Epilogue
Grant
I’ve been back in DC for a few hours since the whole Miami ordeal, and I can’t stop thinking about what Hannah Henderson said.
I have to get married.
I see it clearly now, and my team just confirmed the news.
I say, “Say that again.”
Corbin clears his throat. “You’re behind in the polls, sir.”
“I heard that part. What did you say after that?”
Corbin glances at Somya. Oh, he’s going to make her say it?
Somya pushes her dark hair behind her ear. “Sir, it’s because you’re single. Senator Ryans is married and has been married for years.”
“And everyone in DC knows it’s a fucking sham.”
She doesn’t flinch at my outburst. “Sham or not, he’s managed to keep his extramarital affairs hidden, so, to the public, he appears more stable. We think you should consider an arranged marriage. Something where both parties understand what’s at stake and understand it’s just business.”
This isn’t the first time this has been suggested to me, but I’ve always been able to shut it down. For some reason, I get the feeling it will not be as easy this time. Because, to some extent, the polls are right. Americans think a married family man is to be trusted.
“Let me hear them.”
“Sir?”
“Your ideas. I’m sure you have some. Or names?”
Somya blinks rapidly, as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing.
Finally, she says, “We have a list of exes that would be appropriate to approach. Lana Lovelace. Penelope Nathanson. Angela Whitmore.”
Is it terrible that I don’t remember any of those women? Lana maybe stands out, but I might be mistaking her for someone else.
I sigh. “Set up meetings with each of them. And any other potential candidate that you find worthy.”
Somya blinks again. “Are you sure, sir?”
“Positive.”
“I’ll have meetings set up by tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
Both leave my office, closing the door behind them.
I cross the room to the dry bar, pouring myself three fingers of whisky.
Fuck.
This is really happening.
My phone rings, and I glance at the screen.
As if this day could get any worse…
“This is Carter.”
“Carter,” Blanc greets. “How is your evening going?”
“It’s been eventful, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“I have heard, which is why I’m calling. Zhāng is dead. Congratulations, Elite Member Carter. Your induction is in one week.”
Fuck.
“Also, while I have you on the phone, it’s time for you to find a wife. And I have just the person in mind.”
Double fuck.
“Who?” I rasp.
“Greer Blanc, my cousin.”
Triple fuck.