Epilogue
Veronica
Two Years Later
"Ron... Ron, baby, wake up."
"Hm?" I said, disoriented. I heard Roman laugh. I squinted, trying to remember where we were. He was standing in the aisle with my hand luggage and his. I frowned as it came back to me. We were on a plane.
A man shuffled past Roman with his own luggage, and I realized we had landed. I was probably holding them up. His fault, I thought. He shouldn't have gotten us the comfort seats. I hurried to my feet.
"Okay?" he asked, kissing me.
"Let's go," I said, taking my bag from him. He let me walk out ahead of him. I exited the plane, looking around the familiar small airport. I made a few trips back a year, usually during the holidays so we could spend them with family, but this was different. It wasn't Thanksgiving or Christmas, not even Fourth of July.
We were celebrating, though. Roman and the Hurricanes had just won the Super Bowl, not their first, but his. That deserved a vacation.
We were staying for a week. Not that much time, so we had a packed schedule. After doing the obligatory rounds with family, we were going to rent a cabin in the Black Hills forest for a few days. Since neither of us had our places here anymore, we were staying at a hotel, which I wasn't going to lie, I was sort of looking forward to. I had done the bookings. All I needed was for there to be a tub. We had a ridiculous tub at our place back home. Jets, big enough to fit a whole family – it was great. It had also spoiled me rotten.
We grabbed our suitcases and went through to arrivals to get a ride. I had my phone out, ready to get a cab.
"Whoa, what are you doing?" Roman asked me.
"We're not walking, are we?"
"No need," he said, pointing. I followed his finger, smiling when I saw Tiffany.
"I didn't know you called her," I said.
"She volunteered," he said. "This way we wouldn't have an excuse not to go see her."
Tiff had graduated and started a master’s program since we had been gone. She still lived with their dad. He wasn't in a hurry to see her leave, and she could save up for her own place that way. He had started seeing someone in the past year, too, which had shocked everyone because of how long he had stayed single after his wife, Tiff and Roman’s mom, passed. I hadn't had a chance to meet her yet, but maybe this would be the trip that I did.
I hugged Tiff first. We talked almost every day. Texts, phone calls – we were long distance, but she had made a few trips down to Miami since we'd been apart. She hugged Roman and walked us to the car. I sat in the back and Roman in the passenger side. I was still sort of tired, oddly, despite being knocked out for most of the plane ride here.
I watched the city pass outside the window. Things never seemed to change that much every time we would come back, which I secretly liked. It was like it was making sure it didn't leave us behind, become completely different and leave us floundering trying to adjust.
Tiffany was asking Roman how the flight was. "Let's just say first class was a good call," he said, looking back at me and smirking.
"You got us those seats so I wouldn't fall asleep? It's a seven-hour flight, what did you want me to do?"
"She passed out as soon as we were in the air. And didn't wake up till we had landed," he told her. I rolled my eyes.
"Next time you come down, get one of those seats," I said to Tiffany.
"Are you guys going to pay for it?" she teased.
Roman had offered, many times when Tiffany had been making trips to Miami to cover the cost of her ticket. She would never take it. At least she would stay at our house, though. House, not apartment. We moved out right when Roman's lease on the apartment was up to a place on the water. It was this big, a little too big for us, place with a pool and a yard. If you rolled out of bed at night and fell out, you'd end up in the ocean, that was how close to the water we were.
"Of course," Roman said.
"Can I bring a guest?"
"Dad doesn't count as a guest," he told her.
"I wasn't talking about dad," she said. I sat up in my seat behind them.
"What? Who is it?"
"Do you remember Casey?" she asked, glancing at me through the rear-view. I did remember Casey. Last time we had talked, the two of them had been on three dates.
"What's going on with you and Casey?"
"Who's Casey?" Roman asked, barely following along.
"Her boyfriend," I teased. She smirked happily to herself. I had never met this guy, but we had talked about him. She had even shown me pictures of him. He was cute.
