Chapter 37

Henry

I can’t keep still.

Again, I catch myself pacing. If I keep this up, I’ll wear through this spot on the carpet in no time.

It’s just that my mind is running a mile a minute, and I can hardly contain myself. I want to share all of this with Beatrice and hear her input, but she’s not back yet.

So, I stand still and picture herself coming through the door again, her hair falling around her face, her eyes beaming, and her smile warming my heart.

My imagination keeps skipping forward, further into the future. It seems like a lot to juggle—the re-election, international politics, ongoing national affairs, and getting married to Bea.

Yet there is no try. None of it can fail. I know it’s a lot, but I can do it.

We can do it. Together.

But the path forward leads through treacherous territory, and I know not everyone wants me to succeed. There are people who want to tear us apart—some out of ill-will and others just out of love for a scandal.

Which is why every step forward has to be carefully planned and orchestrated, like walking on eggshells. It’s possible, but we have to be extra careful.

I realize I’m pacing again. I’m just eager to get going—it comes from my hands-on approach.

Since the re-election campaign kicked off officially, things have been more strenuous for Beatrice. I guess it’s one thing to cover the life of a politician so up close, and another to live as the fiancé of the president in the White House. Beatrice is doing both.

I see now how she’s constantly fighting on two fronts at the same time.

The job engages me. I thrive on being on the spot and in the limelight. It energizes me.

The same cannot be said for her, but her career in journalism has steeled her for all sorts of stress.

Lately, things seem to be taking their toll on her, though. It’s something I want to address, and I’m sure we can talk it through.

Because unfortunately, with the campaign shifting into even higher gear soon, there will be more of that stress in the future—not less.

I hear her enter the presidential suite and stop dead in my tracks.

Finally, she’s home.

From the look on her face, I’m not sure she feels like she’s coming home properly. I do my best to make her feel welcome.

“Bea!” I walk toward her with open arms.

She looks up, obviously lost in thought. Then a smile washes over her face, and she falls into my embrace.

“Did the press bother you much?” I ask, leaning back to get a good luck at her.

She looks up at me with kind and slightly tired eyes. She seems to weigh the question—and me. As if I could be asking in my own interest or if any pictures of her have been taken that could compromise us. But no, it’s because I simply have her well-being in mind.

She shakes her head in response—and possibly to get that notion out of her mind.

“No,” she adds. “You know how well Hope organizes my...escape.”

She oddly lingers on the word, but I pay it no mind.

“How was lunch with Fiona? Were you guys catching up or talking shop?”

“Fiona is fine, thanks,” Beatrice responds, but I don’t think she fully heard my question.

I release her to let her arrive fully, and she walks around the suite, picking up things here and there, then setting them back down. She seems erratic, but I’m still brimming with all the excitement of my mind racing through future events, so I jump right in.

“Bea, I think we have a lot of things to go over together. I know the campaign is my thing, not yours, but we’ll have to enforce an even stricter regimen of coordinated public appearances together. We definitely want to send the right message on this. Maybe we can sit down soon and sync our calendars, since there are a lot of upcoming events.”

She breathes a sigh across the room and nods mechanically, but without looking at me. Something is beginning to feel off.

“Then, there’s an upcoming meeting with Hope and the others about the eventual announcement of our engagement.”

I pause and look at her, but she doesn’t respond—like she’s retreated into her own little world.

“And then, at a later stage, I believe we have a wedding to plan.”

This finally gets her attention. She stops, turns, and looks at me.

I can tell by her eyes that something heavy is weighing on her mind. She raises a hand, pleading me to halt.

“Henry, stop. Hold on a moment. I know your schedule is always full, and you have to plan way ahead, but I also have something to tell you. We need to talk.”

“Of course.”

I close the distance between us in a handful of steps and take her hands into mine once I’m able. I look down into her chocolate eyes, searching for what it is that occupies her mind. She holds my gaze, but wavers.

“This is all a bit much. You might have guessed that the re-election campaign is putting a bit of a strain on me.”

I nod. “Yes, I noticed.”

“I’m afraid of any missteps. I’d still be, even if we weren’t engaged, but as it is...things are moving very fast. For me.”

She looks at me and tilts her head, apparently unsure how to go on. I squeeze her hands and try to encourage her.

“Go on, Bea. Speak your mind.”

“Your job and your campaign are a lot by themselves, but here you are, talking about the wedding. That seems like a lot to me, in very little time.”

Again, she stops, and I manage a smile, though I’m unsure where exactly she’s going with all this.

“Henry, I love you. You have to know that.”

“I do know,” I say gently, “and I love you, too, Bea.”

A brief smile flickers over her face, but she withdraws her hands from mine and softly moves a strand of her hair out of her face before she fixes me again with her eyes. And this time, she firmly holds my gaze.

“I love you, Henry. But I’m not sure...” She breathes in sharply. “But I’m not sure if I’m the right one...for the job.”

She makes a sweeping motion with her right hand around the entire room.

I open my mouth to speak, but she raises a hand.

“Please, let me say what I need to say.”

What is she talking about, the right one for the job? What job—of First Lady? My biographer?

My wife?

All these questions race in my mind, but I can see it in her eyes that if I interrupt her, she might not be able to finish what she has to say.

“You know I don’t want to commit any errors. I don’t want to do anything that could interfere with your job or harm your career. That’s really important to me.” She continues, giving a tiny nod of her head for emphasis. “And to be honest, I miss being in the field. I miss my own job. I’m a reporter; I have to write.”

Her chest heaves as she inhales sharply again.

I already see where this is going now—and I don’t like it.

“I’ve wrapped up all the documentation for your biography, you know. All these ends are tied up. I’m very grateful you’ve made this possible, that I’ve had that opportunity. Thank you for that. But Fiona offered me my dream job again.”

She looks at me with hopeful eyes.

I find I can just stand here and nod.

“And I want to take it. I’m going to take it.”

She removes her engagement ring and gives it a long and forlorn look, slowly moving it between her fingers.

“I’ve spoken to Hope. I’ll do whatever you, Hope, and Lawrence need me to do in order to protect your career and your re-election campaign.”

Her voice falters.

My jaw is clenched so tightly that I feel like I’m about to break my teeth.

She takes my hand and places the ring on my palm. She closes my fingers around it, tears welling in her eyes, and leaves.

I stand rooted to the spot, as if bolted to the floor.

The click of the door closing behind her as she leaves sounds more like a clap of thunder than the gentle noise it is.

I open my hand and look down at the ring. The sight causes my stomach to twist into knots.

When I look and see myself in the mirror, all the color is gone from my face.

And before I realize what I’m doing, my fist shatters the glass.