FOR LUCK
Matt
“Long life, President Hamilton!”
I pull her to the dance floor, and I want to devour this girl. I want to run my mouth all over that sweet, smiling face, kiss the lips she’s been gnawing nervously all day, slowly unbutton the buttons on the back of her dress and have my way with her.
I feel invincible, like I can do it all, have it all.
And as I twirl her and hear her laugh, then hear her sigh when I pull her back up against my chest, I know for certain—I want for nothing more.
I used to argue with my father, those last few years.
“Why would you marry a woman if you weren’t going to pay attention to her?”
“One day you’ll meet a woman, Matthew, that you’ll have to make yours.”
“I’m not that selfish.”
Well, Father, turns out I am. But I’m determined to make her happy. I won’t do what he did.
Once our dance is finished, she dances with her father, and as I pull my mother to the dance floor, I’m sure she’s struggling with the same thoughts I am. That he should have been here. That he’d have been as proud as Charlotte’s father looks tonight.
“I’m finding his killer,” I tell her.
“Matt, don’t. It’s pointless.”
“It’s not pointless,” I counter.
“Matthew, please . . .”
“Hey,” I stop her. “This is the United States of America. You don’t kill a man and get your happily ever after. Not here.”
“Oh, Matthew,” she says, forlorn. She glances at Charlotte. “Enjoy your bride. She loves you.”
“And I love her. I’ll do right by her.”
She purses her lips, fearful, worried. “You’re not your father. You may have chased the same dream, but you’re all of our better assets, all of our virtues combined.”
I laugh and kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mother.”
“May I have the next dance?” my grandfather asks.
I smile at him and hand my mother over. “Thanks, Grandfather.”
“Congratulations, boy. She brings freshness to the house. I see what you’ve seen in her now.”
I glance at her, and she’s dancing with the children from the Children’s National hospital. She’s laughing as little Matthew Brems tries to twirl her around like I did, and I feel my lips curve into a smile. I plunge my hands into my pockets and watch her—I’ve never derived so much pleasure in watching anything in my life.
She makes me want to be the best man I can be. There aren’t that many people who do that for you. She also makes me want to drop to my knees and worship the living daylights out of her.
I see her keep stepping on the train of her gown, then excuse herself from the dance floor and whisper something to Stacey, who ushers her into the house.
“We never thought we’d see the day, Hamilton.”
“Hey, he’s your fucking president now.”
“Come on, he’s still Hamilton.”
I just smile. “Hey,” I greet Lucas and Oliver, old friends of mine. “Good of you to come.”
“Some speculated that it would be difficult to take People’s Sexiest Man Alive seriously for president. Look at you now.”
I smile dryly as they motion to their table, and I take a seat and sip from my glass when one of the ushers approaches—and a vision in blue with red hair tumbling down her back follows. She’s wearing a traveling outfit, blue skirt and a matching cropped jacket that accentuates her waist, that skirt letting me look at those lovely legs of hers.
I slowly come to my feet, the blood pooling instantly to my groin.
Our eyes meet. Her blue eyes are wide in happiness and awe, vulnerable. I want to grab her to me.
“Charlotte,” I say, introducing her, adding, “Harvard friends, Lucas and Oliver.”
“Nice to meet you,” she greets them, then heads over to another table to hug my mother and grandfather. She comes back, taking a place to my right. Our eyes meeting yet again as I set my hand on the small of her back and guide her to sit.
“Remember that teacher at Harvard, that cute little thing who did a double take when you came into class that first day? She wouldn’t look Matt in the eye without getting flustered,” Lucas says.
“You passed with an A for good looks,” Oliver adds.
I lean back and partly listen to the conversation. Nothing I haven’t heard. My college friends get hung up on college days, as if those were the best days of their lives. I find I like my life just fine now, and I’m more interested in her reactions, her laugh.
I’ve never seen this girl so happy. God, she looks gorgeous.
I shift, my groin aching.
Nothing stands between us anymore. I won’t let my fears of not being able to be both a good commander in chief and the man she wants stop me. I’m sure as hell going to do everything in my power to excel at both.
I only hope I can calm myself enough tonight to give her the time she needs to enjoy the wedding, before I take her to Camp David and get a little peace and quiet for us both.
I eye her in that sexy-as-hell blue dress that accentuates her curves, and it only heightens the need I have to see her naked body—to claim my wife.
I set my drink aside and my gaze pins her down. “Excuse us, we have a few heads of state I need to look for.”
“Nice to meet you.” She’s laughing as she says goodbye, and she tugs at my sleeve. “Matt, wait. I think the kids are waiting for me to finish dancing with them.”
I’m stopped by the President of Mexico as she goes to say goodbye to the kids.
“Hermosa, la primera dama,” the president says. “Beautiful, the first lady. Congratulations.”
“Thank you for coming, sharing the joy.” I grin, and we begin discussing the longstanding treaty between our countries when I watch her approach the group. Little Matt Brems steps up with his hand outstretched and pointing back to the dance floor.
She accepts. I plunge my hands into my pockets as she takes him to the dance floor, her hair falling over her back, and the cameras are flashing like crazy. When the dance is done, she bows her head, and then she retrieves something from nearby. She kneels before the boy and gives him the gift, and the boy just stares at it, then at her in full wonder, and she glances at me with a smile.
I smile in return, knowing what it is. Then I flash on an image of a younger version of me, with her kneeling before him . . . our child. I clench my hands, a fierce want hitting me.
I shake it off, smiling at her, and continue talking to the President of Mexico, telling myself now isn’t the time. But thinking of the years ahead, I don’t know when that will be.
“I gave little Matt the photograph of his visit to the White House, the one with you in it that I asked you to sign,” Charlotte says, back at my side.
“I know.”
“For luck.”
“You’re gorgeous. I’m looking forward to whisking you out of here.”