The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,50

this evening, Miss Waters.”

Miss Waters. My last name again. Like it’s a defensive shield he’s put back up.

He slips out through the door before I can say another word.

I sink to the floor, clinging to the edges of my black dress. What the hell just happened?

Veronica

By the time I’ve taken a shower - a really long shower - and brushed my teeth, I’m more than ready for bed. It’s as if I’m in a state of half-shock, moving as though I’m possessed by reflex alone rather than any real control.

The scene replays itself in my mind at least a dozen times before I find sleep. They’re enough to drive me mad, half with lust and half with confusion.

David and I slept together. That’s the truth of it, any way I look at it. I’d made love with the President of the United States. I pray to God that none of the security outside my door had heard a thing. These walls better be soundproof.

I lie awake for what feels like hours, trying to make sense of it all.

The way David had touched me… the way he’d needed me… It’s nothing like what I’d expected. It was raw. Primal.

So Trevor was right, then, a cruel voice in the back of my mind whispers. You certainly didn’t put up a fight the second the President wanted you.

Trevor. Oh, Trevor. I’m not sure how to feel about him in the slightest, and the worry alone might finish me off. He might be sick… he might even have tried to hurt me… but he’d been my boyfriend for years. We’ve been together for what feels like forever.

I suppose we’d never technically broken up, but then I don’t think there’s any coming back from what he did to me. What he tried to do.

If Stephanie had been the person behind giving him my location, then maybe I should be worried about her too. But after a quick google search, it looks as if her profile has been taken down from the ClickBoom News website and all her public social media accounts are missing…

And as for Trevor, there are already several headlines popping up on my phone. ‘CRAZED LUNATIC ATTACKS VERONICA WATERS ON EVENING STROLL’.

Thank god nobody has identified the connection between Trevor and me. I’m almost certain the President must have paid off people back in Cali not to talk about it. Trevor and I don’t have many mutual friends, even though we went to school together. It’s a side effect of having very little in common, even if we’d sometimes enjoyed one another’s company.

Sleep makes me feel somewhat better, I think. It’s at least a short break from my over-anxious mind.

Or it would have been… if not for the dreams. Who else do I dream of but David? He slips into bed with me, his skin bare and naked against my own. We explore each other’s bodies with our hands and mouths, able to take all the time in the world to learn each other.

When I wake up, it stings to be alone.

When Jackson presents me with my schedule for the morning, I’m not very pleased.

“I was attacked yesterday night,” I remind him. “A guy literally held a knife to me and threatened my life. I don’t want to sit in a room and think about etiquette.”

“It can’t be helped, I’m afraid,” Jackson says, watching me get dressed. I’m comfortable enough around him to get changed. There really isn’t room to value privacy here. “You have a morning breakfast to attend with the ambassador from the United Kingdom and her husband.”

My mouth drops open. “A meeting? The President will be there?”

“It’s a formality that will be expected of you quite often,” Jackson confirms. “It’s an important duty of the First Lady to assist her president in times of need.”

I can’t help the way my cheeks tint themselves red at that comment. Yeah, I’d certainly ‘assisted’ the President last night…

The idea of seeing him again this morning is equal parts thrilling and horrific. How am I ever going to look him in the eye again? How is he ever going to look me in the eye again?

It’s obvious from the way he left that something’s wrong. Do I want to discover what?

If Jackson notices the way I start preening and re-examining my outfit again on the mention of the President, he doesn’t comment. Besides, David is meant to be my fiancée. If I want to look nice for him, why should that raise any eyebrows?

“Are