Chapter 41

Beatrice

My aching feet carry me through the streets as I head home from the grocery store. Despite only having one bag, my pregnancy is starting to make me feel so weak and almost helpless.

I wonder how much longer before it starts to hurt too much to walk to the store and back, until I get my shopping delivered to my door.

Of course, the only downside to that would be being unable to make impromptu stops for gelato on the way home.

I catch a stray drip of mint chocolate chip with my tongue as it trickles down the waffle cone and onto my hand. The sweet treat is cool and refreshing, and it stops me from feeling too overworked as I go home for the night.

I always knew that this job would keep me busy—that was half of the appeal—but for the last few months, I’ve let it become all-consuming of my time and thoughts. I think my friends are getting a little bit worried about me; I know my mom definitely is.

But all the time that I’m working or I’m preparing for the baby, I’m not thinking about the life I left behind. It means that I’m not thinking about Henry and everything that we could have had together.

I’ve been keeping my eye on him, after all. While it’s no longer my job as the president’s biographer to document his life, I’ve been following the US tour on the news. The press doesn’t seem to pick up on it, but there’s something different about him.

Maybe I know Henry too well, but it seems like the light behind his eyes has gone.

It’s almost as though he’s lost that spark—that passion I saw a few months ago.

It’s almost as though he’s become like every other politician.

It breaks my heart to see him like that. But I can’t do anything about it now—I made my bed when I decided to leave him and keep the baby a secret. Now I have to lie in it.

It’s not as though he and I will be seeing each other any time soon.

As I walk home from the grocery store, I can’t help but notice an unusually high number of blacked out town cars and a limousine riding through the streets. It’s not entirely out of the ordinary since my apartment is perfectly situated on the route to the embassies—but I don’t remember seeing anything in my email inbox that would have forewarned me about this.

Especially since the cars all have American flags, flying proudly.

As I juggle the gelato and the groceries to fish the keys out of my pocket, I can’t help but think about how familiar this situation is. And once I begin to climb the stairs, I realize I’m not just remembering this situation—I’m reliving it.

Right down to the exact same Secret Service members standing in my hallway.

My heart leaps into my mouth as they let me pass. I smile as politely as I can to the two men, and I open my front door with bated breath.

Sure enough, there he is. President Henry Thatcher, sitting in my living room—petting the world’s worst guard dog.

I close the door behind me with my foot, kicking it shut with a heavy slam. Henry’s looking at me expectantly, stroking between Duke’s ears and waiting for me to say something.

I stay silent.

I carry my groceries through the kitchen and try to make sense of what’s going on.

Henry’s here—in my living room, of all places—when I thought I’d never see him again. After I left, I put all my love for him into a box, but now that box feels like it’s about to blow open.

For a moment, I wonder why Henry’s here to see me, but then I look down at my belly and remember.

“Can I help with anything?” Henry asks, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen.

He leans against the frame of the door as Duke follows him closely.

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. President.”

The coldness of my voice catches Henry off guard and knocks the smile off of his face.

It surprises me, too.

“Don’t be like that, Bea.”

I start unpacking my groceries. I know that if I turn to look at him, I won’t be able to help myself. I’ll want to run into his arms, and I can’t.

I’m not what Henry needs—I can’t be what he wants me to be.

“To what do I owe this visit, Mr. President? It’s an awfully long way from here to Texas, where you’re supposed to be.”

“I had to see you, Bea. Hope told me everything.”

Of course she did. I knew that my news would get back to Henry eventually, and then Hope would have no choice but to tell him.

“It’s your child.”

“I never doubted that it wasn’t.”

“Good, because everyone else will,” I snap, turning to look at him finally.

As much as I love Henry, the sight of him reminds me why I left Washington. He might have been on my side, but only when it began to feel like it was only when convenient for him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant, Bea?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

“Of course, I am. This is my child, and I have a right to know!”

There’s anger in his voice. I’ve found the passion that has been missing from in front of the cameras.

“Even if it wasn’t convenient for you?”

“We could have handled whatever scandal this turned into, Beatrice.”

“There it is. That word again.” I sigh and shake my head. Scandal. “Our first baby together would have been a scandal, something negative to hover over the rest of your career.”

Henry looks at me with frustration, but lets me pass as I walk out of the kitchen and go to sit on the sofa.

“You know that’s not what I fucking meant, Bea.”

“I know what you meant. And I think…I know…that I can ever be good enough for you.”

“Beatrice, you’re perfect—”

“Wait.” I say, shaking my head and trying to stave off the tears, “I’m not done. You, Henry, might believe I’m perfect, but what about President Thatcher? What about your team of aides and the campaign managers whose job is to make you the best you can be?”

“I don’t care about them, Bea. What they think isn’t important.”

“Yes, it is! You do care about what they think, because being president is your dream. I’m so proud of you for what you’ve achieved, Henry, but I was forced to the realization that I couldn’t have my dream. I couldn’t have my dream job and my dream man. I had to pick one, and...I picked the job, because I knew I would hurt you less if I left.”

Henry sighs and comes to sit down the sofa next to me.

Duke pushes his head onto my lap, and I stroke the top of his head. My mind casts back to the that day in the Lincoln room, when I realized that I would always be second.

I almost can’t believe this is happening.

“Beatrice, I’ve been an idiot.”

I really can’t believe this is happening.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t good enough to be with me...to be the first lady. I’m so sorry I made you feel like you had to give up on your dreams in order to support me with mine.”

Henry takes my hands between his own, squeezing them tightly.

“I’ve been so caught up in trying to be the best president ever, in being perfect myself, that I didn’t realize how much it was hurting you and everyone around me. When I saw the picture of you like this, it made me realize something; I’m the youngest president in the history of the United States—”

“You didn’t know that already?” I joke, and a smile flickers across Henry’s lips too.

“What I mean is, I’m the first of my kind. I got so wrapped up in trying to be perfect and follow the presidential rule book, but that’s not why people voted for me. People voted for me because I was going to do something new and do things my own way. And I can’t do that without you.”

I can feel tears beginning to sting in my eyes. I tell myself it’s just the hormones acting up and making me this way.

“So what if you’re pregnant and we’re not married? I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Those are some of the words I’ve wanted to hear since I discovered my pregnancy. A smile breaks across my face, despite my tears.

“Without you, I’m not half the man I was, can be, or should be. I wish one day I can make it up to you. It may not be today, but I can start by being at least half as supportive to you as you were to me. Because fuck everyone else. I’m not happy unless I’m with you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Henry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, Bea. I understand. I love you and I’m going to love our child.”

“I love you too, Henry.”

He takes my face between his hands and presses our forehead together. We’re both breathless from the fight, and I’m happy for the pause.

“Come home with me. Let’s do this together, like we should have done from the start, as equals. And let’s not ever let things get this bad again.”

I nod my head.

“Never again.”