Chapter 26
From the moment Fernando and I went public with our relationship, I knew it wouldn't be easy. What I didn't expect was just how suffocating it would become.
The love between us wasn't the problem. Quite the opposite.
I'd never felt so certain about anything as I did with him.
But for the party, for the political allies, for the journalists, for the analysts and specialists who now dissected my every move, it wasn't enough that Fernando was in love with me.
It wasn't enough that I was an intelligent woman with a solid career, with years of experience in the political trenches. For them, I needed to change.
“Glória, you understand that the governor's image is just as important as his actions, don't you?” The party president looked at me like he was explaining something to a child.
“I think voters care more about results than appearances,” I countered, crossing my arms.
He laughed. A humorless, mocking laugh.
“Ah, my dear… You're so naive. People want to believe in the illusion. They want a solid, reliable leader who seems stable in every area of life. And that includes his personal life.”
“Fernando and I are stable.”
“You're new. And new creates uncertainty. The last thing we want is a governor who looks like he's playing at romance while the state needs strong leadership.”
I wanted to laugh. Their audacity was something else.
“Fernando doesn't play at anything. He takes this government more seriously than anyone in here.”
“Then don't get in his way.”
The words came out firm and cold. I stared at the man in front of me, feeling my blood boil.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It's not a request, Glória. It's a warning. The party has strategies. You need to adapt to them.”
Adapt to them.
He spoke as if I were a chess piece. As if my role was to become something different, something molded to fit perfectly into their plans.
“So what do you want?”
“Rita was loved by the people. Discreet, elegant, traditional. She never gave anyone a reason to talk.”
“I'm not Rita.”
“But you can be a new version. A version the party can present as the perfect first lady.”
From that point on, the pressure only got worse.
???
Fernando was sitting on the bed, shirtless, going over some documents when I walked in.
“You're tense,” he said, not looking up from the paper.
“The party wants me to become a new Rita.”
He lowered the papers and looked at me.
“What?”
I threw myself into the armchair near the window, letting out a long sigh.
“They think my image needs to be molded. That I should be more modest, more discreet, more traditional.”
Fernando leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“And what do you think?”
“That I'm about to tell everyone to go to hell.”
He laughed, but his expression quickly turned serious.
“You don't need to change for anyone, Glória.”
“But I do, Fernando. Or at least that's what they want. You know that if I keep being… myself, I'll be torn apart. Have you seen the comments? The comparisons? Rita was the perfect wife. I'm the scandal.”
He stood up and came to me, kneeling at my side.
“You're the woman I love. That's all that matters to me.”
I wanted that to be enough. But we both knew it wasn't that simple.
“And what about the party? What about the voters?”
Fernando ran his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated.
“I hate this. I hate that they try to fit you into a mold. I hate that they think they can decide who you should be.”
“But they can. Or at least they'll try.”
He held my face between his hands.
“I don't want a new Rita. I want you.”
My heart clenched.
“But what about the governor of S?o Paulo? The politician? What does he want?”
Fernando took a deep breath, like the question had hit him right in the chest.
“The governor wants to win this war without losing you in the process.”
Those words stayed with me for days.
I didn't want to be molded. I didn't want to be the perfect first lady they expected. But I also didn't want to be the reason Fernando stumbled. I loved him too much for that.
And that was the crossroads I found myself at.
???
Over the next few weeks, my schedule was packed with “strategic” meetings with image consultants, behavior specialists, and communications advisors.
They wanted to teach me how to dress “appropriately.” To speak more softly. To smile less at journalists, to avoid “appearing frivolous.” They wanted me to tone down my political opinions. To stay away from controversial issues.
They wanted to turn me into an elegant, harmless accessory for the governor.
Fernando noticed what was happening.
“I don’t want you to turn into something you’re not,” he said as we had dinner at home, finally alone after a hellish day.
“But maybe I need to.”
He dropped his silverware on the table, staring at me indignantly.
“No. You need to be respected for the woman you are. I don’t want a porcelain wife, Glória.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
Fernando studied me for a moment before responding.
“We’re going to find a way to show that you don’t need to be Rita to be loved by the people.”
My throat tightened.
“And if they don’t accept that?”
He held my hand.
“Then they’ll have to learn.”
That night, we made love differently. There was urgency, but also a silent promise.
I still didn’t know how it would all end. But one thing was certain: I wouldn’t be molded.
And with Fernando by my side, I wouldn’t need to be.