“Oh, Mrs. Hamilton, Junior’s with his dad, I think.”
“Where?”
“The West Wing.”
I head over and greet Portia, worried Matty may be giving her trouble, but she merely grins and motions to the door. “You’ll find them both there, Mrs. Hamilton. Also, Alison is on her way—oh, there she is. The president wanted a family picture today.”
I just grin, amused, and step into the Oval Office. And there he is, the Ruler of the Modern World, looking out the window, arms crossed, but he uncrosses them as he turns. He sets his hands on the desk before him, arms spread wide, his gaze unflinching and uncompromising—the gaze of the most powerful man in the world. He smiles at me.
I shut the door.
I clear my throat, my lips curving. “Mr. President.”
“Mrs. Hamilton.” He starts to round the desk.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where a rather restless, very handsome young boy went? I can’t find him anywhere.”
Smiling, he shakes his head and lets his eyes fall to his desk.
Alison is suddenly behind me, her camera flashing as Matt Jr. peeks from under the desk saying, “Boo!”
“Matt, get out from under your father’s desk,” I chide.
Alison snaps a few pictures.
“But I don’t want to. It’s my special hiding place,” Matt Jr. says.
“We’ll make a tent in your room, or in the Red Room—no, the Blue Room. We’ll make you the perfect hiding place there.”
“But Dad won’t be there. It’s no fun without Dad.”
Matthew laughs and I roll my eyes. “Were you this difficult?”
“Not nearly,” he says, glancing at me, his smile fading.
He looks at my mouth, and I realize that I’m gnawing my lower lip. He leans his dark sable head to me as he brushes his thumb over my lip to make me release it. “I want to kiss that lovely lip.”
I ease back to look at him. “You’re kissing me with your eyes,” I whisper.
“To hell with it. My mouth is jealous.” He laughs.
He grabs my face and kisses me. It’s a quick, dry kiss, PG-13 rated rather than a triple-X kiss, but Matty grins and raises his arms so that we’ll scoop him up. Matt scoops him up in his arm and tells Alison, “Catch him while he’s still,” and Alison is grinning as she starts clicking.
“Jack, come here, boy.” Matt whistles to Jack, and I’m shocked to see him crawl out from under the desk too.
“Oh my goodness.” I laugh now, and as Jack sits before us, we all turn to Alison’s camera lens.
Matthew’s lips are curled in a sly grin, little Matt is smirking just like his father does, and I’m blushing—still because of this man, after all these years. No, we don’t live in a fairy-tale world, but between all the bad things, there are these moments, these people, these glimpses of who we are—good. Who we love. How hard. How true. Which is why we cling to every reminder of that good to steer us back, to find the path to where we want to go. Where we deserve to be. Happy. Free. And loved.