"You're lucky we have two spare bedrooms," Roman said. I laughed. I wanted to see that. Roman mad-dogging Casey across the dinner table then giving him the spare room downstairs and Tiffany the one upstairs.
"Oh please, Roman," she laughed. "I'm twenty-three, not thirteen."
"Not under my roof. I love you, Tiff. It's the guy I have a problem with."
"You haven't even met him yet," she protested. I sat in the back letting them bicker.
"Where are we going?" I asked after a few minutes.
"Hm?" she asked.
"Where are we going? This isn't the way to our hotel." Roman was silent in the passenger seat.
"No?" he said. I looked at the side of his face; it was all I could see from where I was sitting.
"No, Roman. It's not," I said, a little sarcastically.
"We have a detour to make first," said Tiffany. Detour? I was looking forward to getting to the hotel. I wanted to wash the seven hours of flight off of me and maybe follow that with a couple more hours napping. Not to mention food. I was starving.
"Where to?" I asked. She didn't say anything. I looked out the windows, mentally tracking where we were going. "Tiff?"
"You'll see when we get there," she said, looking at me through the rear-view mirror.
"Rome?" I tried.
"Hm?" he answered. The same innocent, noncommittal sound his sister had made. I sat back in the seat, mostly giving up. The list of places we could be going were limited, anyway. It wasn't like this would be a surprise when we got there unless something major like a new mall or something had gone up. I watched outside the windows as we took the familiar streets.
"What are we doing here?" I asked as Tiffany parked.
I hadn't been here in years, literally. During all the visits we had made back home, we had never come back to the park for a picnic. Back home, at our place in Miami, we had sort of carried the tradition on, taking a basket down to the beach sometimes when it wasn't that windy, but the last time we'd been to our spot was... It had been when we got back together. The weekend before I moved to Miami with Roman. Roman got out of the car and came round the back to open mine. He offered me a hand and helped me out.
"I thought we'd do something special this trip. We're celebrating."
"You didn't want to go to the hotel and drop our stuff off first?" I asked.
"Tiff's waiting for us. It can stay in the car."
"Waiting for us? She's not coming?" I asked as he pulled me to follow him.
"Come on," he said.
"Where?"
"Don't tell me you forgot this place already," he said. I hadn't, I was just confused. Why was Tiff waiting in the car for us? What was happening? Why were we here instead of the hotel?
"Are we having dinner?" I asked lamely.
"Why? Are you hungry?" he asked. We started into the trees that lined the clearing we used to visit.
"Roman," I whined.
"Come here, I want to show you something." He was walking ahead of me. I had to walk kind of fast to be able to keep up with him.
"Show me what? Roman-" I was about to complain some more, but cut myself off.
We were there, our spot, but I it looked different the last time we had been there. The grass was perfectly manicured, lush healthy green like it shouldn’t have been this early in the year. It wasn't dark yet, but dark enough to see the light from the strings of fairy lights strung across the trees.
"Roman, what's going on?" I asked. There was a sheet of white rose petals sprinkled over the grass. He pulled my hand gently and walked us right to the middle of the clearing.
"What do you think?"
"I think it's beautiful... Who did this?"
"All I asked was that they get the flowers right, but the lights are a nice touch," he said.
"You did this?"
"Tiffany made it happen, but yeah. I asked her to do it."
"For us?"
"For you. Do you remember the last time we came here?" he asked me.
"It was a long time ago," I mused.
"Do you remember what happened?" he asked, standing in front of me, taking both my hands in his. I blushed. I remembered. Clearly. Thinking back, I couldn't believe how often we had done it out here. Anyone could have seen us.
"I remember we got back together. Then that Monday I moved in with you."
"This is where it all started. I wanted to do this somewhere special."
"Do what?" I asked.
