Felicity
Roma’s body sags between four Secret Service agents, his face a bloody pulp. But when he looks up at me, I see that he is smiling. He breathes shallowly and his clothes are covered in blood, but the smile outshines all of that. The entire room is turned toward him, all of them no doubt expecting him to be the culprit. But I know Roma. He’s a professional. If he was the one who fired off the shot, Dad would be dead. No, somebody else must’ve fired it. And even if, by some twist of fate, he had missed, he wouldn’t run down here and cause this scene. He’d run before anybody knew what happened.
I look into his face and feel warmth bloom across my chest.
Then Dad touches my arm. “Felicity,” he says, voice sharp. “Do you know this man?”
“He just charged in here,” one of the Secret Service men says. The man’s teeth are gritted. He’s the one who beat Roma the most savagely, I remember. “Charged right past us. He must have something to do with the gunshot.”
My mind spins over and over, searching for an explanation. They’ll take him and throw him in prison, but not just regular prison. They’ll arrest him for treason and put him in a tiny windowless cell where he’ll grow old alone and frightened. Come on, I tell myself. He saved you. Now it’s your turn to save him. Because I’m sure he saved me. I’m sure that’s the reason he’s here.
“Felicity,” Dad says. “He used your name. He said he loved you. Why would a man with the gall to charge into this private party, minutes after a gunshot almost killed me, say that?”
My mouth falls open as I search for words. I need to say something which will cause them to release him, without question.
Suddenly, more Secret Service men burst into the room. “We found the shooter,” one of them says. “An old man in a black suit across the way. The trajectory lines up perfectly.”
“So this man isn’t the shooter?” Dad asks.
“Not by the looks of it,” the man replies.
“Then who is he, why is he here, and how does he know my daughter’s name?”
Roma looks at me and I see the way this could easily go. I’ll remain silent and he’ll be carted away from me. They’ll search his name and find nothing. He hasn’t been on the system since he was a kid, maybe not even then. They’ll interrogate him, but Roma is tough. He won’t give anything up. But that won’t stop them holding him indefinitely.
I realize that everybody is watching me.
Yes! I think, when the idea comes into my head.
“He’s my husband,” I say.
A smile touches Roma’s lips.
“Your . . . what?” Dad gasps.
“My husband,” I say with more confidence. “I met him in France and we were married. I was going to tell you after the party. I didn’t want to worry you. He asked if he could come—he was there when I was kidnapped and he didn’t want to let me out of his sight—but I told him it would only confuse matters. He waited across the street instead.”
Roma nods. “When I heard the gunshot,” he says, “I assumed the worst. I needed to see my wife.”
Dad looks from me to Roma, from Roma to me. I know he’s concerned about the gunshot, about the sequence of events. But first and foremost Dad is a politician. I know what’s concerning him more than the gunshot and the chaos is the political repercussions. Secret Service just savagely beat a man who is, as far as everybody now knows, just a man who wanted to make sure his wife was safe.
I step forward, closing the distance between me and Roma.
“Let go of him,” I say to the Secret Service.
“Ma’am,” the man who beat him says. “I don’t think that’s such a good—”
“He is my husband and you just beat him within an inch of his life,” I interrupt. “How dare you tell me what is and is not a good idea?”
“Let go of him,” Dad says from behind me. “My daughter wants to tend to her husband.”
The Secret Service step back. Roma, unsteady on his feet, tumbles forward into my arms. I hug him close to me, supporting him, and he wraps his arms around me and squeezes me tightly against him, as though he is afraid I might float away.
“It was Mr. Black,” he whispers in my ear. “He was the one who fired the shot. They tried to make me, but . . . I killed him,” he finishes, words blurred by the blood. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you. I love you, Felicity. That’s the truth. I love you more than I’ve loved anything in my entire life.”
“Hush,” I say, stroking the back of his head. I kiss him on the cheek, softly, so I don’t hurt his wounds.
I turn to Dad. “We need to get him cleaned up. He didn’t deserve that.”
“No,” Dad says, looking sternly at Secret Service. “No, he did not. You, go and get a paramedic.”
The crowd begins to disperse and I lead Roma to the stage, sit him down, leaning him against it. He smiles up at me, reaches out his hands for my face. I sit next to him and we hold each other.
“You came back for me,” I say.
“Are you glad I did?” he asks.
I bring his hand to my lips and kiss it softly. “I wished for it,” I say.
Dad leans down beside us. “Where’s your ring?” he says.
I smile at Roma. “He couldn’t afford one. But he did make a special purchase to win me.”
Roma grins.
Dad shakes his head, bemused, and a moment later the paramedic is weaving through the crowd.