Chapter 35

Henry

I know I badly needed sleep, but there are too few hours in the day as it is, and my re-election campaign is woefully incomplete.

I’m staring down sightlessly at the slew of paperwork scattered across my desk. It’s all so tedious, but necessary—annoyingly necessary.

I know I’ve been neglecting Beatrice, but it’s not something I can avoid. I’m the president of the United States after all, and she knew what she was getting in for.

I’m supposed to be at the presidential suite over two hours ago, but Beatrice has the sense not to bother me to find out what’s been keeping me; she knows how important my re-election is.

I sigh heavily, and it’s soon followed by a yawn. I really am exhausted. I should probably pack for the night, but I call for Lawrence first.

Ten minutes later, a gentle rap on the door informs me of his arrival. Lawrence has a sleepy look on his face, and it makes me immediately regret asking him to join me.

“You called for me?” he asks, struggling to stifle a yawn.

“Lawrence, I’m sorry to keep you. I wasn’t even aware of how late it had gotten,” I reply apologetically.

“You should be getting some sleep, too, Henry.”

“I know, I know. I just wanted to go over a few re-election points with you before I turn in for the...morning.” I look at my watch; it’s almost three in the morning.

I give Lawrence an abashed smile.

Lawrence sits down, yawning once more.

“Well, I’m already here so we may as well.”

And so, we go over my campaign points for nearly an hour, arguing over possible marketing strategies and potential sponsors, until I feel satisfied that we’ve made some reasonable progress.

Eventually, I feel myself dangerously close to falling asleep in my chair.

“Right, Henry, off to bed with you. You have breakfast with the Californian governor in five hours.”

I resist the urge to make a noise in protest. I don’t much like the man as it stands, and now, I’ll have to deal with him sleep-deprived.

“Wonderful,” I say as I stand up. “Thank you for joining me, Lawrence. Feel free to take the morning off to catch up on sleep. At least one of us should.”

Lawrence smiles appreciatively. “Much obliged. I’ll see you in a few hours, Henry.”

We both vacate the Oval Office; Lawrence heads one way down the corridor to the staff exit, while I head in the opposite direction.

When I finally make it to bed, Beatrice is already fast asleep—her body sprawled across the duvet with a notebook still in her hand. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one working late today.

She murmurs a little in her sleep as I gently push her awake. She opens her heavy-lidded eyes to stare blearily at me.

“...time is it?” Beatrice just barely manages to get out.

“Way too late. Or early. Time to get under the covers, Bea.”

She smiles at me as I lift the duvet out from underneath her and pull it over the two of us. The bed is blessedly warm and comfortable, and I feel myself falling into unconsciousness as soon as my head hits the pillow.

“Love you,” I hear Beatrice mumble as she turns over in her sleep.

I kiss the back of her head. “Love you, too.”

* * *

I feel as if I’ve barely been asleep at all when I receive my wake-up call; I’ve never wanted breakfast less than I do right now.

Beatrice’s arms wind around me, pulling me back towards her.

“Don’t go. Stay in bed.”

It’s a dangerously tempting proposition, but I tease her hands away and swing into an upright position nonetheless.

“You know I can’t do that, Bea.”

She sits up against the pillows and looks critically at me.

“You’ve barely slept ten hours over the past three days, Henry. I’m worried about you.”

“You know how important the re-election campaign is, Bea. I don’t have a choice. I’ve got to prove that I’m capable of continuing as the president, which means my campaign has to be twice as good as my competitors’.”

Beatrice leans over and kisses me gently.

“I know you do, Henry. I just wish—”

“Wish what?” I fire back, irritated from lack of sleep and my impending breakfast meeting.

The last thing I need is to be berated for not taking time out.

She makes a face.

“No need to get so defensive, Henry. I just wish you’d slow down a little. We haven’t eaten together in weeks, let alone spent a night together.”

“You think I have time for that right now, Bea? You knew what you’d be getting into when you accepted my proposal. It’s not going to get any easier.”

“I know,” Beatrice replies, her tone somewhat steely. “I’m the White House biographer after all. Or have you forgotten? I’m well aware what your job involves.”

“Then you know not to criticize the way I do things. And don’t even consider questioning my methods in public—the press will go mad if it looks as if you don’t agree with the way I do things.”

Beatrice gets up from the bed to throw a bathrobe on with a scowl on her face.

“As if I would ever imagine to do something like that, Henry! Who do you think I am?”

I get up to put my hands on her shoulders, trying to placate her. I know it’s not right to vent at Beatrice when she’s done nothing wrong; she’s just worried about me.

“I’m sorry, Bea. Really, I am. I’m just trying to keep everything together. And image is everything to the public, especially the way I interact with my First Lady.”

Beatrice is quiet for a moment, then turns around to face me. Her face is serious.

“Henry.”

I raise an eyebrow questioningly.

Beatrice takes a deep breath.

“I want to continue working when I officially become First Lady. Only freelance, of course. I just don’t want to give up my career.”

I run a hand over my face in exasperation.

“Bea, you know you won’t have time to continue working when we get married. It’s simply not feasible. We’ve been over this before.”

Beatrice’s eyes widen slightly.

“So, what? I’m supposed to give up my entire life for you? I don’t get a choice at all?”

“Bea—”

“Just leave me alone, Henry. You’ve made your opinion perfectly clear. I don’t want to discuss this any further when you’re in this much of a bad mood. Have fun with the California governor.”

And with that, Beatrice breaks free from my grasp and heads for a shower, leaving me frustrated, guilty, and at a loss for words.

She knew what she was getting into. She did. And yet, I still feel bad about how her free time has been getting reduced more and more with each passing day.

I then resolve to get an early night so I can talk to her properly tomorrow with a clear and level head. I owe her at least that much. For now, I have an unpleasant breakfast meeting to attend to, though I don’t have an appetite.

I swing a longing stare back at the bed; I wish I could do nothing more than pull Beatrice back under the covers and do unspeakable things to her well into the afternoon.

But days like those are gone—at least for now.

Being president is exhausting. But I owe it to my people—and to myself—to do it justice.