2. Anastasia
Anastasia
THREE YEARS LATER
T he last year of university should be devoted to studies, having fun with peers—the final push before we’re thrown into the world.
Not for me. My father is a senator in the upcoming presidential election that is about to bulldoze my life.
Dramatic, maybe. But it means more public appearances and people might start to recognize me.
For someone who hates attention, I won’t deny, the thought of moving states and adopting a temporary alias is appealing.
“He’s kind of hot,” my best friend Riley says, leaning against my long window frame.
I know she’s eye-fucking the new security guard my dad is seeing out since I refused to. The idea is ridiculous—that he would assign me a personal guard to follow me at school, out shopping, everywhere!
“Stop lusting after him.” I scowl, picking up a small cushion and throwing it at her. “He’s not going to be around for long.”
“I don’t know, Ana. Your dad sounded very stern on the need for one. And after hearing all his reasons, I can’t say I don’t agree the protection is a good idea.”
“Don’t side with him!”
Riley holds up her hands. “There’s a lot of creeps and bad people out there! Once you start becoming a public figure there will always be a risk to you. Politics is not an amateur’s game.”
I groan, flopping onto my bed. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t the daughter of a hopeful new president. That I was no one at all.
“I don’t like him,” I mutter, recalling the guard I met named Victor. He was handsome, I guess, with dark brown hair and eyes to match, an easy kind of attractive, and only six years older than me at thirty so he wouldn’t look so out of place on campus. How considerate of my father.
“What is there not to like?” Riley asks, throwing herself down next to me. We stare at the red velvet canopy of my four-poster bed.
“He just felt . . . weird.”
“You felt him?”
My cheeks flush. “I don’t mean like that. I just ... I can’t explain it.”
It’s probably irrational. Simply my bitterness not letting me see anything nice about him.
“It’s only until your father is in office, right? You might get to ditch him for the last semester.”
So six months of being awkwardly trailed by some secret service guy. Great.
“Anastasia, can you come speak to your father, please?” my mom calls through the door.
My eyes pinch shut with a moan.
“I should be getting home anyway,” Riley says, slinging her satchel over her body. “We have that summer assignment due.”
“That paper was optional for extra credit.” Something I quickly decided I’d forgo to spare the suffering. “And don’t pretend like you haven’t already finished it.” I smirk, following her out my room.
“It needs revising,” she argues.
Riley is top of our class in postgrad English literature. She’s incredibly smart and an invaluable hand to hold while I’ve struggled through many of our classes over the years. Literature wasn’t my first choice, but my parents never supported music as a real opportunity beyond high school.
“You mean you need to make sure it’ll pass with a higher mark than Nolan Flynn,” I tease, pushing her arm.
The name triggers a furrow of her brow that’s more adorable than menacing on her delicate face.
With blonde hair and moss-green eyes, she’s so beautiful that even after five years of friendship I’m often in awe of her.
My hair is a chestnut shade of brown, but my eyes of bright hazel are my most complimented feature.
“He surpassed me the last two papers of the year,” she grumbles.
I find their rivalry highly amusing. It’s a silent kind of classroom battle where it’s like they’ve both pinned each other as their competitor, but they rarely speak a word to the other.
“You should just fuck him and get your frustrations out already,” I say, smiling deviously at her open-mouthed shock and flushed cheeks.
“I would rather fail a whole semester.”
I gasp. “Wow, your competitiveness runs deep. It would make for great sex.”
Riley whacks me with her satchel and we both burst into laughter. Until we come to the grand foyer, where a glance sideways at my father’s office sours my mood.
“You should take your own advice,” Riley says low, mindful of the passing staff. “Take your frustrations out on your new guard. What a scandal you would incite.”
I roll my eyes, pushing her out the door. “I’d rather get blackout drunk and end up dancing on some sleazy bar top.”
Riley giggles as she leaves, and my mood plummets the moment she’s gone.
I drag my feet to my father’s ridiculously large and lavish office.
Though it’s nothing compared to the Oval Office he’s said to be the favorite of the presidential candidates to be instated in this election.
My hands wring together at the thought of moving.
I decide I’ll get my own apartment when that happens.
I love our home, but I hate all kinds of formal political appearances and I’ve avoided them as much as I can throughout his campaigns.
They’ll be unavoidable if he becomes president.
“Anastasia, thank you for coming.” My father greets me warmly, pushing up from his tall leather seat.
I gravitate toward him, naturally stepping into his waiting arms as he kisses my head. My relationship with him is perfect, and despite my own feelings I’m so proud of him for coming close to achieving his dream.
I realize we aren’t alone when he releases me. My father’s close friend and business partner, Gregory Forbes, is seated on one of the side sofas. He’ll be vice president if my father takes office. Instinctively I survey the room as if I’ll find his son.
“Liam is in the games room.” Gregory smiles at my observation as he stands, buttoning his suit jacket.
“Our visit is short. We were just discussing the final security measures for the both of you. Things are about to get a lot of more intense with paparazzi and tabloids for the big run of the campaign.”
I almost smirk, imagining Liam putting up even more of a protest than I am.
“I just wanted to let you know that Agent Victor Ross will be starting next week,” my father informs me.
“Semester doesn’t start for another two weeks,” I argue.
“I think it’s in your best interests to get aquatinted before then. Get used to his presence.”
I can’t hide the line of protest on my face, but my father only smiles at it. I won’t get myself out of this one. Even the agent’s name sounds old, strange. All I can hope is we’ll work out some agreement that he’ll stay the hell away from me and make himself invisible.
“Is that all?” I ask.
