The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,66

you there.”

I wrinkle my brow. “Really? People will just accept that the First Lady flew to Cali all by herself? Using public transport?”

“Veronica, you’re not exactly bred for the life of a First Lady,” David comments. “It’s believable.”

“And what does that mean?” My wrinkle turns into a full-fledged frown. Is he making a comment about my family's money? “Just because I’m not some lawyer like you doesn’t mean that I could never be a good first lady.”

“No, that’s not what I said. What I mean is that you’re not trained to diligently sit around all day waiting for my orders.” A small smile creeps up his face. “Much to my frustration.”

“And?”

“It’s not too much of a shock to anyone that you’d just catch a flight and go home. No other First Lady would try it, but you’re not just any First Lady.”

I mull it over. I guess it wasn’t an insult after all. “How have I ended up with that kind of reputation?”

“You’re spontaneous. A little bit wild. Look at everything that's happened… the scandal over the photographs, the announcement of our engagement… not forgetting a crazy ex-boyfriend attacking you. It’s why the people are so intrigued by you, I think.”

“They’re intrigued?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve received word that my popularity went up considerably overnight,” David says. “And that’s not usually the case when a President takes a holiday. People are usually far too busy complaining about the waste of taxpayer funds.”

I flash him a smile. I suppose I’m doing my job right. “You’re welcome.”

“I really am,” he says, smiling back. But then his smile drops. “I hate to do this so suddenly, but I’m going to have to run.”

“What? Why?”

“Duty calls,” David replies. “Our little trip has meant that I’ve missed far too much, I’m afraid. I have some meetings to attend.”

“Now? But it’s late, David.”

“The President is never really off-duty.”

I make a face. “This feels a bit too similar to another time you left suddenly.” The memories are still a bit raw.

But David strokes my face, running a thumb down my cheek. “Veronica… I will never do that to you. Never again. I was afraid of losing control, but I was a coward.”

“A coward?”

“I’m David Shepard,” he says, looking one hundred percent arrogant. “I can be President of the United States, preserve my reputation, and get to keep my woman. All the same time.”

There’s a lot to unpack there… but only one part of his words stand out to me.

“Your woman?” I say, half-laughing and half-deadly serious.

There’s no laughter on David’s face. “You are mine, Veronica. I think we made that perfectly clear back on Air Force One.”

Once again, the heat of the memory threatens to overpower my face. It really isn’t fair that David can do this to me. That he can make my insides melt with nothing but words and recent memories.

“You really have to go?” I ask again, my voice soft.

David pauses in the doorway. “I’ll be back tonight, Veronica. Just give a few hours. There really is some business I have to take care of.”

I nod. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so,” he replies, very diplomatically. “Besides, you help me plenty.”

I can’t quite tell if that was a dirty joke or not. With David, you never really know.

Sleep comes remarkably easy that night. I slip under the covers of my huge bed. It feels weird to admit, but a part of me already feels more comfortable here than I did back home.

Although that’s maybe because of the crazy good mattress on this bed. The White House money sure does have its perks.

Sometime during the night, I stir to feel another body slide into bed beside mine. David. I curl up closer to his warmth.

“I told you I’d be back,” he says quietly, wrapping me up in his arms. He’s naked, I realize.

The next few days pass by far too quickly.

With David by my side, being First Lady isn’t all too bad. The lessons in etiquette and manners and style that used to bore me silly now feel different. Everything I’m learning… I’m learning for him.

If I can help my President, I will. And if the best way for me to help him is to sit through hours of boring morning lectures?

I’ll do it.

“You’re looking more and more perfect with every day, darling,” Rosalie says one lunchtime, looking me up and down. “Do you have a new skincare routine? A new plastic surgeon?”

I poke the side of my face. There’s nothing plastic