo

  “Come on, darling, harder,” Jameson demanded, and the tightness that was building inside me wanted the same thing.

  I tightened my arms around him and pulled my knees in against the outside of his thighs. We created a rhythm together; me rocking back and forth against him, and him somehow thrusting up at the same time. It was mind-blowing and earth-shattering and a million other clichés rolled into one. I remained still, letting my orgasm implode inside me while Jameson plunged deeply one last time. We were locked around each other, riding the waves of bliss until our heart rates and breathing returned to normal.

  “Truce?” he asked.

  “For now,” I replied.

  The next day, Jameson and I sat down for our first interview together since the election. We’d been interviewed separately multiple times, but this was the first in-depth interview with the both of us. The interview was being conducted at the White House and part of that was to give the reporter, Judy Mendoza, a tour.

  We were happy to take her through all the changes that we made, the personal touches we added, and some restoration projects that were happening.

  “So you’re both settling in here,” Judy inquired while we were in the gardens.

  “Yes, as much as can be expected,” Jameson answered. He took one of my hands and lifted it to his lips, brushing my knuckles with a light kiss. “Georgie has done a fantastic job hiring staff and getting tours running. She even surprises some of the visitors who come for a tour.”

  “And what about working with Secretary Edison on education reform?”

  I made eye contact with Jameson and then sucked in a breath. “Well, that was put on hold until I figured out what it meant to be first lady. I really want to be involved with policy. Now that I have a handle on things here, I can start working with Secretary Edison more.”

  “And how do you feel about that, President Martin?”

  Jameson played it cool even though, deep down, I knew he hated the idea of Max and me working together. “I support Georgie in whatever she wants to do. She gave up a career for me and made it known to me early on that she expected education policy and reform to be her platform. She is extremely passionate about making America’s schools the best in the world.”

  It was wonderful to hear him discuss me and my work like that. I couldn’t contain my blush, and when I looked up to meet Jameson’s gaze, the smile he gave me was genuine. I could never doubt Jameson’s pride. He wanted me to succeed; he just didn’t want Max Edison to be a part of that success.

  “And marriage? Many in America are eager for a White House wedding. When will we hear those wedding bells?”

  Judy looked pointedly at Jameson, her brown eyes scrutinizing him. I glanced at him too, interested to hear his response. “Uh, well, we haven’t really talked about that. We’ve both been focused on our new positions and getting settled in them. I think trying to plan a wedding right now would be a little too much, in addition to everything else.”

  “And Georgie, how do you feel about that? Don’t you want to get married?” It was my turn in the hot seat, and I felt mighty uncomfortable. I searched my surroundings for a way out, but there wasn’t one. I couldn’t just run away and ignore her question. For one, that would be rude. And two, there was a camera right in my face.

  “I agree with Jameson. We’ve both been busy, and honestly, I haven’t actually thought about it.” That was a lie; a really good lie, though, because she bought it. Truthfully, thinking about the wedding was a daily occurrence. I constantly wondered when Jameson would finally talk with me about it. When would we set a date? Where would we have it? Who would we invite? What would I wear? I thought about all those things, and then I buried those thoughts because I knew Jameson wasn’t ready.

  “But don’t you want to get married?”

  “Of course, I do! What girl doesn’t dream about her wedding? But I’m also the first lady of the United States. I have a lot of other items that need my attention.”

  “Can’t you just have someone help you plan it so you’re not inundated with the details?”

  Jesus, this lady was persistent, and I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. It was almost as if she was pushing me, hoping I’d cave, and I was so close. One more inch and the tears would begin to flow.

  “Judy, we just got here. There’s plenty of time to figure all that out,” Jameson interjected, and I finally breathed a sigh of relief. He gave her one of his panty-melting smiles, instantly distracting her with his dazzle and charm.

  The rest of the interview was a blur because I was lost inside my own head. I was cognizant enough to answer appropriately, but it was hard to ignore the disappointment that I felt over Jameson’s evasive answers to questions about getting married. He was right when he said there wasn’t a rush to get married. We hadn’t officially been engaged that long anyway, but my desire to be his wife was palpable, and it stung to see him blatantly reject that.

  When Judy Mendoza left, I retreated to the private residence. Jameson found me in the Queens’ Bedroom, where I sat in a chair in front of the fireplace. I liked the Queens’ Bedroom because its regal femininity reminded me of past first ladies. It inspired me. But now, I wanted to be alone, to contemplate my future as the first lady and whether or not I would be Jameson’s wife.

  “You disappeared as soon as Ms. Mendoza left,” Jameson stated. He stood just in the doorway, his body language telling me that he was hesitant to enter without permission.

  “I was tired. I hope she didn’t think I was rude,” I replied.

  Jameson shifted on his feet, his impatience getting the best of him. I signaled for him to enter, and he sat down in the chair opposite mine. “I don’t think she noticed. Is something bothering you?”

  “No, not really. Just a lot on my plate, as usual.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Do you know when those meetings with Edison are?”

