2. Roni

Istood, bleary-eyed, in front of my dad's office door. The suit standing watch outside gave me a silent, judgmental glance before he opened the door for me. My dad's office wasn't like most home offices. His was…different. Really different. As in the Oval Office, different. Dad was the President of the United States, so the room was as old, historical, and intimidating as hell.

One of the Secret Servicemen, who I not-so-lovingly referred to as "the suits," announced my presence. "Your daughter, sir."

I passed him in the doorway. He was not small; in fact, he was a large, well-built man. I did nothing to make myself small, either, so he took a step back from me. A small power play I always won.

"I think he knows who I am. He did help make me, after all." I didn't bother to curb my disdain. I didn't see why I couldn't just go wherever I wanted, especially my dad's office. As if I were going to actually overhear anything important? I'd never get that lucky.

"Veronica," Dad said in a warning tone.

The suit looked at my father, and my father nodded. The suit exited the room and shut the door behind him.

"Veronica, what have I told you about being respectful to the staff?" he chided.

"And for the millionth time, it's just us here. You don't need to use my full name," I retorted. I crossed my arms as I took in my dad's outfit of the day. Surprise, surprise, another suit. It'd been a long time since I'd seen him in anything but tailored black or dark blue outside of the residence portion of the White House. He was always in the expensive black tailored suit with the American flag pin. Always with the shiny black dress shoes.

"Roni, it's been almost seven years since I was first elected. I don't understand why you are dragging your feet and causing issues. This whole experience is almost over, and I'm afraid you are wasting it," he said. His tone was filled with disappointment and confusion. As if he couldn't understand why a young adult might rebel against the new world she was dropped into, without so much as one opportunity to voice her opinion before it happened. No one cared what Roni wanted. It was still that way, even when I had the most powerful man on Earth as my dad.

I actually had an assistant, believe it or not. She worked with my dad's staff to coordinate my schedule and to shepherd me to events for the First Family, but she didn't work for me. She worked for the office of the president, and she knew where her paychecks came from. She was a tough woman with balls bigger than my dad's. I had no way to intimidate her into bending to my will. I had not one single person in this building who cared what I wanted—who would fight for me. I lived in a building full of hundreds of people, but I felt like the loneliest person in America.

I shook my head and looked down at the floor, unable to mask my own disappointment that we had to have this conversation again. My dad was a brilliant man, negotiating deals between other countries, getting political parties to play ball. It was no wonder he was elected into office with a large lead. However, he could also be super dense when it came to his family and sensing our needs. If he had paid even a speck of attention, then Mom wouldn't cry herself to sleep at night under the pressure of being First Lady, and I wouldn't have to resort to sneaking out of the White House. Sneaking out was the easiest—but there was no sneaking back in. There was nothing my father could do when I stood at the security gate to be let back in. The damage was done; I'd already had a wild night out that may or may never make the headlines. Even if they did, I never did anything too crazy. I considered my dad's position even when I was rebelling. I always held myself back, never taking things too far, but I was losing hope that he'd ever acknowledge what I wanted.

"I never wanted you to run for president, Dad. I was in high school, for God's sake. I never wanted any of this," I said, gesturing to the space around us. "I wanted to be a normal teenager, or as much as I could be while you still held a public office." He was a governor before he resigned to run for president.

"I get that, but you could have at least tried to make the best of it," he countered. His voice softened. He wasn't actually mad at me; he simply wanted me to cater to what he wanted, just like the rest of the world.

We must have had a similar conversation a hundred times. Usually, it meant he was laying down a new rule or was going to ask a favor of me. It was a last-ditch effort to guilt me into feeling bad about how I'd acted and convince me to change my behavior, at least long enough to get what he wanted. It was like he wanted me to rise to whatever challenge he was going to give me, but that was his problem: it was his challenge and not mine. My real challenge was figuring out how to live my life outside the most secure building in the world. I couldn't wait until they packed up our bags and shipped us out of here. I was the only one not smiling when he won the re-election two years ago.

None of that mattered. I stood in the Oval Office, beckoned after a night out. I may look put together, because that was what my title required of me, but my eyes were still heavy from little sleep, and the acid reflux from too much alcohol was very uncomfortable.

Maybe that was why I lost my patience. "I don't mean to be short with you, but what do you want? What life-shattering revelation are you about to drop? Because let's face it, that's why you called me in here and gave me a speech about changing my ways," I said.

