Page 20 of The Senator's Rival

“Right,” Francesca agreed, with perhaps more conviction than she actually felt. “Just a lapse in judgment. Tensions running high.”

Margot nodded, but didn't say anything else or meet Francesca's gaze again. She checked her appearance in the mirror, pulling out her lipstick and reapplying it carefully. Once she was satisfied, she stepped away from the sink, walking back toward the door in smooth, fluid strides, not so much as glancing back as she slipped out. The door slammed shut with a resounding click.

Francesca stood there in shock, gazing after her for several long seconds before letting out a long, slow breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths to steady herself. A strange sensation rose in her chest. Gone was the anger, and even the furious, primal desire. Left in its place was a hollow, aching emptiness. In the silence that followed, she couldn't help feeling like she'd just let something slip out of her grasp.

12

MARGOT

Amonth ago, if anyone had asked her, Margot would have confidently told them that she had it all under control. Anything and everything life threw at her, she could handle with ease and grace. But as Margot stepped into the town car that would take her back to her temporary residence in Arlington, she wasn't so sure anymore. Something had broken through the carefully constructed walls she had built in her mind, and now, they were unraveling piece by piece.

What had she expected, exactly, when she kissed Francesca Thurston again in the White House bathroom a week ago? She knew Francesca would capitulate to her sexually. It had been reckless and irresponsible, and she had known it in the moment. It hadn't been the same kind of crazed fervor that had come over her in Chicago. This time, it had been calculated. A choice. After all, she knew full well that Francesca had wanted her to do it, and a part of Margot had wanted it to happen again too.

The mysterious 'Cassandra' had sent another photo, demanding more money, and it was becoming exhausting. Margot couldn't quite explain it, but it was like a part of her almost wanted to get caught out for her lesbian past. Not because she thought she deserved to lose the election over it, necessarily, but because maybe someone finding out that she was gay could make this nightmare end. Margot felt like her entire life, not to mention her and identity, was collapsing all around her. The foundation beneath her feet was cracking and threatening to give way.

If they had been found in the bathroom, Margot’s whole world would have crumbled around her, everything she had ever worked for—and maybe that would have been a relief. Because maybe, in that moment, she didn't know who Margot Smith was anymore outside of the carefully curated mask she'd crafted and worn like armor. Maybe she wanted someone else to decide what came next for her. Maybe she wanted to fall, and for someone to catch her.

Good Lord. What madness. The second debate was days away and Margot needed to get her head back in the game. These fleeting moments of self-reflection were completely pointless. They kept happening, though, despite her best attempts to remain focused. The second she had a moment to herself, her thoughts spiraled back down this rabbit hole to nowhere. Wondering again who she was and why she was doing this.

Francesca had gotten into her head with all that talk of truth and what she believed in. Francesca had gotten into her head with a lot of things. How nice it seemed, to live that way, embracing who she was and taking every opportunity to stand up for what she believed in, rather than constantly hiding and compromising every little part of herself to conform to an image of perfection. Or what one imagined perfection to look like. Margot knew well that there was no such thing. Francesca somehow had all those genuine smiles that warmed the hearts of all who laid eyes upon them. How nice it must be, to be surrounded by people she genuinely liked, respected, and cared about, not just people who were useful and had something to offer. Real friends. A family she could actually talk to and lean on.

“Mrs. Smith?”

The driver's voice interrupted her train of thought. She turned around from the passenger seat, meeting the eyes of the chauffeur.

“We've arrived, ma'am,” he clarified. “Would you like assistance with your luggage?”

She glanced out the window at the modest, yet tasteful two-story colonial-style house in front of her, momentarily lost in thought again.

“Yes. Thank you,” she replied robotically.

Margot slid across the seat toward the open door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, then climbed slowly up the driveway toward the entrance. The man from the car pulled out her suitcases and rolled them up beside her, while a security guard unlocked the door and let her inside. Glancing around at the finely decorated surroundings, it was like Margot was looking at them for the first time. Squeaky clean and shiny. Sleek and modern. Designed to impress visitors. Just like her apartment in D.C. and their mansion in Rooke. Meticulously tailored to ensure every detail reflected her impeccable reputation and standing within the community. Not a trace of individuality or personality to be found.

William sat at the dining table by the window, reading something on his laptop. He didn't even glance up as she walked in and sat down in the chair opposite him. What did people who actually loved their spouses talk about? All the two of them ever discussed was strategy and logistics and work. How to look like they liked each other. How to position themselves. William didn't need to hear about what was going on in her head or how she was feeling, and she certainly had no interest in knowing his. It had always worked for them, but lately, she found herself wondering if other people had something better.

“Our friend Cassandra is asking for more money,” Margot said by way of greeting, resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands.

“And?” replied Will without looking up from whatever article he was currently reading. “We give her more money. Simple. Just wire it into the account and move on with your day.”

“This has to stop eventually,” she sighed, gazing out the window at the foggy, dismal autumn weather.

“It will,” her husband replied with a disinterested shrug, “as soon as we track her down and get her to sign an NDA. In the meantime, there's too much at stake to take such a gamble. It's only a month until the election. As long as it stays quiet until then, that's all that matters. That's what you've been saying all along.”

And it was what mattered. Right from the start, there hadn't been a doubt in Margot’s mind. They could easily afford this, so there was no reason to fret. There was no one who could be trusted completely when everything was at stake, even lawyers, so they simply threw money at the problem and made it go away for a while. Eventually, they would find out who she was, and then they could get their legal team involved and sort out everything from there. There was nothing noteworthy about this. Just another opportunist who was out to make a quick dollar. No big deal. So, why was Margot suddenly so bothered by it?

“But what if it isn't?” she mused out loud, her brows furrowing.

William finally looked up from his computer screen, staring at her with a puzzled expression. “Isn't what, Margie?” he asked, sighing heavily and sounding exasperated.

“What if it isn't all that matters?” she replied, rolling her head to try to release some of the tension that had settled into her shoulders. “What if we lose ourselves in the process of winning?”

Will huffed a humorless laugh and shook his head incredulously. “What's gotten into you lately?” he asked. “You've been acting crazy for weeks. Don't tell me you're starting to lose your edge now, because we can't afford that.”

“Doesn't it ever bother you, Will?” came her unexpected response. “All the sacrifices, the compromises we've had to make, the lies? If I'd been true to myself in the first place, this woman wouldn't have any leverage. It's only scandalous because I chose to hide this side of me in the first place. If this had happened to Thurston, she'd laugh it off as a college indiscretion, and no one would bat an eye beyond that. Why did I think it was something shameful I had to keep hidden?”

The silence that followed was stifling and oppressive. She felt like she could choke on it. When she glanced back at her husband, there was no sympathy or understanding to be found, just suspicious, frustrated confusion. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, searching her face for clues as to where this had come from.

“Margot,” he said slowly, “we made that call when we got married thirty years ago. You can't seriously be second-guessing it now, when everything we've spent these years working on is finally on the verge of coming together. We are about to be the most powerful couple in America. Whatever the hell this is, you need to snap out of it immediately.”

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