The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,59

knows who David is. Everybody in the entire world knows who David is.

Of course, the perk of having the President with me is that he has bucket loads of charm at any given moment. I’m pretty sure the word ‘awkward’ isn’t in David’s vocabulary.

“Mr Waters, I presume?” David holds out a hand. “My name is David. David Shepard. I believe you’ve probably heard about the relationship between your daughter and I, sir.”

My dad whistles. “Well, it’s not every day you get called ‘sir’ by the President of the United States, I’ll tell you.” His voice drops a notch, getting lower. “But yes. I’ve certainly heard about your relationship. I’ve heard all about it.”

Oh my god. I’d never considered this… I hadn’t ever planned on David and my dad meeting. When Mr Andrews and the President had come up with the fake engagement plan, they’d told me not to tell anyone. But of course I’d told my dad.

My eyes skirt to David. Am I in trouble? But he’s not looking at me, staring straight at my dad like they’re having a showdown at high noon.

“I see,” David says at last. Is that annoyance in his voice? “Then I presume you know about what an excellent job your daughter is doing for this country. She’s sacrificed so much for my presidency. I couldn’t be more grateful.”

“She’s given far more to you than you deserve,” Dad says, “and you let her get attacked by an ex-boyfriend, nearly killed-”

“I take full responsibility for that occurrence,” David says, his voice hard. “Believe me, it won’t happen again. I will do everything I can to make sure your daughter is safe. Always.”

My dad takes that in. I can see him sizing David up. Trying to work out what he wants. Once, Trevor had gone through this. My dad had pretty much scared the living daylights out of him. But David is barely flinching.

“What do you want from my daughter?” my dad asks at last, cutting straight to the point. “Are you here to make her cry again?”

David opens his mouth, ready to put forwards an argument… and then stops. He glances from my dad to me and then back again. “Cry?”

“Dad-” I object.

My father takes no notice. “If you’re here to hurt her again, Mr President, then you’ll have to answer to me. I’m not seeing my daughter upset over you.”

I flush red, aggressively shaking my head. “We’re just going to talk, Dad-”

But David is just as serious as my dad is. “Yes, sir. I promise you that I’m not here to hurt her. That was the last time. Ever.”

My brow furrows. Reading between the lines… What is David trying to say?

Can he be about to end things? To call off our ‘engagement’? Have I finally proved to be more trouble than I’m worth?

“We’re going upstairs now,” I say, nudging David to follow me.

“Are you?” Dad doesn’t look pleased.

“To talk,” I clarify, to ease his discomfort.

Before any further moments of shame can follow, I drag David up the stairs and into my bedroom. But he takes his time observing the surroundings. He looks up and down at the family photographs on the walls, at the pictures of child me beaming up through the frames with wobbly teeth.

When we reach the bedroom, I close the door. I get the impression I won’t want my dad to hear this particular conversation.

I sigh preemptively. “So, you found me.”

David is quiet for a moment. I sit down upon my bed, looking up at him. What’s running through his head right now?

“I should be angry,” he says at last. “I should be telling you off right now. You ran away and hopped on a plane all the way across the country.”

I brace myself. Here it is. He’s mad at me.

But the last thing I’m expecting is for David to drop to his knees.

“Forgive me, Veronica,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I apologize for everything.”

Shock grips me. The President is… apologizing to me.

“You... what do you mean?”

He shifts his weight from one leg to another. “The way I acted… it was unreasonable. I know that. I know it’s my fault that you left, that you came back here. And I want to explain everything.”

I swallow tightly. “Go on.”

With the speech he’s giving and the undivided attention on me alone, it’s almost like he’s on trial and I’m the judge, jury, and executioner. I wonder if David is thinking the same thing, whether this is reminding him of his lawyer days back before