The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,31
place. He makes pleasantries an art. People see that smile on TV and know that this is a man who is careful with everything he does.
This smile is different. It’s too wide and too loose, as if he can’t stop it from spreading all over his face. And somehow it’s more mesmerizing than all the charm in his usual smiles combined.
“It’s my secret garden,” he says, his eyes scanning mine. As if he’s waiting for something.
“Your… garden?” I look around again, my head spinning. “You arranged for all of this?”
He makes a face. “No, I planted all of this.”
“You?” I can’t imagine this flawless man in his well-cut suit rolling up his sleeves and getting dirty work done. Unless maybe a press opportunity called for it. “Really?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“It’s just… so wonderful. It looks like a professional did this. A really talented professional.”
“I’m a man of many talents,” David replies. “Being the youngest president of the United States ever elected is just one of them.”
I can’t wrap my head around him. One moment he is all sternness and seriousness, an impenetrable figure far beyond my understanding. Yet soon after he can become this real person with green fingers and dry comments that sound a lot like jokes. Who is David really?
“Veronica Waters, you are a distraction,” David says eventually, after I stare at him slack-jawed for what feels like aeons. “We’re here to talk.”
“How are you into gardening?” I won’t be deterred.
His eyebrow quirks. “I tried gardening. I liked it.”
Something clicks for the first time. The President of the United States… is capable of being supremely annoying. He’s teasing me. I’m sure of it.
“You know what I mean,” I shoot back, making my annoyance obvious. “Why do you like gardening?”
“Every man needs a hobby.”
From my knowledge of men - a database consisting mostly of Trevor - the most popular choice of hobby mostly involves scrolling through the internet and complaining about things. Not creating beauty out of nothing.
“David.”
He stares at the flowers around us, thoughtful. “Fine. I suppose… I enjoy gardening as it’s an exercise in control.”
“Control?”
“The gardener has a lot of power,” he continues. “The life and wellbeing of his garden depends upon him. His direct actions have consequences. If he is good at his job, it is his wishes alone that become the reality of his garden.”
“Are you trying to say that gardening is a lot like being the president?”
David’s voice is forlorn. “Oh, I wish running the country was so easy. My garden is under my complete control.”
“And being the president isn’t?”
“No, you are not under my complete control,” he breathes. “Which is why we’re here, isn’t it?”
I look around us. There are a few Secret Service operatives within sight, but none within earshot. We’re safe.
“Come sit with me,” he orders.
There’s a bench here that gives us a beautiful view. Sitting down, the plants around us only look bigger and more wondrous.
“David, please,” I begin. “Listen, I didn’t mean to cause a scene in your office-”
“You didn’t mean to burst in while I was in the middle of a vital meeting?” he asks wryly.
“But you have to understand,” I continue. “Today… it’s been a lot. And for you to tell me that I can’t even go home and that I have to obey this schedule…”
“It won’t be forever, Veronica,” he says, surprisingly gentle. “This will all blow over soon enough.”
“That could take months.”
“Are you sure you don’t want money?” he asks again. “I can make sure you’re well paid from all of this. That would make things easier.”
Does he still think I’m interested in money?
“I told you,” I snap, “that I don’t want money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“For you to not treat me like a prisoner!”
“We’re both prisoners.” His thumb starts to move in small circles around my palm.
I jump. I hadn’t… I hadn’t realized he was still holding my hand.
When I pull back, he raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with me touching you?”
“We’re not in front of people anymore,” I remind him, gesturing around us, “apart from your bodyguards. We don’t have to put on a show.”
“No,” he says. “We don’t.”
He takes my hand in his again.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
He is quiet. “...it’s important you get used to my touch, Veronica. There’ll be a whole lot more of it to come. And we can’t let the cameras catch you being nervous.”
Screw the cameras. I’m nervous now. I’m nervous because the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in real life is