FOURTEEN
E scaping the paparazzi wasn’t any easier this time. But with Rowan by my side, I felt a lot more empowered—and safe. Hell, I even smiled when someone called my name and I turned my face so they could take my picture. If this is my life now, might as well try to roll with it.
Rowan’s wide palm holds me close to his body as he leads us inside the White House, a trail of men in black suits following a few steps behind. I crook my neck upward to take in the white sandstone pillars, the perfect curves of the balconies, and the detailed garland decorations. It’s a massive structure, and I’ve only ever seen it on TV or from very far away.
To think I’m actually going inside, to visit the President and the First Lady while accompanied by the Commander of the Army is insane. What if I make a fool of myself? Or worse… what if I somehow embarrass him in front of them?
I almost trip on my heels before Rowan steadies me with a hand behind my lower back, flashing me a lazy smile. I look back at him for a brief secon d. He’s calm. Too calm for this.
“Rowan…” I start, the words stuck somewhere in my throat, unwilling to come out. But the look on his face tells me he already knows what’s on my mind. I love how well he knows me already.
He stops walking to stand in front of me, and everyone else follows suit.
I look around, feeling like I’m under a microscope as staff members buzz across the hallway, each doing their job.
“Lips,” he says, cupping my face and bringing it in toward his. I release a shallow breath, his forehead touching mine as I close my eyes, feeling safe in the small space he created between our bodies. “Give me your lips, pretty girl.”
I inch closer, our lips brushing each other before I press mine to his and I whimper into his mouth, inhaling his cologne and his warmth.
“Don’t even think about it. I brought you here so I can show off with you. There’s no possible way you can embarrass me. So show me your pretty smile, give me your hand, and let me introduce you to my friends. Yes?”
I nod, pursing my lips, with my eyebrows knitted in worry.
“Good girl,” he says, and we start walking again.
“Fucking hell.” Draven Grant—the Secretary of State—approaches with a file tucked under his armpit, hands in his pockets as he grins with perfectly white teeth. “Every time I see you, I ask myself, how is this bastard still alive?”
He laughs, and Rowan snorts playfully, shaking hands with him without letting go of mine.
“If you still have to ask yourself that, it means I haven’t given Maddox enough headaches this year. Guess I’ll fix that today,” Rowan says.
“Oh, believe me, the President has been stressed as fuck. Especially since he heard about the order you have over the prisoners from the Ridge. You’re a crazy son of a bitch.”
Rowan smirks. “It’s good to see you too. Dove, this is my good friend, Draven. He’s—”
“The Secretary of State,” I add, flashing him a smile. “Of course, I knew that. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
A pause, and then Rowan’s hand tenses on mine, as if I did something wrong. Fuck, did I? When I catch his gaze, his eyes are feral and his nostrils flared as he plasters a dark, knowing smile on his face.
“A pleasure indeed,” Draven chimes in, but doesn’t go past my face with his eyes. I take it as a sign of respect toward Rowan.
“Are they in there?” Rowan jerks his head to the doors leading into the Oval Office. I gulp, trying my hardest to smile and look perfect for him, even though my anxiety is through the roof right now.
“Mm-hmm,” Draven sighs. “I had to make sure twice they weren’t fucking last minute or… giving each other black eyes.”
“Now that would be a sight.”
Confusion coils around me at Draven’s words. Maddox and Camelia Thorne love each other. They’ve been America’s favorite couple ever since they got married last year, after Maddox’s ex-wife passed away. Why would Draven joke about them giving each other black eyes?
“This way, angel.” Rowan gets my attention, gently pulling me after him as someone opens doors to the Oval Office for us.
The first thing I see is the carpet, because looking straight ahead and meeting their faces is not as easy as I thought it’d be. So I look down at the famous Presidential carpet and at my heels stepping on it for the first time. Then I hear their voices—his, Rowan’s, and hers—before Rowan’s hand caresses the small of my back, and I regain my composure.
Icy blue eyes, collected and observing, stare back at me when I look up. I force a big smile, taken aback by how much more imposing Maddox Thorne is in real life. He’s huge—just as tall as Rowan, if I’m judging it right—maybe somewhere around six-foot-five. And with a lush mouth and a sharp jawline like that, it’s not hard to see how he won the hearts of millions of Americans at such a young age. He’s what… 36 now?
I relax a little when he smiles back, his features instantly warming up. Even the walls seemed to have breathed a sigh of relief for me.
“Thank God. Someone finally managed to tame Rowan,” the President smirks, his voice like the ebb and flow of ocean waves, powerful yet calming, with a rhythmic cadence that pulls you in and holds you captive.
To my surprise, I chuckle, and do the unimaginable—contradict him.
“I hate to disappoint, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon, Mr. President.”
A generous laugh approaching from behind him gets my attention. It sounds like the crackle of a cozy fireplace, warm and inviting, with a playful flicker that promises things you probably shouldn’t crave. Camelia Thorne—or Cam, as he calls her publicly, comes to the President’s side, arms crossed as she stares me down.
The tabloids almost don’t do her justice for how insanely gorgeous she is. It’s not even her wavy beach-blonde hair or the muted, ashy green color of her eyes that makes her so effortlessly chic and timeless. It’s the way she carries herself, with the calm and elegance of a feline who knows she has the claws and the fangs to kill if anything threatens her way of life.
It’s also the subtle ways she glances over at her husband with her thick web of long lashes—as if she loathes him, or loathes that she wants him so goddamn much.
She doesn’t brush her body against his when she stands next to him. If anything, she looks like she’s doing everything in her power not to touch him. But then the President looks back at her… and the tension between them bounces between the four of us. It keeps building and building, until my face heats up and I feel like I should give them the privacy they so desperately seem to need.
