“You are the part. The president has asked you. The people have been fascinated by you and Matt since the whole campaign began. You go out there and show them Matt was right in picking you. He’s an intelligent man; let them see what he sees.”
I exhale.
“You don’t need to do it all at once,” she says.
“Oh, I’m definitely not doing it all at once. Small steps. Jessa would tell me that when I was little. Small steps take you farther, and one at a time.”
She continues gaping across the room, clearly still mind-blown. “Wow. God, I still can’t believe it.”
“Don’t tell Sam, or Alan, anyone, until he makes the official announcement, please.”
“Of course.”
I stare out the window, as mind-blown as she. I wanted a man to love and to make a difference. Does this mean I can have both?
Why is it that when the opportunity finally comes, the fear is so great, you almost want to back down?
“Whenever you doubt whether you belong there, know that you do. Jackie and Di. Both very beloved. They brought something new, something you cannot buy with experience. Tell yourself, Charlotte, ‘I have been asked by the president to be his acting first lady. And I’ve accepted.’”
I swallow, nodding. I’ve missed him too much. I’d do anything to be close to him. Anything. They say to grow as a person you need to challenge yourself, go for something higher, something that you might fail at, even.
There is nothing higher or greater for me than this.
To try to be with the man I love, no matter how big he is, how grand, how larger than life. Try to make a difference, not a small one, but one that reaches across cities, states, continents.
Oh god.
I’m going to be Matthew Hamilton’s acting first lady.
I’m afraid of it, and at the same time, I’m scared of how much I want it. To be his true first lady. His only love. His girl, his wife, just . . . his. His in public, his at night, his every morning, his by right.
Is he thinking he wants something like that in the future? Everything … he said.
But I don’t want to ask what he meant yet. Because . . . baby steps. I cannot handle more right now.
I don’t sleep that night. I lie awake in bed in my small apartment, touching my lips. Squeezing my eyes shut as all the memories come washing down on me. As Matt’s eyes come back to haunt me. Matt telling me he wants me at the White House. Matt once telling me of the woman he’ll settle down with someday:
“One day I’ll do all the things I need to. And she’ll be mine. Mark my words.”
“Does she know this yet?” I ask, quietly.
“I just told her,” he says.
Warmth races through my bloodstream as I remember. I want to prove myself worthy. That I deserve to be there. That I deserve to be the woman by Matt Hamilton’s side.
I know it won’t be easy, winning the public. But I know that despite the fear, the uncertainty, the self-doubt, I am still that girl. The one who wants to make a difference. The one who offered to help him with his campaign. The one who fell irrevocably in love with him.
3
THE OVAL
Matt
If you want to make a difference, you need to start today.
Four years sounds like a lot, eight an eternity, but it’s really not. I learned that from my father. Things that were postponed never got done. Changes never set in motion remained stagnant, dead dreams never to be fulfilled, not with the new management and every president having his own agenda.
I tackle confidential information for the entire night, reading—sometimes filled with respect for my predecessors and the calls they made, sometimes with disgust. A lot of times, all I can really say is fuck.
I meet with my chief of staff, several issues on the board.
I meet with my press secretary, Lola Stevens, and strategize for a press conference tomorrow when I will introduce Charlotte to the world.
“I want the drafts for the Clean Energy bill. The Healthcare bill to fix what’s broken in our healthcare system. I want to look into a bill for equal pay and opportunity for working mothers,” I tell Dale as we head down the halls of the West Wing to the Cabinet Room—I walk inside, and everybody stands. “Good morning,” I tell my cabinet members.
“Mr. President.”
“Good morning, Mr. President,” Vice President Louis Frederickson greets me.
I chose him as my running mate because he’s honest, humble, no-nonsense, and a no-kiss-ass kind of man—exactly what we need to get real changes in our country.
I take my seat, then glance at the press corps standing behind the members of my cabinet.
“This meeting will be closed to all members of the press,” I say.
“A quick picture, Mr. President?” one coaxes.
“We have work to do here. But I’m aware, so do you. Make it fast, guys,” I say as I flip to the first page of the thick file before me, an identical one seated before each cabinet member.
Flashes erupt for the next ten seconds, and then Dale opens the door.
“That’s enough,” he says, waving them out.