“Madame President?” Vanessa knocked as she put her head in the door of the Oval Office early the next morning.

“Yes? Come on in.” Jessica had to admit that requiring staff to announce themselves and others before entering her office had made her days more tolerable. She couldn’t imagine why it took a foreign diplomat to point out the obvious to her—she was the damn president of the United States, she didn’t have to admit every staff member and visitor on a whim.

“I have some bad news.”

Jessica sat up straight, ready to go into crisis mode even though it was only seven fifteen in the morning.

“WNN is reporting that Senator Melville was caught with a prostitute yesterday.”

“What?” Jessica snapped. “He just announced his candidacy for president!”

Vanessa sighed and nodded. “I know, ma’am, but there is no way you can give him your endorsement now.”

“Hell. He was going to be the party’s man. He was going to be my goddamn replacement.” She hissed under her breath, adrenaline pushing through her veins at the same time a hot flush washed over her.

“Get me Derek Ambrose on the phone,” she barked out.

“Yes, ma’am. I imagine he’s swamped, but I’ll put him through just as soon as we can reach him.”

“Thank you. And can you have someone order me more coffee and a doughnut if they can track one down?”

Vanessa smiled at her, knowing her boss’s penchant for sugar in times of stress.

“Yes, Madam President. I heard that they have a fresh batch of the crullers you like so much.”

“Thank God. Tell them I said thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Vanessa slipped out of the room, and Jessica sagged into her seat. Ten years ago, she’d been the wife of a new, young US senator, and absolutely nowhere in her future plans were the words president of the United States except as it related to him. Jessica Hampton had married the heir to a beloved American political dynasty, and she knew that with those wedding vows came a lifetime of political campaigns, living in the public eye, and keeping the home front running while John traversed the rocky geography of a political career. But they were young, idealistic, and deeply in love, and when he’d won the Senate race, they’d celebrated by renting a charming town house in Georgetown and talking about when they wanted to start their family.

She’d spent the first year of his Senate term getting them settled into the DC life. There were countless fundraisers, diplomatic events, and wives’ functions to attend. A house to decorate and decisions to make about her own career. Before the move, Jessica had practiced corporate litigation at a medium-sized firm in New York, but with a husband in the Senate, corporate law was too sticky a conflict of interest, so Jessica spent some time figuring out which direction she wanted to take her career.

The answer had presented itself one night when she was at a cocktail party chatting with the president of Georgetown University. He’d mentioned the need for a new university counsel, and Jessica’s heart had given an extra skip. She loved education, universities, the campuses, the students, the atmosphere of discourse and free thought. Within a week, she’d secured a position as the university’s counsel, with a part-time appointment in the law school teaching Intro to Contract Law. She and John had been ecstatic. The position offered the option for her to go to teaching full-time when they had a baby and presented no conflicts with his Senate position.

The phone chimed, interrupting her trip down memory lane, and her secretary’s voice came through the intercom. “Madam President? I have Mr. Ambrose on the line.”

“Put him through, please,” Jessica replied. The line clicked, and Jessica hit the speaker button. “Derek?”

“Yes, Madam President. Good morning.”

“I’m hearing it’s not been the best morning for you and Senator Melville.”

Derek gave a bitter chuckle. “No, ma’am. It’s actually been a hot mess. Have you seen the reports?”

“No, but Vanessa gave me the highlights.”

“Well, ma’am, we’ll be holding a press conference this afternoon introducing the public to the woman in question, who is actually my girlfriend and was at the hotel to visit me, not the senator.”

Jessica sat silently for a moment, disbelief rolling around in her head. “Derek…”

“It’ll be fine, Madam President. I know how important this candidacy is to you and the party. I have it under control, and a week from now, no one will remember that this even happened.”

She sighed. “I really hope you’re right, Derek. I have a great deal of faith in you, but until we’re sure, I won’t be able to endorse Senator Melville.”

He did a nice job of covering up his disappointment, but she knew he felt it all the same. “Of course, I understand. We will work to get this situation resolved and the campaign underway, and then we can revisit the possibility in a few weeks.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Please keep me updated if there are any new developments with this thing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After disconnecting, Jessica sat back and closed her eyes. Damn it. She was a first-term incumbent with a high approval rating, and the party had assumed she would run for reelection. But Jessica had never wanted to be president, and she certainly didn’t want to serve another four years. Jason Melville was the answer—a young, appealing party loyalist who could have Jessica’s stamp of approval and follow her footsteps right into the White House.

Now that plan was in danger, and Jessica knew without a doubt the party would pressure her to reconsider a reelection campaign.

“Dammit, John,” she swore under her breath as a headache began to bloom behind her eyes. No, Jessica Hampton had never once thought six years ago that her handsome, charming thirty-two-year-old husband would be dead before he was thirty-four, and she would be hustled into his Senate seat, then expected to fulfill his political legacy—the presidency.

Jessica’s personal cell phone rang, and she looked at the screen to see her mother-in-law’s name. It was as if the woman could sense when Jessica was thinking about her son.

“Hi, Marjorie,” she answered.

