nervous and desperate to hide from the limelight. She’d rather die than be here on this stage.
“And did you ever hope to meet your birth parents?”
“I didn’t.” She frowned. People probably thought it shallow, but it was the truth. “I considered my adoptive parents to be my mother and father.”
“But they died in a tragic accident. Surely you must have wondered about the man and woman that gave you life?”
“Maybe I didn’t let myself wonder. I didn’t want to try to replace my mother and father in any way.” This was turning out to be more of an interview than she expected, and making her nervous. She wished they’d hurry up and bring Ted Morrow out. She probably wasn’t giving them the emotional yearning they were hoping for. “But I’m glad of the opportunity to meet my father.”
No one knew she’d already met her mother. She’d sworn to keep it a secret, and she’d stand by her promise.
“And you shall.” Barbara Carey stood. “Let me introduce you to your father, President Ted Morrow.”
A hush fell over the room as she rose to her feet, peering into the darkness just beyond the studio lights. The familiar face of the president emerged, tall, handsome, smiling. He looked at her and their eyes met. Her breath stuck in her lungs as he thrust out his hand and she took it. His handshake was firm and warm and she hoped it would go on forever. His eyes were so kind, and as she looked into them she saw them brimming with emotion. “Hello, Ariella. I’m very happy to meet you.” His voice was low and gruff.
Her heart beat faster and faster and her breathing grew shallow. “I’m very pleased to meet you, too.” The polite words did nothing to express the deep well of emotion suddenly rushing inside her.
His pale blue eyes locked with hers, and she could see shadows of thoughts flickering behind them. “Oh, my.” His murmur almost seemed to have come from her own mouth. Overwhelmed, their hands still clasped together, they stared at each other for a long time that seemed agonizingly short and then she felt his arms close around her back.
The breath rushed from her lungs as she hugged him back and held him with the force of twenty-eight years of unexpressed longing. She could feel his chest heaving as he held her tight. Tears fell from her eyes into the wool of his suit and she couldn’t stop them. It was too much. Feelings she’d never anticipated rocked her to her core. When they finally parted she was blinking and pretty sure that she wouldn’t be able to talk if someone asked her a question. The president’s—her father’s—eyes were wet with tears and his face still looked stunned.
He helped her to one of the seats, then took his place in the other, on the opposite side of Barbara Carey, who tactfully remained silent, letting the moment speak for itself. At last the interviewer drew in a breath. “It’s been a long time coming.” She looked from one of them to the other.
Ariella’s father—it didn’t feel crazy to call him that now, which didn’t really make any sense, but then none of this did—stared straight at her. “I had no idea you existed.” His voice was breathless, as if he was talking just to her, not to Barbara Carey, or the cameras, or the viewers.
“I know,” she managed. She’d known he existed, of course, but not who he was.
“Your parents have obviously done a wonderful job of raising you. I’ve learned of all your accomplishments, and how well you’ve handled the avalanche of events these last few months.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
“I should have met with you before now but I was foolish enough to take the advice of strategists who wanted to wait until we knew the truth from the DNA testing.” His eyes softened. “I was a fool. I only have to look at you to know you’re my daughter. And you have your mother’s eyes.”
Those same eyes filled with tears again, and she reached for one of the tissues from a box that had miraculously appeared on a small coffee table in front of them. Suddenly she could see herself in the jut of his cheekbone and the funny way he wrinkled his nose. They’d been living their lives often only a few buildings apart here in D.C. but might have never met.
“I suppose we have to be grateful for the nosey journalists who uncovered the truth.”