“Everything is here?”
“Every single thing, sir.”
“I’ll read up on it tonight. Expect to hear from me soon.”
“Yes, sir, President Hamilton.”
15
WORK
Charlotte
The rest of the week goes by in a frenzy of visits, interviews, and planning the upcoming state dinner. Matt is even more swamped with work than I am, but I can see him make some effort to carve out some time to see me, and it not only touches me, it makes me truly wish for him to know that I support him and what he’s doing for our country. That just being close to him and knowing that he wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him is enough.
The bills he’s trying to pass are not easy ones—they will mark permanent changes in our education, healthcare, and energy programs. He’s got solid backing from the House, but the Senate will be voting soon—and you really never know how it’s going to go.
After dinner one day, we took Jack for a walk along the White House gardens.
It was freezing outside, but I was wrapped in a coat and wore a cap, loving to watch Matt’s breath mist in the air as we talked about our day. And how he wouldn’t stop poking my reddened nose playfully, wearing the most gorgeous smile.
On our way back into the White House, it was eerily quiet. “I’ll never stop feeling awed as I walk around this house,” I said.
“It’s a privilege not to be taken lightly.”
“You know how they say if these walls could speak? These walls actually do. Every piece of art on the walls. Every relic.”
We continued in silence.
The usual bustle of the day had calmed down, but it was still in the very air. The electric unfolding of history within these walls. There were births and deaths, celebrations and mourning.
We passed the portrait of JFK, glancing downward, humble and charismatic, and the portrait of Matt’s dad, in a long red-carpeted hall.
Matt eyed the hall, his gaze warm as he took in my excitement. “Building took seventeen years to complete. Washington conceived the idea of it, but he never had a chance to move in.”
I watched him as we walked, wanting more.
“It nearly burned in the War of 1812, when the British invaded the capital. Middle of the night, enemy troops threw javelins on fire through the windows, set the attic on fire, and the flames started burning through the floor, then the main floor crashed into the basement. Look at it now.” He winked. “Yeah, that’s America. You fall, you rise back up stronger than ever.” He chucked my chin.
And I laughed, and blushed all over, and nodded.
“The portrait of Washington in the Oval? The soldiers looted the house, but the first lady at the time, Dolly Madison, cracked the frame and saved it.”
“If the house is set on fire, I’m taking your portrait.”
“I want one made of you.”
“Matthew!”
“I mean it,” he said, then he took my hand and led me upstairs to his bedroom, Jack padding at our feet and dropping to fall asleep by the time we were naked beneath the covers. Matt was drawing me with his fingertips, slowly telling me what part of me he wanted to immortalize in paint.
Matt has been buried under bills and negotiations for the last couple of days. I, too, have stayed busy, but then I wait for night, wondering if Matt will wrap up the day early or not—he’s been working so hard that the White House press office is always abuzz with information. Headlines are always pertaining to the White House. Matt is taking the alphabet campaign and absolutely crossing out every . . . single . . . word. As promised.
There are presidents and there are presidents—but we haven’t had one like this one in a long, long while. And exactly like this one? Not ever.
I’ve never been so busy in my life either, but as I wait with my muscles sore from the day I ache for him and our time alone. I wonder what he’s doing and whether I’ll fall asleep before he reaches me, like I have for the past three nights, or if I’ll be awake when he walks into my room and takes every single inch of me that craves to be taken again.
Tomorrow we have our first evening out, a fundraiser for Clean Water Across the Nation—with several celebrities in attendance. Though it’s been three days since we made love, I’ve already realized that Matt meant it when he said he’d be paying me a nightly visit. Every morning I’ve woken up to the feeling of having been spooned at night and the scent of him on my pillow.
Last night, I was taking a walk outside to clear my head when his best friend from Harvard, Beckett, arrived.
“Is the president still in the West Wing at this hour?”
I nodded.
“Wow.” He frowned. “He hasn’t answered my calls. Any reason he’s so hell-bent on getting everything done now?”