“Damn right,” Cam says, finally breaking her husband’s stare. “Rowan is a tough one to crack. Most of us have completely given up trying to fix him.”
“Nonsense.” Rowan waves a hand in the air, leading us both toward the couch. “You love me. There’s already a serious bastard among us.” He eyes the President. “Can’t have two people sitting in the same chair, now, can we?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Maddox rolls his eyes, and the two of them take their own seats across from us. “This job is stressful enough as it is. Convincing you not to kill people is, to be exact.”
“It had to be done, and you know it.”
“Word could still get out.”
“That’s why you have a whole PR department at your fingertips.”
“It’s not”—the President sighs—“that easy.”
“When was anything easy about what we do?”
The President and the Commander of his Army stare each other down, while Cam and I look between them. I hold my breath under the tension, while she seems to hold back from snorting. Then she glances over at me and mouths the word “typical.” I purse my lips, relaxing a little.
“So…” I say, getting their attention, “how was your trip to Vermont? I saw it on the news.”
Cam laughs, leaning back on the couch with her legs crossed. “I like you. You seem quiet and reserved, but you’ve got a fire in you of sorts. We’re going to be friends.”
“We are?” I ask, surprised she likes me so much.
“She’s already decided it, so yes, I’m afraid you two are going to be friends,” Rowan says, narrowing his eyes at her. She responds by plastering a Cheshire smile on her lips.
We talk and eat lunch for a full hour. They both ask about my job, my life, and my life with Rowan. I try to ask questions of my own—though it’s hard to come up with any when most of their lives are so public all the time. Either way, I’m honestly having a pretty good time, considering all the nerves I had earlier.
For some reason, I noticed that Cam keeps touching her necklace whenever the President touches her in any way, shape, or form. I wish we could talk about it—she seems like a genuinely great person, and I hope she meant it when she said she wanted to be friends.
“Cam, why don’t you take Dove and show her around? Maybe take her to the rose garden, or the Vermeil room?” The President—I mean, Maddox , as he asked to be called—tells her, his hand sliding up and down her bare leg. Goosebumps pebble her skin wherever he touches, and both her cheeks are blood-red. I also could’ve sworn her legs parted slightly for him, but I could be wrong.
“Great idea.” She clears her throat, jolting upright from the couch. “Come on, Dove. It’s about to get really depressing in here.”
I look back at Rowan, feeling a bit anxious about leaving his side in the White House. But he nods softly, silently telling me it’s going to be all right.
“What do you mean?” I ask her, but Rowan answers instead.
“Just war stuff, angel. Go on. Have fun. I’ll come and get you when I’m done.”
I get up and follow Cam outside, feeling both Rowan’s and Maddox’s eyes on us.
“Cam?” Maddox asks, and she halts, lifting her brows at him.
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“Behave,” he smiles calmly. “Or be prepared for consequences. Up to you.”
Her nostrils flare in response, but she forces a smile before we both exit the room.
I’m sprawled on a chair in an empty salon three blocks away from the White House, where the First Lady and I are getting our nails done. After whatever subtext Maddox gave her earlier, she wanted to do the exact opposite of what he asked—to not behave. Which for her meant getting out of the White House and enjoying the day with her new friend. Me.
Security already cleared the place for her and surrounded the building, so we’re as safe as we’d be anywhere else, she said. I personally don’t feel threatened—after all, I still go about my day-to-day life outside of the White House. It’s her I’m worried about. But if she says it’s fine, then…
“Fired your bodyguard? That’s pretty tame,” Cam tells me after I confessed the reason I was mad at Rowan earlier. “You should see the things Maddox does. He’s infuriating .”
“Is he? You can’t really tell. He looks… friendly.”
She sighs, inspecting the polished nails on her free hand. “Yeah, well, that’s his superpower. Everyone just loooves Maddox. I mean, look at this country. Zelda,” she addresses the woman doing her nails, “don’t you love your president?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Ah, but maybe you’re just saying that because I’m here,” Cam concludes, looking away.
“No, ma’am. He’s done good things for our country.”
“See?” Cam shakes her head at me, exasperated. “What did I tell you?”
I stifle a laugh, while silently thanking my manicurist for finishing off my second coat of polish.
“You have to give me something,” I tell Cam. “What does Maddox do that Rowan doesn’t?”
Cam clears her throat and points at the necklace she’s wearing when the manicurists aren’t looking. It’s tight on her neck, almost too tight, and looks like a choker of sorts. An odd choice for the First Lady, one would say. Then again, Camelia Thorne is loved by this country for her eccentric personality.
“A collar,” she mouths silently.
I gape, taken aback by the confession. A… collar?
The two women get up from their stations and clear the room for us, letting us wait for the polish to dry.
“Maddox and I have a… complicated relationship. It’s not what you see on the news,” she tells me, still in a quiet voice.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear. Again, you…”
“You can’t really tell?” she finishes the sentence for me. “Pretending is part of the job. It’s what we do.”
“You don’t love him?”
An intrusive question, no doubt. I won’t be surprised if she chooses not to answer.
“I… it’s complicated. Our marriage was very practical to begin with. It pissed my father off. And that’s what we both wanted. Look, I don’t know how much Rowan told you about our world, but there’s probably something you should know.”
“He told me bits and pieces. He told me what really happened to my brother, Cole.”
“I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
“It’s okay,” I smile. “It’s not easy, but I think it’s time I finally moved on.”
Cam bites her lower lip, looking down into her lap as if she’s deciding whether to keep going or not. But then she looks back up, and the words coming out of her mouth are not what I expected to hear today.
Or any other day, for that matter.
“My father was the one who gave the order to kill your brother. He’s the leader of the Echelons of the Free World.”