Page 18 of The Senator's Rival

The rumors were slowly starting to fade away, but damage had been done. While the topic hadn't been entirely extinguished from the national discourse yet, by the end of the second week of the political hellscape, Francesca's camp had released their financial report. Which meant that every sane and reasonable media outlet had been forced to accept the truth of the situation. Countless think pieces and apologetic coverage ran, debunking the false scandal and calling attention to the real problems.

Conservative media outlets were still fanning the flames, though, insisting that there had been some kind of cover-up. The documents were fake, according to them, and there was simply too much smoke to ignore. Sure, the evidence looked irrefutable, but was it really? Hadn't Claire just seemed so genuine when she testified against Francesca's character? Why would such a respectable former employee lie about something as serious as embezzlement? This must be a witch hunt perpetrated by progressive media bias, trying to gaslight innocent American citizens into thinking lies were truth. They wouldn't fool anyone.

Unfortunately, such blatant falsehoods continued to attract an alarmingly large audience. For the most part, though, equilibrium had been restored through a series of compelling public appearances, carefully crafted statements, and, of course, actual reality. No amount of wishful thinking on the opposition's part could erase the evidence of Francesca’s innocence and her track record for integrity. Their poll numbers were up again, albeit not yet quite as high as before. Still, it was a promising sign, and morale was on the rise in their headquarters.

Francesca herself was exhausted. Running a presidential campaign was like running several start-up companies simultaneously, while trying to keep your ship afloat in the middle of a storm that refused to quit. The next debate was two weeks away, and after that, it was only a month until November 5th, election day. As tiring as the race had been so far, the next few weeks would be even more grueling as everything started hurtling towards the finish line.

This morning, Francesca was in the capital, attending a luncheon at the White House to celebrate women in tech innovation. It was a chance for a quick publicity bump with a sympathetic audience, especially important after the recent scandal that could have marred her reputation as an advocate for advancement and diversity. Of course, it was just as much of an opportunity for Margot, who would be present, along with many other notable female leaders from across the country.

Francesca was determined not to let her opponent get under her skin, though. She had decided put all that behind her and to focus on the issues that mattered. They would shake hands, pose for a photo or two, and make a big show of being amicable and respectful--despite everything that had transpired.

Her team had agreed that the best course of action was to take the high road. As much as a part of her wanted to yell at the top of her lungs that Margot had been behind this whole debacle, that would only stoke the flames and give her opponents more ammunition for their conspiracy theories and mud-slinging. Francesca’s greatest strengths were her warmth, compassion, and integrity. She didn't want to be the kind of politician who stooped to the level of her detractors. People had to elect Francesca based on what she actually stood for, not because they couldn't stand her enemies.

As soon as she stepped out into the famous rose garden in her navy pantsuit and sensible black leather pumps and saw Margot's lithe and beautiful figure on the other side, however, she felt her commitment to peace begin to waver. The golden-haired viper was already there with her husband, chatting with President Ward and his wife. Margot’s hair flowed gracefully over one shoulder in waves of perfectly coiffed highlighted perfection, not a strand out of place, and she wore a light blue long-sleeved cocktail dress. Delicate pearls hung around Margot’s slender neck. How could someone with so little humanity look so angelic?

Forcing herself to keep her expression pleasant, Francesca made her way across the lawn to greet them. A camera team was circling around like vultures, trying to get the perfect shot for the evening news later that night. A handful of journalists lurked nearby, ready to catch any words that might make it past their lips for some sound bites they could spin into interesting tidbits for viewers at home. This was the first time they would be seen in the same place since the “scandal” broke out, after all. The press was probably hoping for a bloodbath. A full-fledged catfight right there on the immaculately manicured green grass.

Honestly, the closer Francesca got, the more appealing that prospect sounded. A part of her wanted to wrap her hands around that elegant neck. To throw Margot on the ground like they were rival lionesses in the savannah, ripping and tearing at each other like wild beasts until their clothes were torn and their limbs entangled, their faces inches from each other, and—okay, that took a turn. Get it together, Frankie, she chastised herself, feeling the heat creep up her cheeks. What is wrong with you? Stop drooling. Stay focused.

When Francesca finally reached them, the president and first lady greeted her warmly and shook her hand. They exchanged pleasant greetings before moving on to greet the next guest. This left Francesca and Margot a foot apart, staring at each other. Well, and William, but bless his heart, the man always seemed like an obedient labrador retriever. An extension of Margot, so not a threat in his own right, and certainly not relevant when those piercing, sky-blue eyes were locked on her.

“So good to see you, Francesca,” Margot greeted cheerfully, with a flawlessly cordial smile plastered on her face. “How have you been? These last few weeks must have been really difficult for you, what with all the scrutiny over those allegations. I was so relieved to learn the truth.”

In that moment, if looks could kill, Margot Smith would have collapsed onto the ground, stone-cold dead, on the spot. The sheer audacity. All Southern charm and honeyed words, as if she and her entire team hadn't been out here spewing enough filth to drown a hippo over the last week and a half, over baseless slander they themselves had concocted. No remorse, not a hint of shame. And that smug smile—the woman was practically laughing at her from behind those crystal blue eyes.

“I have the truth on my side, Margot,” Francesca replied smoothly, matching her opponent's perfected social nicety with one of her own. “And an impeccable record of integrity over nearly two decades of service to my fellow Americans. I trust the voters to see that.”

