CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Teresa
The time had come. The hands of the clock were almost at midnight and I could tell my time as Cinderella was up. We were headed to campaign headquarters and although I was happy and bright on the surface, that image was brittle. Inside, I was a mess, a teary-eyed, poor immigrant girl, knowing that the pumpkin chariot was just that … a pumpkin.
But Matt didn’t have to know. I’d secretly packed my bags earlier that day, taking only the things that I’d brought. The dresses, the heels, the things that he’d bought for me, I’d stashed in a closet downstairs. And almost broken down when I saw what else was in the closet … multitudes of evening gowns, furs, even jewelry, in all sizes, leftovers from his previous relationships.
Because that was what I was, right? Just a figment of the past. I was someone he’d hired, someone he’d paid to soften his image as he campaigned, and it had worked, I could feel it in the energy of his staff, the buzz at headquarters, even the elation that permeated the City today. But that didn’t mean I could stay. The clock was striking midnight, and I’d let myself cry that morning, indulging this one time before straightening my shoulders, focusing on the job ahead.
Because Matt was going to be Mayor, and my part of the contract wasn’t done until he sealed the deal. He’d achieved another stunning victory, another jewel to add to his already glowing resume as billionaire, philanthropist, entrepreneur, and executive. And I would be there to make sure it happened, melting into the background when the time was right.
Matt was on a high though. His big hand was possessive on my knee even as he chatted jovially with Jones, our driver.
“It’s a good day, Jones, a great day,” he rumbled, giving my thigh a squeeze. I felt myself grow wet, his proximity always my downfall, and he seemed to know it, skimming his fingers up my thigh to caress my puss lightly, grinning wickedly when he heard my sharp intake of breath.
But this wasn’t the place or time. We’d arrived at headquarters and the car door was opened from the outside, bright lights flashing as they caught Matt stepping out of the limo.
“Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,” voices called. “Is it okay to call you that? Or is it too early?”
“It always sounds good to me,” Matt joked, exuding that down home country charm. And I watched adoringly as he was swept away by the pack, in his element, the scrum surging around this man I loved.
Because yes, I’ve fallen in love. It wasn’t in the contract, wasn’t what I planned to happen, in fact it was the opposite of what I wanted to happen, but sometimes you just can’t help it. I knew this man inside out, had spent 24/7 with him going to countless events, and knew his foibles, his twists, his idiosyncrasies, and what a good man he was, kind, caring, open to diverse viewpoints.
There’d been a few times when I’d almost told him about my own sordid past, I felt so comfortable with him now. We’d been lying in bed post-sex, sated, glowing with pleasure, and I’d lazily moved my leg to cover his, lightly brushing his still-hard member with my thigh.
“Mmm,” he groaned, rubbing my puss in retaliation. “You want to start up again?”
And I’d giggled because we’d been going at it for hours now, orgasming over and over. If we didn’t get some sleep, he was going to be a mess at his five a.m. morning call.
But instead, I’d rolled onto my stomach and shaken my hair back, the dark strands covering his chest.
“Matt,” I said, my tone light. “Aren’t we going to the women’s shelter today? You know the one that houses women and girls who were victims of sex abuse?”
“Mmm,” was his grunting reply, eyes closed.
But I was insistent. “Matt,” I continued. “Sex abuse is rampant where I come from, in fact girls as young as thirteen often flee on their own, with no money, no connections, no nothing except the idea that the United States represents safety. You know that right?”
“Mmm,” was the sleepy grunt I got in return. “Honduras is bad, huh?” he said, his eyes still closed.
I was so tempted to spill the beans, to tell him about Uncle Gordo and how I’d been molested for years, the nightly tongue-lashings. But the moment had been so perfect, our skin glowing in the dim light, his breathing even, soft and sated, that I couldn’t bear to mar the reverie with something so horrific.
So instead I let the moment pass. But I was gratified the next day when Matt demonstrated caring and empathy at the women’s shelter, taking the hand of one particularly downtrodden twelve year-old and listening to her story for an hour when we should have moved on to the next stop.
“That was utter shit, what happened to that girl,” he commented to me once we were in the car again.
And yes, it had been bad. I’d acted as translator, my voice breaking sometimes as I conveyed the story of her gang-rape by neighborhood thugs in Guatemala. But I’d maintained my composure and Matt had sworn afterwards to do something about it, even if he didn’t become mayor. With his resources, the options were limitless and I knew he’d stand by his word.
So I watched with mixed pride and sadness as my man disappeared into the crowd. The clock was ticking … and it was almost time for me to disappear.