"I was holding off till after the Super Bowl to do this. I knew that I wanted that win and then we got it. I thought that would be it, but it wasn't. With the championship, and you, and our home, I thought I had everything I wanted. But I don't," he said. My stomach clenched listening to him. The last two years had been incredible.
After the summer that he got signed, we had had to get used to living together, me being this far away from home for the first time. It had been hard at times, but we were a team. We figured it out together. After what we had been through, we had learned the hard way that whatever happened, we wanted to do it together.
"What do you want?" I asked nervously. We had talked a lot about the future, but mostly, we were just taking it a day at a time. Roman's career was going great. I had graduated and after a year off, had started working on a second degree. We took trips together when he had the time off, and before his offseason training began this year, we were planning a trip to Puerto Rico. We were focused on what we had to be for now and I had always felt comfortable doing that. Till now.
"You, Veronica," he said.
"We're already together."
"Not the way I want," he said. He squeezed my hands, pausing before he sunk down on one knee. I swallowed, looking down at him. His hands left mine and went into one of his pockets. He pulled out a ring and looked at it in his hand, smiling.
"Do you know how long I've had this thing?" he said, looking up at me. I didn't know whether he wanted an answer, but words were failing me. My heart pounded. He kept going. "The only thing I still don't have is a wife and I think that needs to change," he said. He was smiling, but he was blurring in front of me because I was crying.
"You're the love of my life, Veronica Kanter. I could stand losing everything as long as I got to keep you. It happened twice, and I never want it to happen again. If you'll have me, I want to make you my wife," he said. Tears streamed down my face. He reached for my hand, squeezing it in his. "Ron. Will you marry me?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"What was that?" he asked. I laughed, wiping my eyes.
"Yes, Roman, yes. I will marry you." He smiled, sliding the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. I didn't know how he would know what size to get. It was a clear white diamond, oval shaped, set in a white gold band.
"Do you like it?" he asked, standing.
Did I like it? It was beautiful, but it could be two copper wires wound into a circle, and I'd still love it. It could be nothing at all, what mattered was what it meant. It meant forever. The two of us, no matter what. I leaned up, wrapping him in my arms. I wanted to give him what he wanted. There was nothing I wanted more. I took his hand, pulling him over to a tree and we did it, right there, engaged, with the sun setting and Tiffany waiting for us in the car.
The Complete Power Romance Series
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
POWER #1
Chapter One
I stood in the shadow of the great house before me, hearing the taxi whiz behind on its way back toward Pennsylvania. I’d never been in the White House before, but God, had I imagined it. The exterior white shell of it seemed to speak of so much—so much history. Those immaculate rooms, that power, the vibrancy. And, above all, that handsome president—the leader of the free world.
I adjusted my blue suit beneath me, tugging at it, allowing my breasts to bounce a bit. I knew that they didn’t hurt my chances, but I didn’t like to think of it. I knew my smarts could propel me into the role if I played my cards right; if I flung myself through the interview like a pro—like I had countless other times throughout my career—I could land the position of my dreams.
Head of the President’s Re-election Campaign.
I thought about the way they’d discuss it on the news: Amanda Martin, the woman of the hour. Only 29 years old and already moving her way up the political ladder.
Beneath my fine blue suit, I felt my stomach grumble at me with a sort of rage. I was nervous, certainly. After all, my past accomplishments didn’t stand up against this feat. I’d been president of my sorority back in school, just because I didn’t want my sorority (the one my mother had forced me to join, stating she wouldn’t pay for my college otherwise) to be just like any other sorority. If I was going to be a part of it, we were going to make a goddamned difference. And we did.
And then, after that, in my home city of Philadelphia, I’d become one of the secretaries in the mayor’s office. Nothing big, no. But after a few years into it, with success around every corner and my name blasted in a few important people’s ears, I’d been invited to come to Washington to work on the initial campaign for the now-president. I’d been only 24 at the time, and I wasn’t ready for the flash, the grandeur of D.C. But I acclimated easily, after a few minor bumps and one silly affair with a congressman.
