The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,27

I do as he says and open it. It’s certainly bare looking inside… but to my surprise, it’s not empty. Several dresses are hung neatly in rows, with a few pairs of shoes and accessories lined up underneath.

“These can’t be for me?” I frown, thinking of the clothes fitting from earlier today. No service could be that quick, could it?

“I believe,” Jackson says, “everything in the wardrobe was left behind by the last First Lady.”

My eyes widen. “Really?”

Jackson nods. “This is her old suite, after all.”

No. No way. I’d assumed the President had put me in some regular guest suite for now, but… the First Lady’s suite? This is insane.

The suite is far bigger than any hotel room I’ve stayed in before. The ceiling is high and ornate, with a great glass chandelier hanging from it like something from a fairytale. It feels like I shouldn’t be allowed to touch or take pictures of anything inside here, never mind sleep here.

It’s clear that the suite is fancy, but something about knowing who it used to belong to makes it all the more special.

“Why am I in here?” I ask, looking around in shock.

“The First Lady gets the First Lady’s rooms.” Did Jackson get a qualification in being stoic?

“I’m not the First Lady though.”

“The media would disagree, ma’am. You don’t have to be married to the President to be the First Lady.”

I pull up Twitter on my phone. Sure enough, there are some nasty posts on there. But also some nicer ones congratulating the President on his engagement. And Jackson is somehow right. A few news articles mention me only by name, but a lot refer to the President’s new ‘First Lady’.

The President was right when he said that this would change my life forever. A quick Google search for my name brings up millions and millions of results. I’m not a nobody anymore, like it or not.

I look back at the wardrobe. “These dresses… do you think I’d be able to borrow them?”

“From my knowledge, ma’am, the previous First Lady left these dresses here on purpose. Most of them are entirely unworn.”

I gaze at the dresses in disbelief. I’m not an expert, but I can read the labels. Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Dior… there have to be thousands upon thousands of dollars in clothes just lying around in here. Just one of these dresses could probably pay a few months of my rent.

“I can really wear these?” I say, almost speechless with disbelief.

“I don’t see why not.”

I pause, looking Jackson up and down. “You’ll have to leave me to get changed.”

“I’ll be just outside your door, ma’am.”

As soon as Jackson leaves, I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s not a bad guy to have around… but being followed at all times is just too much. I’m a private person, and the last 24 hours have seen me stripped of that entirely.

I grab my phone from my bag hopefully, but my heart falls. Damn it. No new messages.

I dial up Trevor’s number as quickly as I can. The ringing starts… and continues… and continues…

He’s still not answering.

It’s nearly been a whole day now since the story broke. And Dad said that he’d seemed upset. He has to have seen the news. He has to know.

Is it really over? Will I never even get the chance to tell him the truth?

I try four more times before giving up. When there’s no reply, I try a different number instead.

“Veronica, honey?” Dad picks up right away. “Do you need me to come and break you out of there?”

I laugh hollowly. “I wish.”

“I would, you know. In a heartbeat. If you wanted me to.”

“I do want you to,” I admit. “But I have to stay here.”

“Are you really engaged to the President?” His voice is teasing, but I know him well enough to detect more than a subtle hint of concern.

“No,” I chuckle, so glad to be able to say the truth out loud. It feels refreshing. “God, no. It’s just-”

“A cover-up,” he finishes. “I thought so. It’s just not every day you read the paper and discover your little girl has a fiancée who also happens to be the leader of the free world.”

“It’s been a long day, Dad.”

“I can only imagine, honey. I feel the same way. The press have been banging on my door since the early hours.”

A rush of guilt pools in my chest. “They’ve tracked you down?”

“Of course they have. The whole world has gone crazy. People are willing to sell