He looked a little taken aback by my curt words, but he shouldn't have been surprised. He was upfront and to the point with the rest of the world. The way I spoke to him was how he talked to others.

When he recovered from the shock, his jaw moved from side to side as he worked to keep his cool with me. I pushed his buttons too far. He ran his fingers through his white hair as he stepped away from me and paced through the Oval Office, between his desk and the couches that were on the other side. I could swear that I saw his white hair lighten a shade, and he blotted his face with a handkerchief.

I wasn't worried until I saw him visibly sweat.

"What's going on, Dad?" I asked, momentarily losing the attitude I wore like a shield.

He swallowed hard. "You might want to sit down." He gestured to the couch closest to me. He never told me to sit down. Our conversations about disappointment were usually brief enough that I remained standing, making it easier for me to storm out of the office at the end.

I was too worried to fight his suggestion so I did what he said. He continued to pace behind the opposite couch. After another long, drawn-out minute, he placed his hands on the back of the couch and came to a sudden stop. His eyes met mine, and I knew this wasn't good. Where the hell is Mom? Is she okay?

"What I'm about to share with you is extremely confidential. Very few people know about this–and I was advised not to share this with you, but that's not right. There's a rogue terrorist group called the Geneva Project that is trying to seize some political power and send a message. They've resulted to some extremes, including targeting the children of powerful political individuals. The Secret Service has already picked up on chatter about their interest in kidnapping you." He paused and turned a little green before he continued. "They go back and forth on whether or not they want to kill you." He swallowed hard.

I sat further back on the couch, trying to figure out if he was pulling my leg or not. Back in the day, before he became a senator, then a governor, and then president, he was a jokester, or at least so I heard. I barely remembered him being so carefree. I watched him closely, looking for any signs that this was some kind of joke. That maybe we weren't being featured on Punk'd, and a celebrity wasn't going to come bursting through the hidden door and tell me I'd been punked.

No. The longer I stared, the more the bags under his gray eyes spoke the truth. He was deeply troubled. The threat was real.

Oh shit.

"How real is the threat? The Secret Service is the best at what they do, keeping us safe, right? This shouldn't be a big deal," I said. I began to break out into my own sweat. Would I really be able to sneak out now without having to look over my shoulder? I wanted my independence, yes—but I didn't want to get kidnapped or murdered. It sounded so selfish, but this really put a damper on the one thing I had to look forward to. What the fuck was I going to do now? I knew Dad would be upping my security. I wouldn't be able to take a piss without a suit there to hand me toilet paper.

"Well, yes—they are the best in the world, but that's not the problem," he stumbled.

He freaking stumbled.The most confident and deliberate man I knew stumbled. If I weren't so freaked out, I might actually savor the audible proof that he really did care about me. The reminder would have been nice.

I narrowed my eyes. "Then what is?"

He walked around the back of the couch and sat down next to me. He lowered his voice and brought his face near my ear. "There is chatter that they have somehow infiltrated the Secret Service."

The blood drained from my face. It was as if the floor slid open and I dropped into the bunker below. In fact, I wished it had.

"They what?" I asked. I hoped I had heard him wrong, but I knew I hadn't; my hearing was perfect.

"I don't know who I can trust at this point. I have very few agents who I'd trust with your life, and they can't be with you all the time. I'm at a loss."

I wasn't able to control it. A heavy, maniacal laugh bubbled up from my throat. This was rich. My life was in danger, because of him, and he had idea what to do about it. "That's a first. You always have a solution for everything." I couldn't keep the bitterness from my words. I felt a deep spike of anger. None of this would have happened if he didn't let his ambition get the best of him. No one needed to run for president. They ran because they wanted to. It was ambition and drive, maybe even greed—but not survival.

He remained silent as I slowly stopped laughing. The room fell into an awkward silence. An entire minute passed before he spoke again. "I know. I'm the man with solutions. This time I only have one—but you aren't going to like it."

I snorted. "Excuse me if this comes off as harsh, but I never wanted us to become the First Family. I stopped expecting you to care about what I want a long time ago. I don't have a choice in your solution, do I? What is it, locking me in my room? Allotted an hour outside of the residence a day like a prisoner?"

