The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,22

were you both volunteering?” the reporter presses.

“Um…”

“Why didn’t we see you on the President’s campaign trail last year?”

“Thank you all very much,” I say. It’s time to end things before they get out of hand. “But we’re going to have to leave now. Have a good day, everyone.”

I take Veronica’s hand in one of mine and give a wave with the other as we quickly leave the room. As the door shuts behind us, her hands slips from mine and I start giving orders.

“Andrews, I want a copy of every article you can find on that press conference on my desk the moment they’re out.”

I look back, for Veronica, but she’s gone. I’d look for her, thank her, but there isn’t time. I’m still President, and I have a country to run.

Veronica

As the day goes on, I get the feeling that I really don’t know what I’m getting myself in for.

I can’t stop staring at the ring on my finger. For one, it’s huuuuuge. Like, mega-huge. I’m not sure how they managed to find a diamond this impressive on such short notice.

For two, how on earth did I end up in this situation? It’s a cover-up, obviously, but in the space of a few days I’ve gone from Veronica Waters, White House intern, to Veronica Waters… fiancée to the President.

For three… the ring really is huge. I could probably knock someone out if I hurled this thing at them.

As soon as the press conference ends, I slip away on a ‘bathroom break’ which actually involves standing in a cubicle attempting to call my boyfriend. Just like last night, he still won’t pick up.

Is he purposefully ignoring me? Does he think that I’m really engaged to the President of the United States?

No, surely he can see through this situation and take a guess at the truth. We’ve been dating for years. To have an affair with the President… that would be one thing. To be engaged to him is another entirely. How would I have kept something like this hidden this whole time?

Buzz. My phone has messages.

Lacey Smith: okay WHAT is going on

Lacey Smith: i’ve been offered a lot of money not to talk about u n trevor

Lacey Smith: and i hear you’re supposedly ‘engaged’????

Lacey Smith: what the hell

I groan. Of course the government is trying to destroy all traces of the history Trevor and I have.

I wonder if they’ve managed to contact him? They might be having better luck than I am.

Lacey’s message only makes me feel worse as the gravity of my situation sinks in. What I’ve signed up to.

There’s really no going back.

I don’t want to ignore her, but I really don’t feel like replying to the message. I’m stressed enough as it is without trying to explain it all to someone else.

There’s a knock on my stall.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” grunts a voice. A man’s voice.

“Jackson, this is the ladies’ room,” I squeal. “What are you doing here?”

“We have business to attend to. You need to come with me.”

“Am I not even allowed a second of privacy?” I complain.

“You have to come with me, ma’am.”

It appears not.

Mr Andrews promised that my first day wouldn’t be intensive, other than the press conference. It seems that the President has different ideas. As soon as we step outside, Jackson hands me my schedule which ends up something like this:

9:00AM - Press Conference

9:45AM - Wardrobe fitting

11:00AM - Etiquette

12:00PM - Lunch

13:00PM - Political Study

14:00PM - Public speaking

“What’s this about?” I ask him.

“The President himself will now be in charge of your daily schedule,” he answers. “These are your morning activities. I’m going to be accompanying you to all of your meetings from now on.”

“The President wrote this? Doesn’t he have someone to micromanage my life for him?”

Jackson shrugs. “This is just how the President does things, ma’am.”

“Why do you have to accompany me?”

“For your own protection.” He gestures down the hall. “There are two others down the hall, but they’ll be following us from afar.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s what the President ordered.”

The President is clearly quite the control freak. I think about the way he spoke over me in the press conference, cutting me off so immediately to end things straight away. He’d come across as so likable in the campaign ads… but in reality he’s almost certainly one of those egotistical men that thinks they can boss around everyone else.

He might be my boss, but this isn’t just a job anymore. It’s my life. At some point or another, I’m going to