Page 17 of The Senator's Rival

Inside her, the heavy lump made its reappearance. A flicker of uneasiness surfaced as Margot gazed out over the sea of people. For a brief, bewildering moment, a shiver crept down her spine. Her words were having exactly the effect she had anticipated, but for some reason, that didn't bring her the joy and gratification she craved. This time, the adulation didn't wash over Margot and fill her up until she overflowed. Instead, something about the experience left her feeling cold and nauseated.

But Margot’s smile never wavered and her posture didn't falter. Not for a moment. She pushed the feeling down, just like she always did. Tucking it away, burying it beneath layers of carefully honed indifference. That was not for her to dwell on. Feelings didn't matter, only results.

“The fine, hard-working people of this great nation deserve a leader they can trust,” she went on forcefully, a note of steel in her voice as she squared her jaw. “They deserve a leader who is honest, honorable, and accountable for her actions. They deserve to be confident that their tax dollars and contributions will support the progress of this country, rather than lining the pockets of crooked politicians. Americans deserve a government that is just, efficient, and fair. Will you vote for a Washington elite who puts your money in her back pocket? Or for someone who has devoted her life to serving this country and making real change?”

Another round of jubilant applause erupted throughout the venue. Whistles and hoots and shouts of approval. Cheers and cries of support. The rhythmic pounding of fists on the tables, stamping in time with the thump of blood rushing in Margot's ears. The faces around her were aglow with excitement and triumph, drinking in her rhetoric like a cold drink of water in the desert heat. It was glorious.

It should have felt glorious.

Her speech went on for nearly forty-five minutes. The energy was palpable--the crowd entranced and utterly spellbound. They hung on her every word, following along in their printed programs and rising to their feet at key points as if moved by some unseen puppet master. Throughout it all, the blonde in white at the podium felt somehow disconnected from it all, her voice coming out like a recording from somewhere far away, speaking words she had recited a hundred times before. Inside, there was only a hollow void that now seemed to consume her.

Even as Margot shook hands with donors, took photos with her husband, and chatted with allies in the lobby afterward, there was an invisible barrier surrounding her. Keeping her separate from everyone else, sealing her off from the world. Margot’s body and voice acted on autopilot, maintaining a role she had perfected so thoroughly that it no longer required conscious input from her brain. Her mind remained elsewhere, wondering why everything suddenly felt so off-kilter.

One thought kept replaying in Margot’s mind. That moment in the elevator with Francesca, when it felt like the walls were closing in and the air was getting thicker by the second. There was nowhere she could escape. Nowhere to run, nothing to distract herself with. Those deep brown eyes, shining with warmth and honesty, looking right at her, seeing her with understanding and empathy, while she had asked Margot a simple question: “Is it really all a game to you?”

Was it? Was any of this actually real to her? Had Margot ever asked herself that in the thirty years since she had graduated from college and become a ruthless politician who acted without a shred of hesitation? Behind her was a mountain of lies, people she had betrayed and manipulated, careers she had crushed in the blink of an eye. All in the name of winning the ultimate prize. And once she did win, there would be more lies. Margot would sit there on her throne and reign, implementing all these promises she had made in the name of winning votes.

Why was she doing this? What did she believe in? Herself, of course. Some of the promises she had made. Not all of them, though. Fewer and fewer as the years went by. Once you started bending your beliefs for personal gain, it became easier to do it again. If Margot really thought about it, what still remained of her original mission? What would the young woman who had first stepped into Congress all those years ago think about who she was today? About what she had done to get to where she was?

These thoughts took hold and festered all the way back to the hotel, where Margot sat alone in her suite and stared out the window at the bright lights of the city, slowly sipping her wine. She and William had parted ways for the evening, as they always did when there was no one around to play the happy couple for. He was likely on the phone with Tom, making plans for what they would do once the election was over. When they had achieved their goals. When they succeeded and retired back into private life, after two terms—hopefully—in the White House. When this sham of a marriage was no longer necessary.

It had never bothered Margot that the closest thing she had ever had to a partner was someone she did not and could not have any kind of romantic feelings for, nor he for her. It was a mutually convenient arrangement that served them both well. They were friends, mostly. It worked. Now, though, for the first time, Margot found herself contemplating what would come next. Her ambitions had led her here, but she had never really sat down to consider what she would do when it was all over. When there was no use for such a strategic partnership anymore. What would she find then?

When it was all over, who would she be, and who would be there to greet her?

Frustrated and restless, Margot turned on the TV hanging on the wall in time for the evening news. Unsurprisingly, they covered her rally, showcasing the highlights from the event. Virtually every clip featured her delivering an impassioned speech or greeting supporters warmly. Margot stared at her own face, bright, smiling and confident, looking to the world like a shining beacon of morality and wisdom. Perfect, poised, powerful. Untouchable. An ideal worthy of emulation. A stranger.

