Page 10 of The Senator's Rival

“You really did do an incredible job today, Francesca,” Margot conceded, breaking the silence after a few moments. “You owned that stage and had the crowd eating out of your hand. I have to respect that.”

It was a grudging admission, but a sincere one. They were both consummate professionals at the very highest echelon of their field, so a compliment was in order when appropriate. They may have spent the better part of the night ripping each other apart in public, but they each had immense admiration and respect for each other's skills and capabilities. It was easy to lose sight of that amidst the chaos and bloodlust of the battlefield.

Here, though, in this tiny metal box sealed away from the rest of the world, the harsh glare of the media lights couldn’t touch them. Just two tired women with aching feet in heels and sore faces from smiling too many times a day. Two women who had lived and breathed their work for decades now, who poured their hearts and souls and bodies into service for their nation. They had a common purpose, albeit different goals, and underneath all the baggage and layers of artifice and defensiveness, there was real connection there, forged by years of shared sacrifice.

“And you sure know how to put on a show,” Francesca replied with a chuckle. “I might not always agree with your methods, but you've certainly honed the ability to captivate people. It's impressive.”

“Yes, well, we each play to our strengths.” Margot said smoothly, with a light shrug, the hint of a smirk playing at her lips. “We're both playing to people's feelings. You make them feel all warm and fuzzy with your optimism and idealism, while I appeal to their existing fear and anger to get my message across. Different strategies, different platforms, same results.”

Margot felt her eyes flit across Francesca’s body. She was taller than Margot with an almost athletic physique and strong shoulders.

“You sound almost jealous, Margot,” Francesca observed drily with a playful glint in her warm brown eyes. “What's the matter, afraid integrity and authenticity might be edging out divisiveness and manufactured outrage?”

Margot chuckled softly, running her fingers along the rail that ran down the side of the elevator. God, what was taking so long? The air was beginning to feel heavy around her, and she shifted slightly in place, trying to ignore the weight pressing on her shoulders. Don't be silly, she reminded herself, this is an electric malfunction, not a collapsing mine shaft. Margot willed the racing anxiety in the back of her mind to quiet itself, focusing instead on the calm, reassuring brown eyes peering at her in the dim light.

“Better to be feared than loved and all that,” she teased, leaning back against the wall of the elevator and studying the senator closely. “And you've got the market cornered on virtue and wholesomeness, so if that leaves me to play the villain, that's what I'll do.”

Francesca laughed lightly, raising an eyebrow at her counterpart. Her posture was languid and relaxed, legs crossed comfortably beneath her and arms folded across her chest, with none of the tension and rigidity that seemed to grip Margot's frame.

“Is it really all a game to you?” the senator asked her. The question sounded genuinely curious, not accusatory or hostile. “Every day, hundreds of thousands of Americans trust you with their futures. Do you really look at them the way you might chess pieces in a strategy game?”

Margot paused for a moment, tilting her head. There was something arrestingly soothing about this woman's voice, about the richness of tone and inflection, and the smooth, melodious depth of it. There was a faint trace of a New England accent there, but it had been gradually eroded by time in Washington, leaving a very neutral, professional-sounding alto behind. It suited her, Margot thought. It was dignified, eloquent, authoritative and steady, with a touch of humor and light. It was the sort of voice that made people want to trust her--to lean in close and listen intently.

“Sometimes,” Margot admitted after a moment. “When you spend so long breaking it all down into analytics and poll numbers and forecasts, people become numbers. Just a series of moves and countermoves. Don't tell me you never go there.”

Francesca wrinkled her brow and glanced off to the side, sighing deeply. She drummed her fingers thoughtfully on her thigh for a moment, then met Margot's gaze again with a nod of understanding.

“I work very hard to avoid it,” she replied finally. “It's a dangerous slope. Once you stop seeing people as actual human beings, once you convince yourself they're just data points on a map, then you start forgetting why we do this job in the first place. But the longer you do it, the easier it becomes to fall into that trap. There are certainly days when I find myself more concerned with the numbers than with the people behind them. It's hard work, to avoid becoming numb.”

It was a surprisingly candid response. Margot didn't know quite what to say. She'd expected some preachy lecture about morality and compassion, or perhaps a patronizing remark about the virtues of empathy. She had always believed that Francesca Thurston wasn't as pure and idealistic as she sometimes came across, but she hadn't expected to hear it right from the horse's mouth. It was enough to momentarily distract her from the fact that she was trapped in this tiny metal box.

“I have to imagine that it's easier to remember that it isn't all a game, when you aren't constantly contorting yourself into whatever shape the voters seem to want at any given time,” Margot quipped, with a sardonic twist of her lip. “Hard to think of other people as human when I don't even really treat myself as one most of the time.”

She immediately regretted saying that. It was too honest, too personal, and it revealed an emotional vulnerability that she couldn't afford to expose. This dark, enclosed space was getting to her, pushing her fears and doubts right up to the surface. And Francesca was so steady and open and welcoming, and it was so long since Margot had opened up to anyone, and it all just kind of tumbled out of her before she could stop it. Margot swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut and silently berating herself for this uncharacteristic slip. A weakness of the hour, she told herself. That was all.

