Chapter 9 Selene
SELENE
Tedious.
That’s the only word that can be used to describe the evening thus far.
Though I’m sure I’m the only person who would refer to it that way because everyone else seems to be having a lovely time.
Laughter is constant interruption in the flow of conversation and tinkling of silverware as the hundreds of people—politicians, celebrities and titans of industry—in the tent erected on the South Lawn enjoy course after course of lavish dishes inspired by our guests’ home country.
The food has been the highlight of my night, and I’ve found myself mentally deconstructing every dish placed in front of me while Aubrey and President Tao bounce from subject to subject with little to no input from anyone at the table besides Aubrey’s VP, Torrance Belford, and Cordelia.
Currently, they’re discussing how the war in Iraq impacted Singapore’s economy while I try to determine what exactly Chef Bloom used in the sticky glaze coating the succulent meat of the mud crab I’ve just devoured.
“Kecap manis,” a soft voice says from across the table.
I look up to find First Lady Hana Tao watching me. Heat sweeps across my cheeks, and I wonder if it’s bad form for me to have left the responsibility of starting a conversation in the hands of a guest. “I’m sorry?”
“Kecap manis,” she repeats, gesturing to her plate. “It’s a soy sauce sweetened with palm sugar. That’s what makes the glaze so good.”
“Oh!” I force a smile, searching for more to say. “I’m sure the chef will be happy to hear you’ve enjoyed his version of the dish.”
“It was a little spicy for my taste,” Anne Belford adds, sliding her plate over to her husband.
Torrance spares her a sidelong glance but doesn’t engage, continuing to give his attention to the world leaders who are giving him a rare bit of space to voice his thoughts on President Tao’s reluctance to commit to a formal alliance with the U.S.
Anne’s unwelcome contribution to the conversation kills the First Lady’s desire to continue engaging, which is just as well because I had nothing more to say.
The rest of dinner passes in a silence that’s not exactly comfortable but is definitely preferable to the alternative, and I’m glad when we all have to move to the less formal portion of the evening even though the shift means having to dance with Aubrey.
Every eye in the building is on us as he moves me around the parquet wood that makes up the dance floor in front of the stage where moments ago he gave a welcome speech.
Flashes of lights from numerous cameras throughout the room blind me, but I know better than to blink, than to do anything but smile.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Aubrey whispers, his lips too close to my ear and his breath too warm. “I’ve always loved you in red.”
“Don’t talk to me.”
His hands travel down my back, stopping just above my ass. “It’s a simple compliment, Selene. I know you’re not well versed in the art of social interactions, but when someone pays you a compliment, you’re supposed to say thank you.”
My spine stiffens. “Your first mistake is assuming I want to hear you speak at all let alone desire a compliment from you.”
He laughs, playing it up for the cameras and the crowd by tossing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. When he’s done, he presses his temple back to mine.
“Would you rather hear it from them?” he purrs, condescension coating the words.
“Absolutely because unlike you they never say anything they don’t mean.”
Feeling the weight of that truth, I force myself to focus on something other than the way my gut is churning because of Aubrey’s proximity, finding Cordelia in the crowd with a phone to her ear and her face screwed up into a mask of frustration.
Aubrey scoffs. “Didn’t mean it when they said they loved you, though, did they?”
This is his favorite thread to pull. The insult he always goes to.
The one that doesn’t sting nearly as much as he wants it to because it offers the reassurance I can’t find in his brooding stares or fake smiles.
Relief is a victorious trickle down my throat and into the pit of my stomach where the constant worry that the truth of my reconciliation with Cal and Beck has been revealed lives.
“Did you?” I toss back just as the song ends.
The opening chords of the Marine Band’s next selection start almost immediately, leaving little time for me to spin out of Aubrey’s arms and into those of President Tao who, unlike my husband, seems reluctant to let his wife go.
He watches her and Aubrey closely, barely sparing me a glance even as he maneuvers us around the dance floor with ease.
“You must think me terribly rude,” he muses after a full minute of silence. Since he’s a few inches shorter than me, I have to look down to meet his eyes.
“Not at all, Mr. President.”
