Three days? He expects a wedding in three days?
No way.
I blink at Mr. Brandt, certain I must have misheard. "You’re joking, right? A wedding in three days?"
A laugh slips out of .
"I am serious."
My mouth hangs open. For several seconds, I’m nothing but stunned silence and poorly functioning neurons.
"No. You couldn’t be..."
He nods, his expression giving absolutely no indication that he might be joking.
"Mr. President, it hasn’t even been a month since I beca a widow. My case is dismissed, yes, but I think it’s still too early to announce another marriage!"
I don’t just sound horrified. I am horrified. Because sohow this man, this terrifyingly composed political giant, can’t seem to grasp the obvious.
If we announce our marriage now, we’ll be massacred in the court of public opinion. I’ll be crucified online. He’ll get dragged by every journalist with a functioning keyboard.
Publicity disaster. Career suicide. A headline you can sll from space.
"There is no law that states a widow cannot remarry shortly after her husband’s death," he replies calmly, as if the law is the only lens that matters and not, say, the screaming internet gremlins waiting for a new sacrifice.
"Do you not understand?" My hands fling themselves into the air, gesturing wildly. "We’re public figures, sir. People live for scandals. They inhale drama the way they inhale air. If we announce a marriage this soon, it will explode in our faces."
My gaze narrows. He still hasn’t explained what kind of publicity he’s trying to get.
"You never told what kind of image you’re going for. I already agreed to marry you, so the least you can do is tell why."
He doesn’t speak for a mont, as if weighing whether or not to tell . My curiosity only grows.
I tap the contract on the table. "Do I really look that untrustworthy? We’re bound by legal paperwork."
"You haven’t signed it," he reminds .
I groan internally and extend a hand. "Give the pen. I’ll sign it right now."
He retrieves a pen from his suit pocket and hands it over. I add the two obligations I insisted on earlier, then sign it. He signs after .
"There," I say. "Now please talk."
He shoots an annoyed look, clearly not used to people interrogating him.
"If you really must know," he says, voice flat, "I’m pushing a controversial governnt project. But to get it to pass the congress, I need high approval ratings, and the public may not be very supportive. I just started my term, after all."
I swallow, listening.
"What I need is a massive publicity wave. Sothing emotional. Sothing people can cling to." His eyes et mine. "You were adored as a superstar. Now, you’re a scandal the entire country can’t stop talking about. To the public, you are a fallen angel. And if people learn you were frad, that turns you into a tragic figure they will root for."
His lips curl slightly. "Your downfall can beco a redemption arc with my help. And once we announce our marriage right after your na is cleared, the story practically writes itself. A disgraced superstar proven innocent, saved by the President, then marrying him. Tell that won’t shake the entire nation."
"So you want to be the hero of the story... and use as your shiny publicity weapon."
"Exactly," he says, without hesitation and with absolutely zero sha. "If everything unfolds as planned, my project gains funding, support, and national attention. You get your redemption."
He looks at like this is the most rational arrangent in the world.
"Everyone wins," he finishes, "if you cooperate."
My eyes drift to the food on the table as I try to process everything he’s just unloaded onto .
After a mont of silence, I throw out the question that’s been nagging at the back of my mind.
"You won’t ask to lie, right? Aside from what we already agreed on. To what extent are you planning to twist my story?"
"There isn’t much to change," he replies, unbothered. "So you don’t have to worry about that."
His gaze studies , gauging my reaction.
"All you need to do is stand by my side as the First Lady, answer a few questions from ti to ti. But I won’t force you to do anything that compromises your values."
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips out. Fine. Good. At least there’s a line he won’t cross.
"How about the wedding?" I press. "Are you really serious about doing it in three days? I told you, it’s not wise."
"Why? Because you were once married?" He smirks, eyes gleaming with dark humor. "Can’t you simply tell the public that you never loved your ex-husband and fell for ?"
I frown. "That would make look disloyal."
"So you loved him?" He raises a brow. "I don’t think you did."
My eyes widen, offended. "H-how can you say that? What do you even know about ? About us?"
"I don’t know everything," he says calmly. "But I know your marriage was arranged three years ago. I also know you saw each other only a few tis a year after that."
A tightness wraps around my chest. Irritation blooms. Hot, prickly, and humiliating.
Yes, he’s the President. Yes, he probably had soone dig through every inch of my life. But did he really have to shove my failed marriage into my face like this? Who wants to talk about their flawed, unhappy marriage?
"If you didn’t love him, why didn’t you get a divorce?"
My lips tremble before I manage to steady them. I keep my face composed even as my stomach coils.
"Do I have to explain that too?" I manage, my voice flat. "I don’t think that information is relevant to our agreent, Mr. President."
"It is relevant."
My patience finally snaps. "How is it relevant?"
The frustration slips through before I can stop it, sharp and raw.
Surprise flickers in his eyes when he sees the frustration on my face, as if he hasn’t expected to get worked up when my marriage with Logan is brought up.
"Because if you had tried to get a divorce, you would have learned that your marriage to Mr. Hansley was never registered."
Reviews
All reviews (0)