Chapter 14

Henry

It’s been a long six months. A very full, very busy six months, but a long six months nonetheless.

I feel as if I’ve hardly spent any time in the White House lately; it’s all been about business trips and diplomacy meetings and dinners with donors.

I know who I’d rather be having dinner with, but Beatrice always has an excuse. Not that that means I’ll give up—I can tell she wants to say yes but simply doesn’t want to appear unprofessional.

It makes me respect her all the more. And reinforces my desire to wine and dine her.

“So, it’s The Hague first next week,” Lawrence says, bringing me out of my reverie as we leave the Oval Office to travel through the White House to a waiting car outside.

I push Beatrice out of my head to listen attentively—my job as president is my number one priority, after all. I can’t afford to ignore my chief of staff or appear disinterested.

“That’s for the meeting at the International Criminal Court, isn’t it?”

Lawrence nods his head. “Yes, to discuss nuclear non-proliferation. We’ll also be discussing whether the U.S. will finally join the Court with the other world leaders…hopefully, it will be a fruitful discussion.”

“That’s the intention.”

“After that, we’ll be heading to France to commemorate the Normandy Invasion, then to Italy and Vatican City to discuss—”

“Human rights, including poverty and stem cell research. I’m looking forward to that one, actually.”

Lawrence raises an eyebrow.

“There will also be peace talks about the Middle East,” he says with a knowing look.

I sigh in an exaggerated manner. “Ah, I knew there was something I wasn’t looking forward to.”

“Henry...” he chastises.

I laugh.

“You know I’m kidding, Lawrence. Why, am I no longer allowed to make a joke, now that I’m president?”

“Not about the Middle East, you’re not.”

“Ah, I suppose you have a point there.”

Lawrence continues to go into the finer details of our impending trip as we walk purposefully down the corridor. The trip is very important, after all, and will help to solidify my place among the world leaders as a capable United States president—something the rest of the world seems to have spent the last few years begging for.

But suddenly, two very attractive women round the corner, and I’m confronted with Hope and Beatrice.

The two of them are so involved in discussion that Beatrice only just notices me as I pass her by, nodding her head politely in acknowledgment.

I don’t even receive a verbal ‘Hello, Mr President’ before she’s off being busy with Hope. I can’t help but be incredibly disappointed.

I want to get to know her, and she’s making it nigh on impossible.

The snapping of fingers brings me back to reality.

“Henry Thatcher, are you there?”

I shake my head slightly. Lawrence is looking at me suspiciously.

“Sorry, Lawrence, I just got a little distracted,” I say apologetically.

He sighs.

“This is your first year as president, Henry. All eyes are on you, and you have a lot to prove. You don’t have time to be distracted, not in the least.”

“I know, Lawrence. And I am president, so be a bit more mindful of your tone.”

Behind closed doors, I can afford to give Lawrence a bit of leeway, but among the staff? Not so much.

“Good, and I will.”

Lawrence bids me goodbye as we reach the grounds of the White House, and one of my security detail opens the waiting car’s door for me. I slide into the back seat and recline against the leather upholstery. I haven’t sat down properly all morning.

The silence in the back of the car is a blessing. It allows me to return to my thoughts unencumbered, at least for a few minutes.

Beatrice will be forced into tight quarters with me next week. We’re traveling on Air Force One, and then staying in secured hotels. She won’t have all that much freedom to venture away from me.

If ever there was a time for me to convince her to accept a dinner date, it’ll be next week.

I think hard on my schedule—do I even have time to go out for dinner with Beatrice? I can’t compromise my work as president just to take her out. Not to mention the fact that she’d never accept such an invitation, knowing that I was shirking my responsibilities.

And then it hits me—the Italian State Dinner.

Beatrice isn’t currently going to it, but that can be easily rearranged. And it’s part of the job.

She’ll have no reason to refuse.

Except that she won’t have packed any suitable clothes for it, and if she’s informed of the dinner before we leave, she may find a reason to get out of it.

Which means it has to be a surprise, and I’ll have to pick her clothes out myself.

Good thing I know her size.

And I’ve had my eye on a dress that would look stunning on her. I’ve been fantasizing about removing it from her person for weeks now.

I pull my phone out and text Hope, asking her to call me as soon as she can get away from Beatrice.

She calls just two minutes later.

“What is it, Mr President?” she asks as soon as I pick up.

“Well, hello to you, too, Hope,” I chuckle. “Remember that dress you had considered buying a few weeks ago for the State Dinner, but decided it wasn’t your color?”

“The Valentino one,” Hope replies, sounding suspicious. “What about it?”

“Is there any way you can have one made before we leave for The Hague? I’ll text you the measurements.”

“That’s going to be costly, you know.”

“The cost is no issue. Can it be done?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line as Hope considers the task.

“Yes, I know someone who can push through a custom order. I can get it ready in three—no, two days.”

“Excellent. Thanks, Hope. Let me know as soon as it’s ready.”

“Got it.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” I add on as I suddenly remember something important. “Arrange to have a hair and make-up team ready before the Italian State Dinner for yourself and Beatrice.”

I can tell that Hope is throwing me a knowing smile down the phone.

“Of course, Mr President. Have a good lunch.”

I feel a grin creep up my face as I hang up the phone.

Beatrice will blow everyone away with how gorgeous she’ll be. And she’ll be on my arm.

My date.

I wonder excitedly whether the Italian State Dinner will be the impetus Beatrice needs to push aside her stark professionalism just long enough for me to get through to her.

I want her, and I want her to know that I want her. I don’t want her to find an excuse to push aside my feelings this time.

I’ll make my feelings clear, and she’ll have to respond. And if that twinkle in her eye that always says ‘yes’ to my dinner requests even as she forces herself to say ‘no’ is anything to go by, that response should be very much of the positive kind.

Suddenly, I very much wish time would fast-forward one week.

Which means that the next seven days are going to be very long, indeed.

Sighing, I watch the rain roll down the window of the car as we slow to a halt outside the restaurant I’m having my business lunch in.

Just seven days. I can make it seven days.