Just one!
And now, I found myself back in D.C. A congressman, George Carlman, had suggested I apply. I’d been an essential part of the previous campaign. I remembered the rallies, the fast-paced nature of it all. I remembered counting votes until my eyes bled. But when our president, Xavier Callaway, had made that speech on that January day, I knew it had all been worth it. My heart seemed to beat only for him. It wasn’t just that he was handsome—after all, he’d paid nearly no attention to me during the entire election process. It was that what I had done, all the work I’d propelled into the campaign, had been worth it. Goddamn it, it’d been worth it. And that, beyond anything else, was beautiful.
Two Secret Service agents met me at the door and pushed it open, allowing me entrance into the immaculate foyer. I thanked them with a polite, if firm, voice. I wanted them to take me seriously, as I was interviewing to run their president’s re-election campaign. I didn’t envision myself as some flighty girl. No, I was so much more—intelligence and strength and vitality.
“Just a minute, Miss,” the Secret Service agent stated, bringing his hands up to his shoulders, positioned in the air. “You know the drill.”
I did.
I held up my hands to mirror his,and allowed him to touch my body with his long, thick fingers. He roughed up around my hips, on my ass, making sure I didn’t have anything on my person. I winked at him as he did it, making him feel uncomfortable. He looked down, uncertain.
“I’m just kidding, Dimitri,” I told him, nearly laughing. I’d known him for nearly four years at that point and I knew he felt awkward.
“Amanda, so sorry about this,” he said. I knew that he had a crush on me; I’d known it since we’d met on the campaign trail.
“Please. It doesn’t bug me at all. I kind of like it,” I laughed, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re in for the interview, yeah?” he asked.
I nodded to him, looking down for a moment. I realized that I was truly nervous; I hadn’t let myself feel it until that moment. “Have there been many interviews today?”
Dimitri shrugged. “He’s seen a few, sure. But you’ll be great. I know you know your stuff.”
I smiled at him, still uncertain. Everything else I’d ever done had worked out perfectly. I’d literally never failed—and the thought of failure terrified me. But casting my eyes far into the future made me so nervous, so uncertain. I couldn’t be sure about my stance in the Oval Office. Who was I kidding? I was only a 29-year-old woman in D.C., surrounded by countless, better-qualified people.
Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I spun back around, allowing Dimitri to walk alongside me.
“What have you been up to?” he asked.
I flashed him a bright smile. “I’ve been working down the Hill, beneath Congressman Carlman. He actually encouraged me to apply for the position.”
“You’ve made a name for yourself in D.C.,” Dimitri said.
He led me up the steps that curled so perfectly into the ethers. I thought of Abraham Lincoln, of Kennedy—of all of them climbing these same steps. I shivered, knowing I was entering a sacred home.
He led me down the wide hallway, and I gazed at the many paintings and at the textured blue wallpaper. I felt my heart beating so fast in my chest. I felt like I was entering a dream world—probably because it was a world I had dreamed of so much.
Finally, we reached it: the Oval Office. I took a deep breath and turned toward Dimitri. His dark hair and eyes were so stark in the strange hallway, this Secret Service agent who’d actually joked with me throughout. Back then, Xavier Callaway had been a congressman with only a bodyguard named Dimitri. When Xavier had become the president, he’d brought his man with him.
“It’s great that you work here now,” I said to him, still uncertain about entering this terrifying place.
Dimitri nodded. “The president is a good man. And I know I’ll see you around,” he whispered, bringing his hand toward the door and spinning the knob. I was going in; my stomach dropped.
I swallowed slowly and brought my heels forward. I held my chin high, knowing that I could rule a room—perhaps even that room. I knew that in all my past interviews, in all my past triumphs, I’d won over everyone I’d encountered. That was all I needed: full control of the room.
But how was I supposed to do that when I was meant to have full control over the goddamned President of the United States?