Commander in Chief

And how I love the expressions on their faces as Matt leans forward into the mic at the podium at the end of the room. “Whoever painted the first lady,” he says, winking, “good job.”

I laugh and he walks over, leans over to the little girl, and assures her, “She looks even more beautiful than she did this morning.” He takes the napkin from me and wipes off the paint, smiling.

We look at each other over the children. Both of us thinking there will be one of ours here before we know it.

30

CROWDS

Matt

“My intention to pass a carbon tax for all carbon emissions is unwavering. The very air we breathe has been polluted for years. That’s not happening anymore.”

“Mr. President.” Coin is at the door, interrupting my session with one of my advisors. “There’s been an incident.”

He leads me to the adjoining room and turns on the TV.

I watch Charlotte walk out of the Virginia elementary school to a crowd of reporters and fans, the Secret Service struggling to keep the area secure.

A little boy tries to break through the security line. He’s pushed back, falls, and the line breaks, the crowd engulfing Charlotte.

I see her duck protectively over the little boy that fell, while Stacey fights to open up room to pull her out of there.

“Where is she now?” My tone sounds menacing, even to me.

I lost my father—in the blink of a second.

I see the pool of blood. Hear the damn phone call. See the damn news all over again. Feel the damn loss.

“On her way, sir,” Wilson tells me after checking into his speaker.

“I want to see her when she gets in.”

I head back to the Oval and stare down at my desk, clenching my hands together as I try to breathe. I’ll lose my shit if I ever lose her. I’ll lose my shit if anything happens to her or our children. I spot the FBI file for my father. A reminder of how justice hasn’t been served to one out of hundreds of thousands of evildoers in this country. I grab the file and toss it into my drawer, the frustration of Charlotte being careless suddenly getting to me too fucking much.

Charlotte

Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen.

I’m still in shock over the number of people coming to my visits. It seems the crowds only keep growing, their obsession with me nearly rivaling their obsession with Matt.

“Charlotte, please, a picture with me!”

“Charlotte, would you please intercede for my boy, he was suspended—”

“Charlotte, do you know what you’ll be having?”

I’m heading back to the White House, and a doctor is tending to some scrapes on my arm in the back of the state car. I caused them myself. Well, maybe. A little boy—he couldn’t have been more than four—was getting trampled as he tried to reach me, and I threw myself forward to try to protect him.

I’ve already been scolded by Stacey and the rest of my detail, the men shooting each other concerned looks, and I’ve already heard them speaking into their mics. Explaining what happened to the president.

The fact that this has already reached Matt’s ear and possibly worried him makes me feel worse about it all.

I’m exhausted when we get back to the White House. I reach my room and remove my pumps, exchanging them for a pair of pretty ballerina flats, and the floor is quiet—except for the staff. I find myself heading to the West Wing.

I just have to see him. I crave him like air. He’s the anchor that holds me down in this new and frightening, exhilarating experience, and he’s the reason I want to do better than well. He’s the reason I even have this opportunity in the first place.

I also want him to know I’m fine.

Dale Coin intercepts me on the way to the Oval Office entrance.

“Charlotte. I want to touch on the fact that the president is taking no prisoners during this administration—”

“Coin.” The word is bit out from the door.

The command makes Dale stop speaking—both our eyes flying to Matt, standing at the door of the Oval.

My heart stops when I notice the steely admonishment in his eyes that he sends his chief of staff’s way, as if he has no right to talk to me like that.

I think my knees are knocking together, or maybe it’s my heart.

I’ve never seen Matthew angry. Not really angry. Not like this.

Dale nods at him and whispers to me apologetically, “The president has enemies. All focused on finding his weakness.”

Matt’s vexation is so evident, I can feel it like a tumultuous ripple in the air, though he fights to keep it under control as he waits until Dale Coin moves away from me.

I glance at Matt. Stare at his tie and the thick column of his throat as I walk inside. I close the door behind me as Matt rounds his desk, then leans forward, his arms braced on the desktop as his eyes meet mine disparagingly and he slowly rips out the words, “You’re my first lady. You cannot act like you’re a normal twenty-three-year-old out there. You can’t risk your safety. You will NOT risk your safety. Do you understand me, Charlotte?”

His stare drills into me, and we stare at each other across the ringing silence.

“Matt, he was getting crushed. He was just a boy trying to give me a drawing he made for me.”

He grits his jaw so tight, I can see a muscle flexing angrily in the back, his glare burning through me. “You want to make your mark and I’m proud of you for that,” he growls, clearly struggling for control. “But for all that’s holy, baby, do not ever—ever—put yourself in danger again. Do you fucking hear me?”