“Darling,” Marjorie drawled in her thick Southern accent. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, no meetings for another thirty minutes.”

“Good. How are you?”

“I’ve had better mornings, but generally I’m fine.”

“You’ve seen the news, then? Melville really screwed the pooch on this one.” Marjorie was a Southern belle but also a political veteran of forty-some odd years, and tough as nails. Jessica’s father-in-law had served in the Senate seat from South Carolina for over two decades.

Jessica’s head throbbed harder. “Yes, I’ve been on the phone with Derek Ambrose, and there was apparently a misunderstanding. The woman is actually Derek’s new girlfriend, so they’ll be explaining that later this afternoon.”

Marjorie snorted in derision. “New girlfriend, my ass,” she muttered. “Jessica, you know how John senior feels about this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Darlin’, why will you not even consider the possibility of serving another term? The nation is prospering. You’ve made fabulous strides with your negotiations in the Middle East. People are happy with you. That happens very infrequently in the presidency.”

Jessica had been over this with her in-laws so many times, she felt like she might as well record her answer and just hit Play when they called. Sometimes she thought that it might be worth telling them the whole truth, but then she’d remember the looks on their faces at John’s funeral and know that she couldn’t.

“I appreciate how fortunate my term in office has been, Marjorie, and that’s one reason why I want to go out on a high note. The longer I stay in, the greater the chance of things going rogue and destroying John’s legacy. I’ve managed to protect the Hampton reputation, and I think I’ve done John and John senior proud, but I can’t promise what would happen in a reelection campaign and another four years in office. You know as well as I do that mud gets slung, crises pop up, economies collapse. I want to leave office with the Hampton name representing the best in American politics.”

“You’re so good, Jessica. You know that we love you no matter what, don’t you?”

She heard her mother-in-law’s voice crack as she responded, and Jessica was immediately drawn back to that day in April when she’d had to make the call to tell them that John was dead.

She nodded even though no one could see her. “Yes, and I love you. But I have to get back to work now. I’ve discovered that the damn country won’t run itself.”

“Of course.” Marjorie rallied, her voice snapping back to its normal steel tones. “We’re still planning to come to the State dinner in November, so we’ll be seeing you soon.”

They said their good-byes, and Jessica sat, mind numb for a few moments. Then, without even thinking about it, she pulled on the second drawer of her desk, her hand shaking as she rolled the thick wood open. She looked down at the only item in the big drawer. The frame was thick, silver with elaborate scroll designs carved in the surface. The photo in the center of the elaborate dressing was simple, however, a black-and-white taken when the subjects hadn’t even known they were being photographed.

John lay on the sofa in his parents’ house, propped on one elbow, his other arm around Jessica’s waist as she lay on her back alongside him. They’d been watching football on a lazy Sunday when they were visiting during a law school break. He gazed down at her as she laughed at something he’d just said, and the love was etched into his whole being. The way his hand rested on her stomach, his fingers curled softly around the place where her hip met her waist, his pinky reaching under her sweater to touch bare skin. The way his eyes watched her face as she giggled like a schoolgirl. The way his head tipped toward her like a compass pointing north.

She ran a finger along the image of John, forever relegated to a piece of paper under glass in the bottom of a desk drawer, and her heart ached. It wasn’t as sharp as it had once been—the pain—but she was still shocked sometimes by how real it was, even after so many years. She’d always assumed that it would fade until one day it would hardly be noticeable. But instead, it faded from a daily hurt to one that flared, like some sort of chronic illness. Moments, events, people—different things triggered it, and you could never be sure when it would happen.

She’d become proficient at fighting it off, giving herself a brief moment to indulge it, then shoving it back in a drawer of her psyche the way she shoved the photograph into the drawer of the desk. For the better part of six years, Jessica Hampton had lived her life in deference to the man she’d loved, and she wanted out, wanted the peace to be herself, not just John Hampton’s widow. But now Jason Melville had let his dick control his actions, and it was all blown to hell.

There was a knock at the door, and she slammed the drawer shut too hard, rattling the desk.

“Come in,” she directed, trying to regroup and give the appearance of control.

“Madam President, the general is here for his appointment, and there is another bomb threat at the Egyptian embassy.”

Jessica’s heart skipped a beat as she thought about the tall, dark, and intriguing ambassador in danger.

“Please show the general in, and I’d like to be kept apprised of any developments in the bomb threat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Vanessa said, stepping aside and ushering in one of the joint chiefs of the military.

And so began another day as the president of the United States.

* * *

Kamal stood in the lobby of the Egyptian embassy and cursed. His secretary, who was also his niece, looked over at him from her perch on a stool and smirked.

“Mr. Ambassador.” She addressed him with a spark in her eyes. Disrespectful child. He would have to tell his sister that she’d raised a brat.

“Yes, Shamira?”

“You need to quit scowling. They’re almost done with the sweep, and they could have made you stand on the sidewalk. This really isn’t so bad.”

Kamal knew it wasn’t, but he did not appreciate being forced to leave his own office, and if they didn’t figure out who was making these bomb threats he was going to blow up the damn embassy himself so he could get some work done.