"You know that's not the solution," he said with a frown. He glanced over the rest of my outburst. It was an uncomfortable truth he didn't want to hear.

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. "Right, that would be too easy and not invasive enough," I said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he looked like he meant the words.

No, he didn't. He just wanted to pacify me long enough to deliver his solution. "Just rip it off, Dad."

"Rip it off," was his saying. He looked a little pained to be on the receiving end of those words.

He cleared his throat as he moved past my jest. "I'm going to hire you a private bodyguard. He's not going to be with any agency, and he's not going to report to the White House staff. He's going to report directly to me. He's not going to let you out of his sight," he said.

I thought through his words. If the bodyguard wasn't with a law enforcement agency, then maybe he might not be as much of a stick in the mud or as judgmental as the suits. Anyone hired privately by my dad might be easier to manipulate. I wouldn't be one person in a long career in the bureaucracy; I was the job. One and only for one client. I could make this work. After all, he didn't imply that I'd be chained to my room.

I shrugged my shoulders. "As long as he's hot, I'm not seeing anything too life shattering." I knew when to pick and choose my battles, and this one wasn't it. I'd die on a different hill. I needed to be nonchalant, or else he'd just give up and lock me in my room or chain me to him. Neither was an option for me.

I could handle a bodyguard. I didn't like that he was going to be assigned to me twenty-four-seven—but I was sure I'd still have some privacy. It wasn't like the president was going to allow some stranger to sleep in his daughter's room while in the White House. The news would get ahold of that info and run wild with it. It would also look very bad to his conservative supporters to have his unwed daughter shacking up with a man. He was already getting a lot of shit from those same people regarding my very tame nightlife fun. Apparently, the daughter of the president shouldn't be found anywhere near a nightclub. Who died and made them my father?

He grimaced. "Well, the other shoe hasn't dropped."

I just stared at him, waiting for him to hit me with more bad news.

"You're going into hiding for the time being," he said.

And there it was. No bedroom confining, because I wouldn't be in the White House. "Nope." I stood up. That was what crossed the line.

"Yes." He stood to look down at me, his eyes never leaving mine.

I felt something like hysteria bubble up inside of me. I was already transplanted enough as a kid, then college. I didn't want to go through this again, not when I still had another move out of the White House in my future. I thought my future move out of the White House was it, and I'd feel so powerful in that moment. Now that was all going to be ripped away.

"Dad, you can't do this to me! I have a few friends here. I'm trying to figure out what my life is going to be like after your term is over. You can't just ask me to disappear off the face of the earth with some stranger. What about what I need?" I said. How would I ever figure out my path when I was out from under the shadow of his presidency? Especially if I was living in the shadows. "Why can't my bodyguard just watch me here? Or let me plan my move. I'll pack my stuff and pick a city, and the bodyguard can follow."

I felt my adrenaline spike along with my anger. Now I knew why he had spent so much time pacing. It wasn't because he was afraid of my reaction to being told that someone wanted me dead. He was afraid of this, my reaction to being told he was sticking me in witness protection. Shipping me off out of sight, out of mind. I was going to be someone else's problem so he could continue to play president. Then when he was out of office and out of danger, he could pull me out of hiding and pretend the whole thing was a bad dream.

My heart was racing. Mom wouldn't like this. While she and I weren't super close anymore, I knew she felt less alone with me around. We were miserable together, even when she pretended she wasn't. "Where is Mom? She won't let you send me away," I said, desperately looking for a way out of this. My whole life was in Washington; I couldn't leave now. Not until I came up with a plan.

He looked pointedly at me. "She's at that charity function. The same one you were supposed to attend," he said pointedly.

I shook my head. I refused to let him get away with this by a pointed subject change. "She won't let you do this!" I stood there defiantly with my shoulders square and my hands clenched into fists. I felt very much like a four-year-old throwing a tantrum—but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"I've already talked to her about it, and we are in agreement." His eyes softened, as if he actually felt bad about this. But I wouldn't believe that for a second. He could just resign, move our family out of here, and then I'd be safe. He'd no longer be important; there would be no reason for me to be a target. Someone else would fill that role, and I could fade quietly into the background.

I grasped at straws in desperate self-preservation. If he could fight dirty by ganging up on me with Mom. I could hit below the belt, too. "I can't believe this! What kind of message does this send to the terrorist…you sending me away? It shows them you are weak and that you don't trust those who protect you. It makes you look weak and vulnerable!" I shouted.