  “Umm, yes.” I reached for my phone and flipped through the calendar. “All next week. There are quite a few. One with both of the presidents of NEA and Teach for America, and then one with the governor of California.”

  “That’s only two days. Who are the other meetings with?”

  I placed a hand on my forehead. “I don’t remember, Jameson.”

  “Isn’t it on the calendar?” He pointed toward my phone, his voice incrementally louder. What got him so worked up all a sudden?

  “No, it’s not. Sorry. I just added it as a meeting with Max.”

  “Well, I need to know.”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “Because you’re the first lady.”

  “Then I’ll have Mallory fax over my weekly itinerary to Sean.”

  “Georgie,” Jameson warned.

  “Jameson,” I countered.

  “Don’t push me on this.”

  “I’m not pushing you on anything. I informed you that I would be attending meetings next week with Max. I’ll have Mallory send over my itinerary to Sean. Isn’t that good enough?”

  “No, it’s not good enough.” His voice was low and dangerous.

  “Why not?” I was in unchartered waters, pushing his buttons.

  “Because you’re my wife!” Jameson roared, slamming his fist down on the arm of the chair.

  “No, I’m not, and you made that abundantly clear today when you told Judy Mendoza that we were too busy to plan a wedding.”

  “So is that what this little sulk is about? You’re upset about what I said? You said the same thing.”

  I stood abruptly. “Fuck you, Jameson. I don’t need your condescending bullshit. Of course, I agreed with you! What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to tell a complete stranger all about how I spend every goddamn day thinking about the day we can finally set a date? Or that I’ve already secretly tried on a dozen dresses? Is that what you wanted me to tell her? ’Cause it’s all fucking true.”

  Jameson’s mouth hung open. He wasn’t expecting me to lay all that at his feet.

 
; “Truce is over, asshole,” I muttered as I walked past him and out of the room.

  Jameson

  I strode confidently down the halls of the East Wing, eager to make peace with Georgie. We had been avoiding each other for days, and tonight, my schedule was finally free. I made sure to check the itinerary sent over to Sean before I made plans. It was time to make amends with her. After she opened herself to me and bared everything she secretly desired, I felt like an asshole. How could I be blind to the fact she wanted a wedding? That she wanted to get married? It was out there now and couldn’t be ignored. We needed to sit down and discuss it.

  Before I left my office, I called the White House chef and asked him to prepare an Italian feast reminiscent of the one I brought her the day she agreed to our fake engagement. So if the conversation ended badly, at least there would be tiramisu.

  I stood just at the threshold of her suite of offices. Mallory, her secretary, sat at her desk, her fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard. I looked over and noticed that the door to Georgie’s office was closed. I frowned; this wasn’t a good sign.

  “Good evening, Mallory,” I said, walking farther into the space.

  Mallory looked up from her furious typing, taking in the uninvited guest. As soon as she recognized me, her face morphed into something along the lines of “Oh, shit.”

  Mallory clamored out of her seat and stood. “Good evening, sir. How may I help you?”

  I gave her a heart-melting smile, hoping to calm some of her nerves. “Just here to pick up the first lady and take her to dinner.”

  “She, um, isn’t in?” Mallory stammered.

  “You don’t know whether or not she’s here?”

  “No, I know. I mean, she’s not here.”

  “Is she coming back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  My patience was wearing thin. I shoved a hand in my pocket and looked at the closed door. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re her personal secretary. Your job is to know her schedule. Where did she go?”

  “She and Secretary Edison are at the Finnish Embassy.”

  Finally, some answers. I wasn’t pleased that Georgie was out again with Max Edison, but I was even angrier that she didn’t bother to tell me before leaving. They seemed inseparable this week; the press was kind enough to inform me of every move they made and captured it with photographs splashed across every gossip magazine and blog from here to eternity. It was enough for the green-eyed monster inside me to rear his ugly head.

  “When did they leave?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  I nodded. Right. I glanced at the closed door that seemed to be mocking me. In a few quick steps, I stood in front of it with my hand on the knob. What were they doing together?

  “Sir, you can’t go in there!” I turned and looked back at Mallory. Her face flushed red, and her eyes filled with panic.

  “I’m the goddamn president of the United States of America. I can go wherever I want.”

  I twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The sight that greeted me wasn’t a surprise. Georgie’s personal space had piles and stacks of papers everywhere, some of them precariously close to toppling over. A massive whiteboard resting on an easel dominated the middle of the room, covering a fireplace completely.

  I approached it and studied the figures scrawled on it in Georgie’s familiar print-cursive hybrid. The education budgets of most Scandinavian countries, plus a few Asian ones, were written out, in addition to their populations, and the amount they spent per student. Similar figures for the United States were also included. Off to the side, separate from this chunk of data, was what looked like a brainstormed list of ideas. Education policies of these countries paired with ways the United States could implement or modify them.

  Georgie and Max Edison had a bold list of ideas. The biggest question was money; how did they propose to pay for it?