“Uncle Kamal,” his niece’s soft voice was right next to him now. “Are you having a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day?”

She grinned at him, and he couldn’t stay angry. He ruffled her hair because he knew that for a twenty-two-year-old girl, that was the worst affront you could offer.

“Your mother raised you like a wild animal,” he said as she dodged his hair-mussing fingertips.

“But she raised me to understand my moody uncle, which is why I’m your secretary. No one outside the family would be able to stand you all day long.”

He unfolded his arms, watching the parade of bomb-sniffing dogs and explosives unit personnel who were traipsing through his building. “You’re undoubtedly correct,” he told her.

A short horn blast sounded, and Kamal knew that the building had been given the all clear.

“Mr. Ambassador,” one of the bomb unit commanders said as he approached. “Everything’s been cleared.”

“Of course it has. These aren’t serious threats.”

The commander looked at him sternly. “Mr. Ambassador, you know we can’t assume that. These threats have every indication of being from a serious group. They’re delivered with details that tell us whoever this is has a great knowledge of explosives and urban terrorism.”

“And because of that, I encourage you to remove my staff from the building, but there is no reason to send me out.”

The commander smiled now. “Mr. Ambassador, it’s not a ship. You’re not required to go down with it.”

Kamal opened his mouth to lambast the man, but his niece caught his arm and began to press him around the man toward the elevators. “Mr. Ambassador, let’s get you upstairs so that you can prepare for your next meeting.”

He knew when he was being handled, but he let her do it anyway. She was actually an excellent secretary. He’d let her start part-time when she was still in college nearby in Virginia, then she’d asked him to take her on full-time when she graduated. He’d been able to shuffle some other staff around to give her the position, and he’d never regretted it.

When he returned to his office, he had to go through the ritual of reassembling everything. He’d never understand why the bomb squads had to open every drawer and pull every item off the shelves when they checked. Wasn’t that what the bomb dogs were for? If they couldn’t smell it, there was nothing there, right?

“Mr. Ambassador?” his niece said from the doorway as he shut the drawers to his big wood filing cabinet. She walked to him, an envelope extended in her hand.

“This was delivered during the chaos. Let me know how you’d like to respond, and I can have one of the men drive it over to the White House.”

Kamal nodded and took the missive from her before retreating to his desk and sitting while he lifted the unsealed flap of the creamy envelope. The White House seal was on the front of the card inside, and he touched the embossed foil, thinking about the woman who lived in the iconic building.

The inside of the card wasn’t printed with an invitation to a function as he expected, but instead, longhand cursive filled the space, the type of old school handwriting that very few people had or used these days.

Mr. Ambassador, I would like to invite you to attend a small reception at the White House this evening at seven p.m. Hors d’oeuvres will be served and cocktail attire is suggested. Please feel free to bring a guest if you wish. I look forward to seeing you there.

Jessica Hampton.

Kamal looked at the note for a long moment. A handwritten invitation from the president of the United States. Signed simply, Jessica Hampton. Something resembling excitement bubbled up in his chest. He was being ridiculous. It was a last-minute invitation to one of the many receptions held at the White House year-round. The president probably needed him to round out numbers or balance some sort of international agenda. He couldn’t help his smile all the same. He had to admit that his weekly meetings with the president had become the highlight of his schedule. The chance to talk to her sooner, see her in a different context excited him, and no matter how pointless he knew it was, he still wanted it.

He took out a piece of his official stationery from the desk drawer and picked up his heavy fountain pen.

Madam President, he wrote. I would be honored to attend the reception this evening. I will not be bringing a guest. I look forward to seeing you.

At Your Service,

Kamal Masri.

He waited for the ink to dry, then folded the paper and put it into an embassy envelope. He knew there was no point in sealing it, as the White House staff would open it and read it before it reached the president anyway, just as his own staff did here at the embassy. There was no such thing as privacy when you were a high-ranking government official.

After sending the missive to be hand-delivered to the White House, Kamal returned to setting his office in order. He went through the room, pushing in drawers and reshelving books. As he moved to shut the last drawer in his desk, however, it jammed. He pulled it back out, noticing that one of the file folders was askew, standing up above the rest so that it blocked the drawer’s path. He knew the file well. It contained all his personal notes from discussions about the Millennial Accord. It was a file that he removed and replaced several times a week, so it was possible that he’d not inserted it into the drawer completely, but Kamal wasn’t the type of man who did something halfway—even replacing a file in a drawer.

He shook his head and removed the file, leafing through the contents. Everything looked just as he’d left it. He slid it back into the drawer and decided that the bomb threats were making him slightly paranoid. The bomb squad was Egyptian, after all. No one ever entered the upper levels of the embassy but those Egyptian diplomats and military personnel with the highest security clearances. No, the last thing he needed was to get so skittish that he doubted his own people. If he couldn’t trust his own people, half of whom were related to him somehow, then he didn’t deserve to be ambassador.

He finished the cleanup of his office and got back to work, his mind pleasantly distracted from bombs and mysterious files by the thought of seeing Jessica Hampton later that night. Yes, seeing Jessica Hampton was quickly becoming the single best thing about his job.