their right arms to get more information about the President’s mysterious girl.”
I don’t know how to apologize. I’d never considered how my decision to be part of this would affect other people. Dad didn’t sign up to be harassed by the paparazzi.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t worry yourself too much. Having Secret Service agents around is just going to take some getting used to. I don’t think they appreciate my jokes that much.”
“You have the Secret Service?”
“Your President ordered it, apparently. A bit of a waste of time if you ask me, but they’ve been good enough to scare some of the more cowardly members of the press away.”
I suppose it’s the least the President could do in return for my involvement in this… but I feel grateful that he’d think about my dad like that, without me even asking.
Suddenly Jackson’s voice sounds through the door. “Can I come back in yet?”
I can’t speak honestly about all of this with my shadow around. I have no idea how much Jackson knows or doesn’t know. He seems devoted to his job, but this chat between my dad and I should stay private.
“Two minutes,” I shout back.
“That your bodyguard talking?” Dad chuckles. “Who would have ever thought you’d cause so much of a fuss?”
“I didn’t ask for any of this, Dad.”
He sighs through the phone. “You’re doing a really good thing. They had better give you a medal or something when this is all through.”
I very much doubt I’ll get anything other than maybe a ‘thanks’ from Mr Andrews. Everything I’m doing is a secret that has to go with me to the grave.
“Does he make you happy, Veronica?”
I blink. “What?”
“The President. Does he treat you well?”
I shake my head. “Dad, I already told you that we’re not really engaged.”
“Doesn’t mean he can’t make sure my little girl is alright. Next time you see him, tell him that I’ll give him hell to pay if he doesn’t take care of you properly.”
I imagine telling the stern, uptight President that my dad has threatened him. The idea of David’s reaction is enough to make me giggle.
“Will do, Dad,” I promise.
“I love you, honey.”
“I love you too.”
When we hang up, I’m forced to think about what I should have been thinking about this whole time. What the hell am I supposed to wear?
There are far more dress options that I’m used to. Firstly, I rule out anything that might be considered too controversial. It’s not like the previous First Lady walked around showing off her cleavage everywhere, but her chest was a little bit smaller than mine so I get the feeling a lot of these clothes would hang differently.
Eventually I settle on a dark red midi dress that doesn’t look too dangerous. Sure, red is a provocative color, but the dress is long enough to keep me mostly covered up.
I find the price tag inside as I squeeze the dress on. Seeing all those zeros would make anyone nervous.
My reflection in the mirror looks back at me nervously. Even with the fancy dress, I’m still me. There’s no way to just wave a magic wand and turn me into the kind of girl that could be engaged to the President of the United States. Especially not President Shepard.
By all rights, he should only be engaged to a 5’11 supermodel who’s been raised on champagne flutes and trust funds. Not the daughter of a small construction company owner who cares more about working hard than working out.
Sometime in the afternoon my belongings are delivered. I hadn’t brought too much with me from California, so it’s mostly just clothes and toiletries. It feels slightly odd to know that somebody has gone through all my personal belongings and packed them up without even knowing me, but I try not to think about it all too much. It sure isn’t the craziest thing that’s happened to me lately.
By the time the evening comes around, I’m more than ready to get this thing over with. As grand as this suite is, there’s really not much to do apart from pacing up and down and admiring the old-timey decor. Even when I try to take a breather and mess around on my phone, the non-stop alerts and notifications coming through make me put it down.
Suddenly people that I haven’t talked to for years are messaging me about how insane it is that I’m the President’s fiancée. All it takes is a little fame (or notoriety) and suddenly you’re everybody’s new best