  I scavenged around Georgie’s office for a while longer. I missed her. Seeing her hard work and passion manifested in this way made me feel incredibly close to her. It was almost intimate, seeing the way she thought and worked. Suddenly, I had the urge to punch Max Edison right in the face because he got to see that part of Georgie.

  Mallory watched me like a hawk from the perch of her desk. I didn’t want her to worry, so I kept my lingering to a minimum.

  “Do you want to be notified when she returns, sir?”

  I wanted to be notified when she left, but apparently, that was too much to ask. “No,” I replied curtly. I was going to the Finnish Embassy.

  The motorcade pulled up in front of the elegant, modern building that housed the Embassy of Finland. It had a prestigious place on Embassy Row, across from the vice president’s residence. Great. If this ends badly, then I can sleep on DeWayne’s couch tonight.

  I waited patiently for Secret Service to do their security sweep and for the door of the armored limousine to open. This was one of the things that annoyed me about being president; I wanted to do things for myself. I hated waiting.

  When the door swung open, I exited and stood in front of the brightly lit glass and metal structure. I found myself suddenly nervous. My palms started to sweat, and my heart thundered loudly in my chest. I was about to walk into the Embassy of Finland, uninvited, and crash my fiancée’s party.

  I followed the row of Secret Service agents into the building. A dazzling mixture of glass, wood, and metal surrounded me in the airy lobby.

  “Good evening, Mr. President. I’m Ansa, Ambassador Jokinen’s secretary. We weren’t expecting you this evening.” The woman who greeted me was pale, blonde, and petite. She wore a simple white blouse and black skirt, yet somehow, she looked intimidating. But maybe that was just my nerves projecting.

  “I apologize for the short notice, but I found myself free for an evening. When I went looking for my fiancée, her secretary informed me that she was here,” I explained sheepishly.

  Ansa nodded. “Of course, sir. Ambassador Jokinen is meeting with the first lady and Secretary Edison upstairs in one of our smaller conference rooms. They just finished dinner.”

  I stifled the groan that threatened to escape my lips. Great, I missed my fiancée and dinner. Hunger and nerves did not mix well.

  “Follow me.”

  We walked through long, open hallways and up flights of stairs that seemed to almost defy gravity. The embassy was a grand building; too bad I was waltzing in here like a jealous prick.

  Ansa led us to a set of double doors and quickly opened them. She stood off to the side and smiled politely, waiting for me to enter. Smart girl. She wasn’t going to be the bearer of bad news. Nope, she was going to let me make a fool of myself alone.

  As soon as I stepped foot into the room, the smell of fish hit me. Then I noticed that all conversation stopped, and everyone now stared in my direction.

  “Sorry to, uh, disturb you,” I managed. I raised my hands apologetically and smiled nervously.

  “Good evening, Mr. President,” said a woman with a warm, welcoming smile. She was older, her sandy blond hair streaked with thick strands of gray. Ambassador Kirsti Jokinen approached me with her arms extended and embraced me in an awkward hug. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

  We broke apart, and I glanced around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Georgie. My eyes locked on hers, and I knew that I was in trouble. Her lips formed the prettiest of pouts, a clear sign of her displeasure. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest and gave me a hard look. A look that said I’d beg for her forgiveness later tonight.

  “I apologize, Ambassador Jokinen, for just showing up like this. As I explained to your assistant, Ansa, I was free for the evening, but I was sadly informed by my fiancée’s secretary that she was away. I’m not here in any official capacity. I just missed the first lady.”

  The ambassador looked pleased with my explanation, but I wasn’t worried about her. I dared to make eye contact again with Georgie, hoping to see a softened express
ion, some sign of early forgiveness. All I got was the same cold, hard stare.

  I walked slowly over to her, stopping and stalling along the way to shake hands with other members of the embassy staff. Georgie turned her attention away from me and onto a short man with thick, black-framed glasses.

  I lightly touched her elbow as a signal, letting her know I was there. She looked down briefly at the spot I grazed and then smiled tightly.

  “Director General, may I introduce my fiancé, President Jameson Martin?” The man nodded and then extended his hand. “Jameson, this is Director General Aarni Vanhanen. Director Vanhanen is in charge of the Finnish National Agency for Education.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Director Vanhanen. May I have a word with the first lady in private?”

  “Certainly,” the director replied with a nod and a friendly smile.

  I grasped Georgie’s elbow firmly enough to guide her away from the small group and toward a corner where I could explain myself.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed angrily once we were out of earshot.

  I looked just past her shoulder and saw Max Edison engaged in a discussion with the director, but diverting his gaze often toward us.

  “I wanted to have dinner with you,” I said plainly. “I went to the East Wing, but Mallory said you were gone.”

  “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you that Max and I had a last-minute meeting with the Finnish ambassador added to our schedule.” I hated the familiar way she said his name as if she wasn’t the first lady and he wasn’t Secretary of Education. And I loathed the way she said “our schedule.” She and Max Edison would never become an “our” if I had anything to say about it.

  Georgie

  After Jameson left the embassy, Max pulled me into a quiet corner.