Georgie
Jameson dropped my hand so fast, like it scalded him, and all the color drained from his face. He sat back in the chair, stunned.
“No? I thought you wanted to get married.”
“I do, but not like this, Jameson. I don’t want our marriage to be a reaction to something. I want it to be real and honest.” I reached out for his hand, which he reluctantly gave to me. I held it tightly in my own, cherishing the feel of his skin against mine. “I want to marry you when some kind of turmoil isn’t propelling us down the aisle. It doesn’t have to be big, but it has to feel right.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jameson, you told me that the day we got married would be the happiest day of your life. Does today feel like that day?”
He ran a hand across his face and then blew out a breath. “No. I feel like I just survived the worst day of my life.”
Then he leaned forward and brushed the hair away from my face. Our eyes met, and I could see two watery pools of blue brimming with so much unshed emotion. “I’m sorry that it always has to be this way. I’m sorry that I have to feel you slipping away first before I finally realize the simplest of answers was staring me in the face all along.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Jameson. Sometimes our relationship blinds me, too. We take each other for granted. It happens.”
“Not anymore, Georgie. You’re the most important thing in my life.”
“What about the country? They need you too.”
“Maybe that’s the problem, then. Maybe I shouldn’t be president anymore.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “Jameson, what are you saying?”
Jameson’s term as president had hardly begun; he was just getting started on creating some of the policies that would finally put our country back on the right track. Was he going to resign?
“I’ll finish out this term, but I won’t seek reelection. Being president was my dream and that dream became reality, partly because of you. But I’m not a kid anymore. I know what I want, Georgie. And it’s not to be the president. It’s to be your husband.”
“Will you promise me something?” I asked him. This felt like another knee-jerk reaction, and if I could stop him from making a monumental mistake, then I would.
“Of course. Anything.”
“Will you promise me that you’ll think about that before you actually do it? The past twenty-four hours have been hell, and I don’t want you making snap decisions. You wanted to drop out after the shooting, too.”
“Georgie …” he whined.
“Jameson, I love you, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, but I don’t want to spend that life wondering if you resent me.”
“I could never resent you, Georgie.”
“Never say never,” I scolded him.
The nurses coming in to make their rounds and check my vitals and pain level interrupted us; it was an annoying flurry of activity that I wanted to stop. I just wanted to be alone with Jameson.
“I can’t wait to get out of here,” I pouted after the nurses left. I sneered at the dinner tray they left for me. It was like the Finnish people had never heard of cheeseburgers or tiramisu. It was all terribly bland and healthy. Or fish. I never wanted to look at a piece of fish again. “The food is terrible.”
Jameson chuckled loudly, and for the first time in a long while, his smile filled his entire face and reached his eyes. “Chef Zanetti spoils you.”
“Jameson,” I whispered.
“Yes, little darling?”
“I don’t want to talk anymore, okay? I just want you to climb on here with me and hold me.”
“I could think of nothing better.”
I scooted over as much as I could and waited for Jameson to settle his too-large body on what seemed like the world’s smallest bed. Then I curled into him, wrapping myself up in his warmth and his familiar clean, spicy scent.
* * *
Being discharged from the hospital the next morning was one of the best feelings in the world. I was ready to rid myself of the itchy hospital gown and to take a real shower, or even soak in a real tub overflowing with bubbles.
The way Jameson doted on me was cute, and I’m not too proud to admit that I didn’t enjoy the attention. The President of the United States set aside being the leader of the greatest nation on Earth in order to take care of me. He ended an extremely important diplomatic trip, where nuclear arms could have been sacrificed and human lives saved, for me. For once, I didn’t mind being treated like a fragile porcelain doll.
I noticed the way our normally electric connection crackled back to life the moment my hand slipped into his as Jameson lead me from the hospital and into the back of the armored black limousine. Our bodies gravitated toward each other in the back seat. I tucked my feet up next to me and leaned into him, resting my head on his chest.
From the hospital, we bypassed the hotel where I had been staying and went right to a private airfield where Air Force One was waiting. Slowly, I walked up the stairs with Jameson’s hand protectively on my back, guiding me up. I made my way inside the spacious privacy of the cabin and headed straight for the bedroom. Jameson was going to work, and I was going to sleep. I couldn’t think of a better arrangement. I woke up midway through the flight to find Jameson sound asleep next to me, his hand resting protectively over my middle, right over where our child would have been growing. I covered his hand with mine and sighed heavily. What had he thought when I told him that I was pregnant? Was he excited and happy? For now, I was content not to have those answers.
As we returned to the White House in the early morning hours, we both ignored the furious clicking of camera shutters. How did they even know we were back? Why were they even waiting for us at such a late hour? I’m not naïve enough to assume that my brief hospital stay in a foreign country went unnoticed, and Jameson’s attentiveness as I emerged from the back of the car could not be ignored. I’d worry about what statement would be released later. Right now, I wanted to crawl into the big bed of our private suite and sleep for days.
“Welcome home, Ms. Washington,” Barrett Lawson greeted me softly. His smile was sweet, but his eyes were full of concern.
I placed a hand on his cheek and returned the smile. “Thank you, Barrett. You know what I’d love right now?”
“Warm chocolate chip cookies and a glass of chocolate milk?”
“You read my mind.”
“I’ll let Chef Zanetti know.”
I turned back to Jameson, leaning into him. “My energy is zapped. I think I’m going to take a nap while those cookies bake.”
Jameson surprised me by lifting me up into his arms. I squeaked as I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. “I’d better make sure you get there safely.”
“You don’t have to carry me, Jameson.”
“Consider this practice.”