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When we approach the reception desk, I insist on a king bed—I can build a pillow wall between us with the extra space. Unfortunately, the only room they have available is a presidential suite with two queen beds.
“There has to be a king available. Should we stay somewhere else?” I plead.
Alex wraps his arm around me and kisses the top of my head, speaking into my hair, “It’s fine, princess. A queen bed means I’ll get to keep you close to me all night.”
My stomach drops at his fib, and I struggle to find my voice. Chris is never this affectionate, even for the cameras. A naive part of me thought that tonight I was supposed to be living the fairy tale—enveloped in my husband’s arms, making love until the sun rises. Though, if I’m being honest with myself, with Chris the lovemaking would last seven and a half minutes before hecomes. Then, he’d put on his CPAP mask, leaving me alone with my thoughts for hours in the darkness… orgasmless.
Would Alex do the same? Why do I think he’d make sure I came at least once? Maybe twice.
Shit, I shouldn’t be thinking about hypothetical sex with Alex… even with Chris’ extracurriculars over the years.
‘Thou shalt not covet thy husband’s brother’ should be my new commandment.
I put my card on file, and we make our way up to the room. The moment we’re in the elevator, Alex takes his hand back and pulls away from me as if I burned him. I lower my head, mumbling, “I’m sorry,” and take a step to the side to give him space.
“No,” he growls, more forcefully than I expected. “I’msorry.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “I’m exhausted from”—he glances up at the elevator camera—“theeventfulday.”
“Welcome to my life,” I laugh humorlessly and he frowns. I don’t explain myself, on the off chance he’s onto something and someone is listening in. It isn’t easy pretending to be someone you’re not; I don’t blame him for being short with me. “It’s been a long day; we should get some sleep.”
“We need to see him in a few hours,” he regretfully sighs.
“Can you message your father and tell him we had to stop here for the night? Maybe go in the morning, instead?”
Agony is etched in his irises, and I can’t figure out why. “Is that what you want?”
I want to stop wondering what it would be like if things were different and I married you instead.
The elevator dings, the doors opening to a dimly lit floor. We step out and find our room; Alex doesn’t reach for my hand, and I don’t seek his out. I walk behind him, not wanting to address his question because, honestly, I don’t know what I want. He stops, waiting for me to walk beside him for the final steps, then swipes the keycard against the sensor. As he opens the door wide for me to step in, my shoulder accidentally brushes his chest, and a rumble comes from him at the innocent touch.
If he hates me so much, why did he agree to this?
The door shuts, and I take in the room. For a presidential suite, it looks more like one of the motels my family stayed at while my father was on the campaign trail. I can’t help but smile at the memories—life before I was a President’s daughter. There’s a small loveseat with matching side chairs, an old wooden coffee table, an undoubtedly neglected kitchenette, and a door separating the living space from the bedroom. As I begin walking toward it, Alex catches me by the wrist. His hold is firm. When I meet his eyes, his voice is strained as he asks, “What do you want, Jaclyn?”
“Why do you care? I already told you, it doesn’t matter what I want,” I reply breathlessly.
“If you want to see Chris right now, I’ll find a way to make it happen. But if you’re drained from everything, or not up for it, I can insist we go in the morning. So, what do you want to do?”
It isn’t what I thought he would be asking from me. Unfortunately, my loose tongue has a mind of its own. “What I want is to be free of the lies!” My hands fly to my mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”
“No, go on.” Alex’s charming, flirtatious smile from earlier today appears.
I want for you to not disappear when this is all over and… a husband who loves me.
Straightening my posture, I opt for a toned-down version of the truth. “I want this to be over, to have a real wedding. I want…”Love and respect. I want to be happy. I lower and shake my head in shame, unable to speak it. In all the ways that truly matter, I’m married to Alex. And the more time I spend with him, the more I wish it was his name on the marriage certificate, not Chris’.
All of this is a mess.
Alex takes a slow step toward me, then another. “A husband who loves and respects you?”
Did I say it out loud?
“How did you…?”
“Because I, too, want a partner who loves and respects me. Who treats me as if I’m the center of their universe,who craves me when I’m not with them. Someone who loves me through all of my flaws… Am I getting close?”
“Are you saying I’m flawed?” I tease, and Alex’s eyes darken.
“To Chris?” He shakes his head with anguish in his expression. “No, you’re perfect.”
