To my husband
You laid the path so I could chase my dream.
Washington DC, a city filled with prestige and corruption, American dreams and political fallacy. Money was the blanket hidden agendas lay beneath. It seemed if you wrapped yourself in designer labels and surrounded yourself with the proper society, people were willing to turn a blind eye to live in their false reality of perfection. Who wanted to disrupt a seemingly charmed life and risk social disgrace?
No one wanted a scandal; that’s why people lied. God forbid we weren’t all perfect. Emma wasn’t attempting perfection though. Instead, she was a mule for someone else’s modus operandi.
But Emma knew this. She was a smart girl, always excelling in her studies while in high school, earning a substantial academic scholarship to the distinguished Georgetown University. It was almost three years ago when Emma packed her bags, said a tearful goodbye to her family, and left home in Tennessee to chase her dreams in the nation’s capital.
Rain fell in a soothing patter on top of Emma’s umbrella as her high heels tapped against the wet pavement of the empty sidewalk of the city. It was late, and she picked up the pace against the chill of the night. Snow patches still lined the curb, and when she rounded the corner and spotted the upscale hotel she’d been instructed to go to, her steps slowed.
The lights from inside cast a soft glow through the fog-covered windows. She couldn’t see through the glass, but Emma knew he was in there. From everything she’d been told, he would be eager for someone just like her. He, who’d been graced with power and admiration, elected by the people to uphold the law and fight for justice, garnered a certain . . . je ne sais quoi. Maybe it was confidence, maybe arrogance, maybe entitlement. Or maybe it was a mixture of everything, creating an intoxicating elixir to get punch-drunk on life’s delightful sins.
Opening the door, Emma stepped out of the rain and into the warmth of wealth.
“Evening, Miss.”
She looked up as a man in a suit stepped behind her to assist in the removal of her coat.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she slipped out of the wet garment and handed over her umbrella.
When he strode off to check her items, she turned to scan the room. Since it was nearly empty at the late hour, it took only a moment to spot him across the grand space. He was the only one sitting at the bar, suit coat draped over the back of his chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. Making her way through the room, she watched as he slipped off his glasses and rubbed his forehead.
“May I?” she questioned softly, looking to take the seat next to him.
“Um, of course . . . yes.”
She smiled at his flustered demeanor. Stress and a lack of sleep carved the lines around his eyes, which beamed all-American blue. His briefcase was open opposite him to show stacks of files and papers.
“Working off the clock?”
He looked over to her, smelling of spiced cologne and scotch. “In my line of work, there are no clocks.”
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, pulling Emma’s attention as he set a cocktail napkin in front of her.
“Grey Goose martini, up, stirred, with a twist.”
When she looked back to the man whom she already knew so much about, he was wearing a slight smirk.
“So, no clocks,” she started, picking up the exchange. “How do you know when to stop?”
The clink of the martini glass being set down sounded at the same moment his eyes landed on her cleavage.
“I’m not a man who likes to stop.”
Carly
Two months earlier . . .
Looking over the suit-jacketed shoulder of my husband is a view I’ve come to know well. No longer in front, no longer beside, but always one step behind. I stare out into the sea of eyes, which are filled with hope as they watch the man I fell head-over-heels in love with nearly thirteen years back. This wasn’t my world before him, before we crashed into each other after a conference he was the guest speaker for at the community college where I used to work.
It was after our cars collided in the cramped parking lot that I got my first look at him. His tailored suit screamed I’m out of your league, but the charm in his smile soothed my insecurity. A whirlwind romance it was. He whisked me away into a world I knew nothing about as I clung to his reassurance that I belonged wherever he was.
My heart beat in an unexplained rhythm for William Montgomery III, the Ivy League alum who adopted the nickname of Tripp during his college years.
He adored me.
I adored him.
It was nothing short of a fairy tale, and seven months later, Tripp could no longer hold on to his heart. My world went spinning off its axis the day we were enjoying a peaceful afternoon at Dumbarton Oaks Park. He couldn’t keep his hands and lips off me. When the clouds severed and the rain poured down, the slow, sensual mood eclipsed into my squealing and laughing as we ran, bolting across the gardens hand in hand. Soaking wet with the sky filled with our abounding mirth, he grabbed me, awed delirium in his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I had asked breathlessly, but Tripp had been too busy watching the heavens rain down on my face as I had smiled up at him.
“Marry me,” his heart spoke.
Two simple words.
That was all he needed.
I knew he was it for me. His were the only hands I wanted on me, so without hesitation, my own heart replied, “Yes!”
We never made it out of the rain that day; instead, we ran through the flowers and escaped into the Orangery greenhouse where Tripp pushed me against the vine-covered wall. He couldn’t rein in his desire, and neither could I. Unfastening his pants in a rush, Tripp hoisted me off the ground, pushed the skirt of my dress up, and yanked my panties to the side. The two of us had made love in a frenzy of raw ecstasy.
That was then, and this is now.
Spontaneity has been exchanged for schedules. Lost are the days of decisions made purely from our carnal desires when we loved beyond love’s capacity to love—boundlessly and freely.
“It’s time to take the next step,” Tripp announces to the crowd, snapping me out of my remembrance. “It’s time to put a true anti-corruption expert in the governor’s mansion.”
The crowd’s applause spreads like wildfire, growing louder at each of Tripp’s strategically placed pauses.
“I am running for governor, and I intend to win. You have my word that, as governor, I will work for the citizens of Maryland with a level of intensity, tenacity, transparency, and rigor that this state has never seen before.”
Roars erupt when Tripp takes a step back to soak in the peoples’ encouragement. It’s a moment he’s been striving toward for a long time. After ten years of working for the state as one of its leading prosecutors, he won the vote of the people to become the state’s attorney general, but his term is coming to an end, and he has his eyes set on becoming governor.
He turns to me, takes my hand in his, and raises them up as a symbol of our united promise to the people. I knew my husband and I would be presented as a package deal. He will be running for governor, and I will, in turn, have to gain the confidence of the people that I can hold my own as First Lady of the state of Maryland.
So, I smile to the crowd and take the kiss my husband proffers, a kiss that was discussed and choreographed the night before. It wasn’t a spontaneous gesture of love and devotion, but rather a plotted act of American family values to give the perception that he’s a loyal and faithful husband—a man people can trust.