The footage moved on to a speech her opponent had given at a university campus earlier that day. The camera zoomed in on her speaking passionately about higher education and student debt. The exact words weren't all that impressive or groundbreaking. The children are the future, the torch is being passed, the potential you possess, and so on and so forth. It wasn't even that different from what Margot had said in similar speeches throughout the years.

Still, something about the way Francesca spoke captivated her audience. She wasn't just going through the motions, spouting rehearsed platitudes. There was a vitality there, a fervent belief in those lofty ideals shining out in every gesture, glance, and lilt in her voice. Francesca’s body language was relaxed and seemed unrehearsed, flowing naturally without the artificial tension of trying too hard.

Her delivery was fluid. Not perfect, but charmingly human. There were spontaneous anecdotes that got laughter and unexpected detours that pulled the crowd in with curiosity. All the while, those beautiful brown eyes sparkled with life. Faith. Hope. A kind of awe at the limitlessness of youth and possibility. It wasn't some polished, expertly crafted performance designed to win over as many viewers as possible and deliver the largest bang for the candidate's advertising dollar. It felt honest.

Not for the first time, Margot leaned back and watched her opponent intently. This time, though, it wasn't with the intention of uncovering cracks in the foundation or searching for weaknesses to exploit. Instead, she let herself get swept away the way she imagined other people watching Francesca did, allowing herself to experience fully what she saw before her. Something stirred in Margot’s cold, diamond-encased heart, bringing with it a prickle of discomfort.

A flood of repressed emotions crashed over her all at once. The one that stood out was longing. A desperate, almost painful yearning for the fire and courage the younger woman had in her bones. For the freedom to feel that fiercely, to care that deeply about something she truly believed in. If they had met in college, when Margot still let herself occasionally go wild and take chances, she would have gravitated toward Francesca’s energy like a moth to a flame. Just like she had in that elevator. Only back then, Margot might not have extinguished the spark that threatened to turn into a forest fire.

Back then, she might have let it burn.

That thought filled Margot with another kind of longing. A much more primal, less refined and sophisticated need. For several long moments, she could see nothing but a pair of dark, smoldering eyes. Margot leaned her head back as she listened to Francesca's warm, powerful voice over the speakers, remembering the soft touch of full lips against her own.

Margot’s hips tensed under a phantom touch, followed by a sharp intake of breath as her skin rippled with goosebumps. She let out a low moan, arching her back as her hand slipped beneath her expensive trousers and began to stroke her now pulsating clitoris. With a steady, practiced rhythm, she increased the tempo as she gave herself permission to slip away for a short time into forbidden territory.

Oh, God. What a relief to have those thoughts released from their prison. In her mind's eye, she saw Francesca's firm, muscled body, naked and glistening with sweat as Francesca lay on top of her, touching, kissing, caressing her. She pictured them again in the throes of passion, their bodies intertwined and tangled in a passionate embrace. The voice on the TV melded with the memory of moans and gasps.

Margot bit her lip as her fingers quickened their pace. As her own cries joined those of her fantasy lover, she threw her head back and let all control fall away. Her other hand roamed up under her blouse, pinching her nipple as her whole body trembled and shivered with desire. With her heart racing and her pulse pounding in her ears, a familiar ecstasy built rapidly inside of her, mounting as she chased the wave to the climax she needed so desperately.

It came over her like a tidal wave, crashing into her with tremendous force. Margot’s eyes rolled back in her head as her body tensed and convulsed in a sudden, explosive release. A whimpering gasp escaped her lips and for one brief moment, the pain lifted, and everything was right in the world. Euphoria flooded her senses, wiping out everything else as the rush coursed through her veins. Her mind was blank, lost in the momentary euphoria of the orgasm, and at that moment, she was free.

Then, far more quickly than she would have liked, it was over. Reality crashed down on her in full force. Once again, she was alone in a dark hotel room, flushed and sticky, staring at some pundit on the news being interviewed about her poll numbers. Nothing had changed. Nothing was better. If anything, it was worse. Shame burned Margot’s cheeks and self-loathing stirred within her. She swallowed hard and pushed herself up off the couch, physically shaking it off.

God, that woman was going to be the death of her. She'd spent most of her adult life blocking out such dangerous thoughts and desires, building thick, impenetrable walls around them and reinforcing the walls with concrete and steel to keep her desires buried forever. One look, one accidental brush against those boundaries, and one stupid, reckless action, and now Margot was acting like a pathetic, horny schoolgirl. Disgusting.

Sneering to herself, Margot tossed back the rest of her drink and made a beeline for the shower. She had to shake this off. Whatever bizarre doubt was currently festering inside needed to be exorcised and eradicated. This was a war, and Margot fought to win.

11

FRANCESCA

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