I didn't get very involved in politics; my father got paid for them, but I didn't. However, that didn't mean that I didn't pay attention or that I wouldn't play when it suited me.

"How do you know this threat is even real and not some loser in their basement talking out their ass?" I said.

His face morphed into an expression that I'd never seen on him before. He actually looked like he was going to be sick. That sent my heart racing, and suddenly I was more nervous than when I took the bar exam. "Senator Johnson's daughter was murdered."

The words were like a physical slap across my face. Actually, a slap would have hurt less than his words. "What?" I asked in a gasp.

Tears formed in his eyes. The bastard should have led with that…

Nina Johnson was one of the nicest people I knew. Half the children of politicians were just as stuck up and entitled as their parents, but not Nina. She had a calming presence that naturally attracted others, and she was a good ally to have in your corner at state functions. I usually had her join me whenever I could.

I felt my heart break in my chest. My insides deflated, and I thought I might vomit them up.

"Why didn't you lead with that?" I half shouted and half sobbed at him.

He softly shook his head. "Because you'd stop listening to everything else I had to say after I said those words." He sounded sympathetic, but it didn't matter. He was a coward. The rest shouldn't have mattered; news of Nina's death would have scared me into submission.

My words were hollow as I swallowed the bile that had crept up my throat. "When?"

I thought back to the last time I saw her. It was at a reception dinner for the British Prime Minister. Her father, Senator Johnson, had been on the guest list, as he was a supporter of my dad. They were hoping to propose something to the prime minister, but I had zoned out about what it was. I hadn't cared at the time. I had only cared that Nina would be there.

Now she's gone.

"How?" I asked when I got no answer. My voice was eerily calm, in a stark comparison to my shouting a couple of seconds ago.

"A gunshot last night. It was quick and painless—or at least I was told she didn't suffer." There was a long pause as he choked up. "That could be you next. That's why you have to go into hiding."

My entire world shattered around me. My best friend, gone. My life plans, what little I had…gone. My entire future hung in the balance of a stranger, at least until this group could be caught. None of this is fair.

"Can I at least attend her funeral before I go?" Tears stung my eyes, and my throat tightened.

He nodded softly. "Let me see what I can work out."

I nodded my head to that. I'd make do with the bodyguard and going into hiding. I needed to grieve Nina, and in hiding sounded like the best place to do so.

Dad placed a soft hand on my shoulder. "Do you need someone to talk to about this?" Professional help was what he was referring to.

"No. One less Non-Disclosure Agreement for you to have drafted." I scoffed. "I'm going to have my dinner in my room." I stood up, prepared to go. "Who is my bodyguard?" I crossed my fingers hoping that at least it would be my favorite suit, Mark. He never seemed to judge me, and he looked the other way once when he caught me sneaking across the lawn.

"A former Green Beret, Army Special Forces," he answered. That struck me as unusual, because as far as I was aware, that wasn't someone in his trusted inner circle.

"That doesn't tell me who he is. I'm going to go stalk him on social media. What's his name?"

His face became stern. "Don't contact him." He paused as we engaged in a silent stare-off. "There are secure official channels that we must utilize. He hasn't been contacted yet, but he will be contacted once you are safely in your room."

I offered him my pinky. "I won't do anything but look," I promised.

"His name is Sergeant Diego Garcia," he said.

I made a mental note of the name, which wasn't difficult because I once knew a guy named Diego Garcia. He was a real ass—my arch-nemesis of my childhood years. But that was a common name. I wouldn't hold my past associations over the guy as long as he stayed out of my way. No one should be punished for sharing a name with someone.

Dad's face became softer again, his eyebrows unknitting from the near-unibrow he'd been sporting. "Baby, I'm sorry about Nina. I know she was a good friend to you. I really wish I didn't have to do this. If there was any other way, I'd take it, but I can't risk your life. I couldn't live without you, and I couldn't live with the knowledge that you died because of me," he said. His voice was vulnerable, and I'd never heard him sound so remorseful. He hadn't referred to me as his baby since he started running for senator.

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. "Yeah, thanks." A numbness took over like a fog blanketing a valley.

He wrapped me in a hug and then placed a kiss on my forehead.

"I love you, Roni. I'm so sorry."

"I love you, too, Dad."