Mr. President

“Thank you; that means a lot coming from you. I’ve learned a lot these past months.” I hesitate at the door, but then return to give him a hug. “Thank you for taking a chance on me, inexperience and all.”

“Well, you’re only inexperienced once, and now you’re no longer.” He smiles at me with the most fondness I’ve seen yet as he takes my letter from his desk and slips it onto the top of a pile in the right drawer.

“We’ll handle it discreetly,” he says. “Rhonda can be scheduler. We’ll say you decided to continue working and making a difference at Women of the World.”

“Thank you, and don’t worry about me talking to the media,” I say as I head to the door, suddenly overwhelmed with grief. I pack my stuff only after everyone leaves the building so there are no questions asked of me that I can’t answer.

I can’t believe I’m quitting on him. I can’t believe I won’t be able to stay and see this through. Everything I wanted to do has now been reduced to the fact that I do better by quitting? I’m disappointed that I let my own selfish emotions get in the way. But I can’t regret the time I spent with him.

I head to Matt’s desk and remove the pin that I always wear. The pin commemorating my favorite president, one I’m waiting for his son to replace. I set it on his desk and hope he knows it means . . .

Well, that it means I’m leaving because I care.

That night, I do what my mother has been aching for me to do. I pack a bag and head over to sleep at my parents’ place. When she comes into my room, there’s a long silence between us.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

I shake my head. A tear slips down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away. I shrug and look out the window, holding back the other tears.

She quietly comes over and embraces me in her warm arms. “You’re doing what you need to do. Politics are not for the faint of heart,” she reassures me. I know that she knows I fell in love with him. She saw it coming and warned me from the start.

“I know.” I nod. “I know, which is why I never really wanted to dive in until . . . well, until him.”

“You did the right thing.” She squeezes my shoulder. “So many careers around politics have been ruined by scandal and—”

“I need your help. Please. What do I do? I just don’t . . . I don’t want to be in love with him forever.”

“Nothing, Charlotte. You go on as if nothing happened. On Monday, you go back to Women of the World. You smile, you think of others, you forget about this, you forget about him. Did you two . . .”

I can’t speak it out loud, how powerless I was during moments when all I wanted was Matt’s arms around me and nothing else.

During one of our more comfortable talks during all these months of campaigning, Matt once told me a lie marks you forever with the public. You cannot lie, not ever. Twist the truths, maybe, play around with words . . . but a lie, never.

I left so he wouldn’t have to lie about me.

When my mother leaves, I take an extra-long bath in my old bathroom, then I climb into my warmest pajamas and get into bed. The same bed where I first fantasized about Matthew Hamilton.

I’m so confused, I feel heavy, as if the world’s hate is already on my shoulders.

“Here, kitty,” I call to my cat.

Doodles is a ball of white fur curled up on the windowsill. She doesn’t move from her spot.

“What? Are you going to give me the silent treatment because I was away for so long? Oh, come on, Doodles, I need a hug right now.”

No response.

I hug my pillow, and eventually feel my cat join me in the bed in the middle of the night, when I’m still awake, staring out that same window.

Mother thought it best I wait it out a week before returning to work, just in case any press comes knocking on our office doors. She wants to protect me from that, and I want to protect Matt from that, so I agree.

That night, we’re having dinner—my father, my mother, and me.

“I think you should move back in with us for a while. Until all this settles down.”

“There’s no dust to settle.” I shake my head firmly at my mom. “I’ll go back to my place tomorrow.”

By the time we reach dessert, I check the time again.

“Is there somewhere you need to be, Charlotte?” my father asks. He sounds terribly exasperated.

“Not me, Matt,” I absently answer as I head over to the television in the living room. “There’s this speaking engagement tonight. I’m sure it’ll be televised.”

I grab the remote on top of the TV and skim through the channels. Carlisle appears onscreen, standing there instead of Matt.

“Apologies, friends and supporters, tonight Matt needed to cancel. I’m here to answer any questions you might have . . .”

He cancelled?

I’m shocked.

He never cancels. Even when he had a headache, he’d just pop the Advils I’d set on his desk.

I drop the remote and watch as Carlisle begins to answer questions. What if something’s wrong? I want to call Carlisle, but he’s clearly busy. If I called Hessler, would he tell me? What about Mark or Alison—would either of them know?

I grab my phone and quickly skim my contacts, my hand shaking.

“Come and have tea with us, Charlotte,” my mother calls.

The doorbell rings and my mother turns. “Jessa, darling, can you see who’s at the door?”

Jessa rushes from the kitchen to the front door, passing the dining and living rooms as she does, then she comes back to where we sit. “It’s Mr. Matt, miss.”

My mother’s teacup clatters, my father raises his head, and I don’t think I’m breathing.

“Well, don’t stand there, show him in,” my mother urges.

I’m in the middle of the living room, while my parents sit frozen at opposite ends of the dining table, when Matt appears. I don’t think I’m breathing when I see him. I just didn’t expect to see him anytime soon. And suddenly it just hurts. My eyes hurt. My chest hurts. All of me hurts.

I feel as if something is squeezing around my heart, and it takes my every conscious effort to keep my parents from noticing.

Matt is wearing a black sweater and black pants, his hair wet from the rain outside, and he’s never looked so hot. So sexy. So in control.