19. Political Wife

19

POLITICAL WIFE

EVANGELINE

“ H ave I ever told you how unbelievably sexy you look wearing my t-shirt?” Darren smirks, entering the kitchen where I have my laptop set up on the island and coffee brewing.

I smile and look down at Darren’s Georgetown t-shirt hanging off one shoulder and sitting just at the tops of my thighs.

I kiss him. “Many times.”

He looks at the screen. “Am I interrupting?”

“Just looking over the venues for the charity event we’re planning.”

“The annual event for the Foundation?”

“Yes, we’re thinking of using the Smithsonian American Art Museum,” I explain. “Their rooftop terrace looks beautiful. Rebecca and I are going to take a look at it today.”

The mention of her name causes a slight tic in his jaw, but he shakes it off.

“I know it’s awkward, but I enjoy her company, and she’s helping to put together the gala.”

“It’s not an issue,” he says, and I let it go.

“I quite liked the National Portrait Museum,” he says coyly, not missing a beat.

“It’s on the list,” I smile.

“You know you can use the office if you want,” he offers.

I look at him thoughtfully. “I know, it’s just…” I pause. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Darren sighs, taking the seat next to me. “No matter what I change in this house it doesn’t seem to extinguish them, does it?”

“Why would you want to?” I ask, closing my laptop. I’m not going to finish any work this morning.

“I was trying to make it my own, so it wasn’t a constant reminder of what was lost, but rather what could be,” he offers with a hopeful tone.

I swivel my chair towards him and place my hands on his thighs. His hair is still wet from the shower and his old t-shirt stretches across his shoulders. “You haven’t said anything about the letter.” I feel guilty that I’d even found it.

“I can’t think about them, when all I can think about is you.”

I lean against the sink and worry but I decide to let it go for now.

“You need to tell Rausch to set up a press conference.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and joins me. “I’ll have Angie set it up,” he relents.

“Why Angie?” I question. “Rausch knows how to handle these things.”

“Angie has a background in journalism. She may not be a tyrant like Rausch, but she knows what she’s doing,” he explains. “Rausch will just try and talk us out of it.”

I nod reluctantly. “He won’t be happy about it.”

“He keeps things from me all the time. Besides, he works for me, Evan, not the other way around.”

I nod.

“We can get ahead of this and I can finally put that fuck Langley in his place,” he glowers.

“It needs to be me.”

Darren’s nostrils flare. “I’m not putting you through that.”

“It’s not your story, Darren. It’s mine,” I explain, and his eyes turn a golden color from the sun filtering through the kitchen window.

“Then you tell them everything .”

I get his meaning, but I shake my head. “I won’t give them a client list.”

“Just Langley.”

I slide past him and back to the island, placing my hands on the cool marble.

“Why wouldn’t you want to expose him for the sleazebag he is?” Darren follows me.

“Rebecca.”

His face falls.

“I can’t do that to her,” I explain.

Instead of being angry with me, he pulls me into a hug. His palms rub circles around my back in a soothing cadence.

He’s silent for a few heartbeats before he nods.

“We’ll do the press conference here and then drive straight to Clarksville for the lake house until things calm down,” Darren explains. “I’ll hire extra security so no one can access the property.”

He grabs his phone and starts texting, his forehead creased with determination. I can’t think of a person I trust more than Darren.

I place my hand over his phone and push it down.

“I don’t want to be that kind of political wife. The kind that redecorates and plans parties without having something of my own,” I explain. “Or one that hides out in a lake house.”

“You don’t know how bad it can get, and you have the charity.”

I sigh and let go of the phone. I don’t know if I can explain to him without sounding pathetic or jealous, but the mention of Angie having a journalism background was like an arrow hitting me in the most vulnerable part.

“I started something in school that I never got to finish,” I explain. “And now that—well, now I have options that I didn’t before.”

I turn to face him, leaning against the sink.

“You were in school for journalism,” he elaborates for me.

I nod. “I wanted to be an investigative journalist.” I shrug, having felt that dream slip further away from me for years now.

“I thought journalism was my chance to do something good with my life.” I sigh, knowing how na?ve I sound.

“You are doing something good with your life,” he insists.

“By being a Washington society wife?”

“You know you do more than that.”

“It just feels very privileged to not have to worry about the things that the women at Compton House do.” I press my lips together and look at him.

“You can do whatever you want. You can go back to school, get your journalism degree. There’s nothing stopping you,” he tells me, and I can see the conviction in his eyes.

“I’m not that same person anymore.” I shake my head. “Journalism isn’t what I thought it was,” I say.

“I hate that being front and center for the ugliness of the press has ruined this dream you once had.”

“It was ruined long before that,” I say sadly.

He reaches for me, and I let him take me into his arms. “If you let me, I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I just want you.”

I know he would support me with whatever I wanted. I’m just not sure I deserve it.