Page 24 of The Senator's Rival

“Pah,” Margot spat. “We both know I’d never have been elected,” Margot said with another shrug. “Where I come from, that sort of thing goes over as well as the plague. So I figured that was how it had to be, right?” She paused, glancing over at Francesca thoughtfully. “But then there's you, and you're living your life on your terms, embracing who you are, and it never even slowed you down. That pisses me off, Francesca.”

“Ah,” Francesca interjected, leaning closer with a sly smile. “There she is. That fire. That's the Margot I know. It's good to see her again.”

Heat rose in Margot's face as they exchanged a long, meaningful glance. Those brown eyes seemed to dance, reflecting the ambient lights of the darkened cityscape. A flicker of warmth sparked in the pit of Margot's stomach, and for once, it was without the rage and shame she'd become accustomed to feeling over the past thirty years of her life. It had been ages since anything had felt so good. Years since she'd connected with anyone on any kind of real level. In spite of all their differences, and even with the history they shared, in this moment, it felt right.

“For what it's worth, I'm sorry about those false rumors,” she said after a while.

“Ah, you admit it at last,” Francesca grinned.

“Darlin', please. Like you were ever in doubt,” Margot drawled with a lazy smirk, and Francesca shrugged and nodded. “I panicked and resorted to desperate measures. Even my team thought it was a bad idea. I haven't been thinking straight for months. I know that's not an excuse, but I regret it. Sincerely.”

For a second, Francesca just looked at her in stunned silence. The apology seemed to take her aback. Then she laughed and shook her head, crossing one leg over the other.

“Well, we've mostly recovered, and the people spouting conspiracies were never going to vote for us anyway,” Francesca sighed eventually. “Gave us all a massive headache, but that's politics, right? At least you were right that we should have been prepared for you doing something like that, whether or not that's how I think this should work. What had you in such a panic anyway? You've always been the coolest, most composed person at any given table. Never seen you shaken.”

Margot tilted her head back thoughtfully, tapping her bottom lip with a fingernail. “I'm being blackmailed,” she finally admitted. “A former lover of mine. Probably. Can't remember who she is, but she's got photos of us together from my college days. Calls herself Cassandra, and she's been sending old pictures for months now, demanding money. The money isn't an issue. We have enough of it. But the constant threat of my deepest, darkest secret coming out has left me feeling cornered. Paranoid. So I lashed out at you as a preemptive strike, I guess. Which was stupid and pointless, in retrospect.”

“That's horrible!” Francesca exclaimed with genuine sympathy in her voice. “That's illegal, Margot. Have you reported this?”

“Well, obviously not,” Margot replied immediately. “What if it got out? It would end my career, no question.”

“No, I can see that, but?—”

“And that's had me thinking, you know, what if I’d never hid it in the first place? What if I'd just come out and been honest from the start? I could have lived my truth and inspired people like you do. Fought for things I actually believe in,” Margot mused wistfully. “But now, I'd be the con artist who's been lying to the whole world for so many years. And I just don't know if this was worth it.”

Francesca studied her closely for a long time, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. She reached out a hand, placing it on Margot's knee gingerly. After the night's revelations, the touch sent electric sparks radiating up Margot's thigh, spreading slowly through her body, leaving her tingling from head to toe. Almost instinctively, she lifted her own hand to cover it, squeezing gently as she held Francesca's gaze. Whatever this was, it felt right. Exactly what she needed right now.

“I'm sorry you've had to live that way,” the younger woman said softly. “I'm sorry anyone does. Hiding who you are out of fear doesn't make you weak, though. It makes you a human being who happens to live in a world that hasn't caught up with itself yet. For all the strides we've made, unfortunately, there's still a lot of work to do. I hope the next Margot Smith who comes along isn't forced to make the same choices.”

Margot nodded slowly, her chest tightening. Her vision was becoming blurry as tears burned at her eyes. When she swallowed, her throat felt sore and dry. She was on the verge of losing control. When Francesca scooted toward her and wrapped her strong arms around Margot’s shoulders in a firm embrace, Margot melted into the embrace instinctively, clinging to her tightly, burying her face into Francesca's neck. Francesca rubbed her back reassuringly, holding her securely until the tide receded.

They sat like that for hours, talking and holding each other, getting to know each other for real. For the first time in her life, Margot found herself genuinely connecting with someone, emotionally and intellectually. Being open in a way she never ever had before. She shared stories from her childhood, about her family and friends, all the things she'd been missing out on over the last decades of political workaholism.

Francesca had a knack for storytelling. Hearing her talk animatedly about the challenges of starting an LGBTQ+ youth shelter from scratch or organizing her grandmother's eightieth birthday party made Margot laugh several times. By the time they finished their bottle of wine and Francesca got up to return to her hotel, Margot almost felt like a real person, rather than a piece in the great machine of power that had consumed her.

She fell asleep easily, giddy and hopeful, marveling that this wonderful, unique woman who had dominated her life for such a long time seemed to genuinely care for her despite all the lies and political machinations. It had been so long since she'd let anyone get close to her—both physically and emotionally—that the unfamiliarity of it was exciting rather than intimidating. Her dreams were filled with images of soft brown eyes, smooth caramel skin, and full lips on hers, enveloping her in comforting warmth. It was all so enticing that she almost didn't want to wake up.

A loud, frantic, insistent knock on the door firmly prevented that wish from being granted. Groaning, she checked the clock radio on the bedside table. Barely six in the morning. She picked up her phone, and saw, to her horror, about a hundred missed calls and texts from various members of her campaign staff. Immediately, she darted upright, heart leaping into her throat. Rushing to the door, her mind flooded with terrifying scenarios of national security threats, terrorism attacks, and assassinations. This couldn't be good.

William stepped inside, his eyes wide, ashen face contorted into an expression of absolute shock and bewilderment. Margot's eyes darted down to his hand, where he was holding a rolled up newspaper in a clenched white fist. His knuckles seemed to strain so hard they almost burst through his skin, shaking violently. Wordlessly, he shoved the newspaper into Margot's hand, backing up a step to look at her in horrified silence.

She blinked in confusion, then unfurled the paper, still somewhat dazed and groggy from being torn from sleep only moments before. The sight of herself on the front page, barely dressed, locked in a passionate embrace with another woman, stared back at her in all its blurry, pixelated glory. She recognized the photo instantly, having spent weeks obsessively studying the grainy images Cassandra had sent. Somehow, they had never looked quite as damning as they did now, blown up and printed for the world to see.

Horrified, she threw the paper across the room as if it had burned her, staring up at William in dismay. His expression mirrored hers perfectly, only amplified. This was the worst possible outcome. They had agreed to pay whatever amount necessary to ensure the scandal never came to light, but here it was now, staring them in the face. How had they gotten their hands on this?

“What the hell?” Margot breathed, sinking down on the sofa, trying desperately to regain her composure and come to grips with the situation. “We paid her! Who leaked this? Where did this come from? How the hell is this happening?”

“It's not just the photo, Margot,” William said, his voice weak and exhausted. “Someone tracked her down. There's a whole interview in here. I don't know how we can spin this. It's bad. Really bad.”

Margot nodded, inhaling deeply as she closed her eyes to focus. Her thoughts whirred madly, trying to make sense of this. How could the press possibly have found out about this? The only people who knew were Charlotte and Michael, and they had no interest in leaking this unless it somehow worked in Margot's favor, which it unquestionably didn't. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Not a single soul.

Not until last night.

And who had more to gain from this than Francesca?

15

FRANCESCA

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