A soft hand rested gently over hers. She opened her eyes again and found Francesca's warm, sympathetic eyes locked onto her own with a gentle, knowing tenderness that was utterly disarming. Her touch felt soothing and comforting, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through Margot's body from head to toe.

“That sounds terribly lonely,” Francesca murmured sympathetically, her thumb absently stroking Margot's wrist in a way that set off a flood of adrenaline in her chest. Francesca’s full lips looked so very tempting. “We all have to be mindful of our image in this business, but we need spaces where we can just exist authentically. Excuse me if I'm overstepping, but do you have a space like that?”

The question pierced her armor like a well-aimed arrow. Did she? Margot had spent her life crafting facades to hide behind, and somewhere along the way she had forgotten which version of herself was the real one. Everyone around her, even the man she had married, was there to only to serve some greater purpose. People were useful. Beneficial. All a part of a carefully curated narrative with specific roles to play and lines to recite.

“It's too much of a risk to let people get too close,” she reasoned, repeating the same line she had told herself since she first ran for a seat in Congress. If people knew too much, they would inevitably use her secrets against her. Nobody could be trusted completely, Margot had decided many years ago.

Still, Francesca's hand on hers felt warm and comforting. Her skin was soft and delicate, but her grip was firm. The other woman smelled faintly of expensive perfume--an earthy, sensual blend of spice and wood with a sweet floral undertone that evoked the image of lush tropical flowers blooming in some hidden garden. She was standing close enough that Margot noticed how thick and dark those eyelashes were, framing deep, cocoa pools of liquid warmth that were staring back at her with a level of affection and concern that Margot wasn't accustomed to seeing directed her way. Francesca's lips were full and plush, slightly parted. They seemed inviting in the dim light.

Maybe it was the wine Margot had drunk at dinner. Maybe it was the looming sense that the walls were closing in and an instinctive, primal part of her feared that she was going to die here. Maybe it was the years of crippling loneliness and isolation from genuine human connection. Or perhaps it was just the sheer magnetic pull of that warm, dazzling smile that had captured America's heart. Most likely, it was all three.

Whatever the reason, at that moment, Margot leaned in and closed the distance between them. She kissed those enticing lips with a heated passion, feeling the other woman tense with surprise under her touch, then melt in an instant. A fire ignited in her stomach, burning bright and fierce, and she heard Francesca's soft moan of approval as she hungrily returned her kiss, wrapping her free hand around Margot's waist to pull her closer. The taste of merlot lingered in their mouths, and Margot gasped as Francesca’s teeth caught her lower lip in a teasing nip.

The other woman's hands were on the small of her back now, then sliding down, one coming to rest on her backside while the other continued down her thigh. Each caress sent jolts of pleasure up Margot's spine, making her dizzy, setting every nerve ending on fire and sending bolts of lightning crackling through her body in a way she hadn’t felt in many many years. The heat between them was nearly unbearable now, and it was all she could do to keep her breathing even, to stay standing on trembling knees, clutching desperately at the back of Francesca's shirt with one hand and grabbing a fistful of black hair in the other.

Margot lost track of time as they stood there tangled in each other's embrace, hands wandering, tongues dancing. She pressed her forehead against Francesca's, their chests heaving with exertion, each ragged breath catching in her throat. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Even in her reckless youth, when she had freely indulged in physical pleasures, before the world of politics forced her to maintain a squeaky clean image, she had never experienced such overwhelming, unrestrained intensity. It was addictive, intoxicating, and Margot never wanted it to end.

Just as she was about to reach for the buttons on Francesca's blouse, however, a loud humming noise filled the air. Suddenly, the lights flickered on and the elevator lurched to life. It began to move upward slowly and both women broke apart, gasping and fumbling to straighten their clothing and adjust their hair. Margot blinked furiously, adjusting to the glare of the overhead lighting. She felt her cheeks flush bright crimson as she adjusted her jacket, pulling it tightly across her body and trying desperately to regain some semblance of decorum.

After several moments of awkward silence, they reached their destination on the second floor, and the doors slid open with an ominously cheerful ding. Outside, a full team of heavily armed security officers, campaign staffers, and mechanics awaited, ready for action. A young man rushed in to check their vital signs while the hotel manager nervously babbled apologies and offered lavish complimentary gifts to compensate for this unfortunate incident.

It was a whirlwind of commotion and drama that lasted for a good ten minutes until everyone finally calmed down enough to reassure each other that they were perfectly all right. In that time, the two women didn't so much as exchange glances, each preoccupied with reestablishing control and managing the situation. Margot slipped into her politician's mask effortlessly, giving the same answers she'd been trained to repeat on autopilot, making jokes about the ridiculousness of their predicament and dismissing concerns with nonchalance and charm. She was utterly composed, outwardly unaffected, showing no hint of any inner turmoil.

---