“Yes, darling. Dinner is at six o’clock with the Van Der Laizes, remember.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off as I leave through the side door.
When I get to the games room Liam is lining up his next pool shot.
“Playing against yourself is just sad,” I say, heading for the other pool cue.
He sinks his shot with ease. “What’s sad is our fathers believing we’re incapable of protecting ourselves.”
I huff in agreement, deciding to aim for the stripes. There are more of them, but he didn’t give himself too much of a lead.
“Any plans on how to ditch the bodyguards? Run them out of their jobs? I can be down for some criminal activity to make them quit.”
Liam chuckles, running a hand through his black hair that often falls over his eyes when it isn’t formally styled.
Paired with his deep green eyes and tall, strong physique, he’s any woman’s dream.
I tried flirting with him once, but it was then I learned he’s hung up on someone he refuses to speak about.
“I have a hit man set up already,” he says, sinking another ball and lining up for a second shot.
“Ironic. That protecting you from an assassination will make them a target.”
He gives a wicked side-smile as he straightens.
It doesn’t last long. His smiles never do, and often his eyes are disconnected, distant, when he thinks no one is looking.
I know he doesn’t have the best relationship with his father.
When I see them together Liam’s posture always changes—it’s straighter, firmer .
.. as if one wrong slouch will disappoint his father.
I’ve known Gregory for a few years now. To me he’s kind and generous, but never have I seen him display that side of his personality to Liam. His son has never liked to talk about him.
The clack of the white ball hitting my shot breaks the silence, and I smile in victory when it sinks. I survey for my next, saying, “What do you need one for anyway? You don’t get up to much.”
“I’m leaving for New York. He’s sending two guards with me.”
I lean on my pool cue with the weight of sadness. Liam’s company can be prickly—he’s often sarcastic and grumpy—but he’s familiar. One of the very few friends I have.
“What are you going there for?” I quiz.
He looks hesitant to tell me the truth, and that only twists inside of me.
Liam shrugs. “Work stuff for the campaign. I won’t know specifics until I get there.”
It seems too vague, but I know his tells by now, and pushing him on it will only turn him guarded.
“Maybe I can ditch this postgrad year and come with you,” I say wistfully.
“No,” he says too sharply, but he wipes it from his expression. “You’re too smart to throw all you’ve worked for away. Your parents would lose their minds.”
They would never allow it, but I’m a grown adult at twenty-four and they never let me feel the independence of one.
“Why does that sound like motivation?” I sigh.
We share laughter and then lose ourselves for a while in the game of pool that evens out, right before we compete to sink the black and Liam ultimately wins.
We’re on our second glass of whiskey stolen from my father’s cabinet.
Liam’s older than me at twenty-six, and it isn’t that we’re not legally allowed to drink, but daytime drinking is frowned upon by our parents as if we’re still minors.
“So much for not being here for long,” Liam says, now reclining effortlessly on an armchair. His white button-down shirt is open at the first few holes, tucked into expensive tailored pants.
He’s dressed smart-casual while I’m lounging in leggings and an oversize white jumper, my hair pulled into a messy bun. I needed to shower and dress for dinner soon since we’re to host one of the wealthy families endorsing my father’s election.
“When do you leave for New York?” I ask, swinging my legs from my perch on the pool table.
“Next week,” he says, eyes casting off to the side as if he’s traveling there this very moment.
“You have to send pictures,” I gush. I’ve never been to New York and I can’t deny I’m envious of his trip.
“I’ll try.”
“That doesn’t sound promising. Of course, you’ll forget about me the moment you’re out there with all the freedom and parties and women while I’m here under lockdown.”
“That’s an exaggeration for me and dramatic for you,” he muses.
I release a long sigh, taking another drink of whiskey. It burns, pinching my face on its way down down my throat. When the door swings open I push the glass behind me discreetly. I don’t expect Liam’s older brother to wander through.
Liam straightens in his seat, tracking his brother, who keeps his sights on me as though I’m the only one here.
“Hey, Ana,” Matthew greets.
I can never be sure what it is about Matthew Forbes that makes me uncomfortable. He’s always been kind, harmless. Yet I’m always glad we’ve never been alone in a room together.
“Are you shipping off to New York too?” I ask him.
He comes around, leaning on the pool table to face me. “I’ll be traveling back and forth for a while.”
The conversation turns tense, or maybe it’s the air charging that makes my skin prick.
“I should get ready for dinner,” I say, hopping off the table, but I don’t want to leave Liam alone.
Matthew reaches for my glass with a finger of whiskey left. He drinks it unashamedly, keeping his brown eyes on me.
Liam looks like their father, but Matthew, I assume, must take after their mother, with the same deep red hair. If I didn’t know them, I wouldn’t guess they were brothers from how different they are.
Liam stands then, clearing his throat. “I’m sure we’re just about to leave.”
Matthew sets down my glass, casting his brother a bored look, and I don’t know why it flares in me. Like he’s always seen his younger brother as lesser when it is so far from the truth.
“Let’s go, son,” Gregory interrupts from behind me.
Even I tense at the intrusion. I can’t explain the dynamic between the Forbes, but what I do feel is protective of Liam when it’s as if his father has always favored his older brother. I can’t fathom why.
Liam only nods, casting me a smile, but it isn’t like those he gives when we’re alone. As he heads out the door without another word, Matthew pauses close to me.
“It was good to see you, Anastasia,” he says, and I think it’s my own discomfort that hears something seductive in it.
Blowing out a breath of held tension when I’m alone, I head to my room. Next week will be the end of my unsurveilled freedom, and if I’m going to suffer, misery loves company, and this guard isn’t getting an easy job.