The air between them felt charged, like the split second before a lightning strike. From the outside, though, nothing about their exchange suggested any tension or conflict whatsoever. On the contrary, their smiles appeared as friendly as any with other conversation partners. They shook hands and smiled for the cameras with perfectly choreographed body language. The images would communicate that while they might be political opponents, they were also both professional, composed, and civilized individuals who respected the process. A textbook example of the way elections ought to be. The way politics should be.

When they finally broke apart, turning and heading off in separate directions, they parted like old friends who had shared an affectionate farewell rather than bitter rivals who had clashed heatedly over months of intense strife. Outwardly, the whole encounter had gone so smoothly that one could have blinked and missed it.

That's what everyone watching would see, anyway. In reality, Francesca's palms were sweating and it was a struggle to breathe normally. Margot Smith had a physical effect on her. And way more since that night in the hotel when Francesca had eagerly submitted to her sexually. Now, both fury and passion raged, a confusing cocktail of emotions that she really couldn't afford to let derail her. Margot Smith drove her absolutely crazy.

Throughout the president's brief address and speeches from some of the honored guests, Francesca stole frequent glances across the lawn. More frequently than she'd care to admit. Each time, she caught a pair of opalescent eyes boring back into hers, meeting her gaze as if drawn to it with magnetic precision. Neither of them looked away immediately when they were caught staring. Instead, a silent game ensued as they held eye contact, testing each other's will to look away first. Usually, it was the sound of applause that pulled both of them back to reality, forcing them to look present and engaged again.

Afterward, the candidates posed with various members of staff, local officials, and representatives from the business world for a myriad of photos. Juliet expertly guided Francesca back and forth, seamlessly weaving her into every cluster and pairing her up with as many important people as possible for maximum exposure. To her right, Margot floated across the lawn beside her equally pristine husband, doing the same thing. Every now and then, they caught each other’s eyes, sending little shivers down Francesca's spine. It unnerved her every time.

Finally, as the event wound down and they all headed back inside, Francesca stepped into one of the bathrooms to gather herself. She was surprised to find the familiar tall, lean, elegant figure leaning casually against the sink with her arms crossed, staring intently at her phone. Margot didn't seem to notice her immediately, clearly preoccupied with whatever she was reading. An expression Francesca couldn't recall seeing very often had replaced Margot’s usual mask of confidence. Instead, she had a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

For a moment, Francesca just stood and studied her, trying to understand. It was a strange sight. She rarely saw Margot caught off guard or off balance, without that unflappable poise she maintained at all times. Margot looked almost frightened. Vulnerable, like whatever was on that screen had rattled her deeply. It was fascinating to behold. Francesca couldn't help but find it endearing. The behavior shouldn't be, but it was. Some of the seething anger from earlier dissipated, replaced by a strange yearning to reach out and touch Margot. Reassure her. Take care of her.

The door clicked shut behind them. Margot's head snapped up as their gazes locked once more. Immediately, her mask fell back into place, haughty confidence and casual indifference replacing any sign of vulnerability. The air between them turned to ice and feelings of warmth or softness vanished. The women glared at each other, each silently challenging the other to act on the simmering aggression threatening to boil over.

“Francesca,” Margot greeted coolly.

“Margot,” Francesca answered tersely in response.

Silence stretched between them. Neither spoke for several long moments as they sized the other up. They were alone now. There were no cameras to smile for, no crowds to please, and no audiences to perform for. Alone with each other for the first time since that unforgettable, regrettable night in Chicago. For once, they could drop the charade and unleash their true emotions.

“What the hell was that about?” Francesca demanded furiously, taking a step forward. “Did you really think you could bury me like you did Bennett? That I'd go down so easily?”

“If you're going to accuse me, darling, at least have some real proof,” Margot shot back dismissively, brushing an imaginary speck off her sleeve. “As I recall, it was your own former staffer who instigated the entire debacle. Watch your own side of the street before you start pointing fingers, sweetheart.”

“Oh, don't even start with that,” Francesca hissed, glaring daggers at Margot’s devilishly angelic face. “This has your filthy paws all over it. I had hoped that you and I could show each other a modicum of respect and at least let the best woman win, but I suppose I should have known you couldn't handle a fair fight. I thought you were better than this, Margot. Shame on me for believing you had a single shred of integrity.”

For the briefest flicker of a second, something in the older woman’s eyes faltered, revealing a flash of insecurity and pain. Just as rapidly, it was gone, replaced with the perfected icy indifference. It was so quick that it might have been dismissed as a trick of the light, but Francesca was sure of what she'd seen. There was a tiny crack in Margot's otherwise polished surface. Just as she'd suspected in Chicago. Underneath the cool facade, there was a beating heart. She'd struck a nerve.

“Let's not act like idealistic schoolgirls,” Margot retorted sharply, sneering in disdain. “Your team should have been prepared for someone to attack you that way, but you were left scrambling for days while these allegations flourished. Do you really think, after that mess, that you're in any way prepared to serve as president? Do you think everyone's going to suddenly play nice with you once you're in the Oval Office? This isn't even close to the kind of brutality you'd face if you were ever elected, and you're already exhausted. You aren't cut out for this.”

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