“Hana always gets nervous when she’s left alone to deal with unfamiliar men,” he explains, splitting his attention between his wife and me.
Since he doesn’t seem to need an actual response from me, I hum an acknowledgment and turn my attention back to the room, hoping to find Cordelia somewhere in the crowd.
Just as I find her—in a corner arguing with a distressed-looking Jordan—President Tao whirls me around.
“You don’t seem to share my beloved’s fear.”
“Are you someone I need to be afraid of?” I ask with an arched brow.
“Certainly not, Mrs. Taylor.” Eyes the color of coal dance with humor and a hint of something close to cruelty. “I simply thought you’d be more wary of strange men after your unfortunate experience during the election.”
It’s probably the clumsiest segue I’ve encountered yet, but I know an attempt to transition into questions about my kidnapping when I see one. Since I’m not feeling particularly chatty tonight, I play dumb.
“I’m not sure what experience you’re referring to.”
People have this funny way of painting you as the asshole when they’re trying to fish for information they aren’t entitled to and you make them do all the heavy lifting. President Tao, who I’m sure is used to getting exactly what he wants before he even asks for it, is unfortunately no different.
“Your experience with Jacob Marsh, of course.”
“Oh, you mean when I was abducted, beaten, berated and almost executed on national television? That experience?”
His jaw unhinges, opening and closing as he flounders for a response.
I don’t wait for him to find it, choosing instead to halt my steps and leave him with no choice but to do the same.
I’m aware of the cameras on us, capturing a moment that will surely be on the nightly news and in the morning paper with God only knows what kind of headlines, but I don’t care.
“Jacob Marsh didn’t make me afraid of men, Mr. President.
Like your beloved, I learned to be afraid of them as a young girl.
I was warned about the kind man, the honorable man, the man who believes himself good even when his actions say otherwise.
The man who would drag someone else’s trauma out into the light for his own dark entertainment and play victim when confronted with the ugliness of what he’s asked for.
That is the kind of man I’m wary of, and as I’m sure Hana can tell you, those men aren’t always strangers.
Oftentimes, they’re familiar. Husbands. Fathers.
Elected officials who depend on their power to give them a pass. ”
I step back, forcing him to relinquish his hold as a million flashes erupt around us. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not in the mood to hand out any of those tonight.”
Knowing I’ve ruined something that can’t be fixed or smoothed over if I’m around, I make a beeline for the exit, ignoring the appalled looks and murmurs rippling through the crowd as I pass by.
My first full breath doesn’t come until I’m at the end of the long entryway that leads into the tent.
The sweet, fragrant smell of grass from the perfectly manicured South Lawn tickles my nostrils, and I gulp down greedy lung fulls as I step into the warm night.
I should stop here, should wait for Agent Shaw or Morgan or someone else from my detail to catch up with me, but I keep moving, wandering aimlessly until I’m standing in front of the entrance to the Oval that’s being guarded by the only faces I actually want to see tonight.
Beck spots me first, brows wrinkled in confusion as he steps away from his post.
“What are you doing here?”
Cal is next, moving out of the shadows and into the light to give me the gift of his adoring, yet worried, gaze. “What happened? Where’s Shaw?”
“I don’t know, and nothing happened. I just—”
It’s been so long since I’ve found myself alone with both of them, I can’t seem to string a coherent sentence together. Everything in me is screaming for their touch, pleading for their kiss, demanding I close the space between us immediately.
And that’s what I do.
I grab Beck’s hand, squeezing his fingers tight as I walk towards Cal and bring him with me.
Cal’s arms open instantly, and I can’t tell if I’ve collided with him or if he’s used the vice grip he has on my waist to yank me into him.
It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that the hard lines of his body are pressed against my front while Beck’s heat melts me from behind.
“You can’t be here,” Cal murmurs, his lips grazing mine in a ghost of a kiss.
I rise up on my tiptoes, chasing his mouth. “But I am.”
Beck’s hands are layered over Cal’s at my waist. He’s linked their fingers together, so I’m locked in an impossible strong hold I never want to be free from. My heart slams against my ribcage, joy singing through my blood at the layered contact. This is all I ever want. They are all I ever want.