Page 25 of The Senator's Rival

“At least you're going to win,” Juliet said drily, gazing up at the screen in their office space.

“Really, Jules?” Francesca asked flatly, shooting her old friend a disapproving look. “That's your takeaway here?”

The article published a few days ago about Margot's torrid college affair with another woman, combined with the disastrous debate performance, had tanked her ratings overnight. They were less than three weeks out from Election Day, and the polls were painting a clear picture.

It would take an actual act of God at this point to reverse the damage. The Virginian congresswoman was falling rapidly out of contention, losing support in states previously considered swing votes, and the party was at war with itself, trying to figure out how they would save face in November. Some of them were pragmatic enough to recognize that they didn't have a better option available to win the presidency and therefore had to keep supporting their candidate. The more hardline traditionalists, on the other hand—the staunch evangelicals, diehard conservatives, and the “family values” crowd—were loudly abandoning ship at every opportunity. No surprise there.

“Well, you are,” Juliet reiterated, shrugging. “Karma's a bitch, huh? She's spent months trying to paint you as a deceitful, unethical liar, and now the whole country knows she's actually the one living a double life. It's poetic justice.”

“Jules,” Francesca said firmly, “I'm not happy that someone's life is being ruined because they were forcibly outed on a global stage. It's a horrible violation and no one deserves it. That goes against everything we stand for.”

“Sure, I agree,” her campaign manager nodded, “and we'll keep condemning it loudly and passionately. But look on the bright side, right? You're going to be the next President of the United States. We won.”

Francesca sighed heavily, rubbing her temples to try to ease her thundering headache. For the hundredth time in the last few minutes, she checked her phone. Still no reply. Over the last forty-eight hours, she had reached out to Margot repeatedly, both privately and through her staff. Everything from carefully crafted neutral messages of support and well-wishing to more intimate, concerned texts of sympathy. Each of them had remained unopened and unanswered. Francesca had even called, but it had gone straight to voicemail every time.

The staffers they'd managed to contact had made it very clear why. As far as they were concerned, Francesca was behind this and Margot was livid. That, of course, was nonsense. Nonsense that Margot probably did believe, considering her vulnerable, paranoid, furious state, but still nonsense. If her life depended on it, Francesca wouldn't have done something this awful. To think that Margot really believed her capable of this was heartbreaking. Especially now, after they had shared that incredible, transformative evening together.

She was worried about Margot, too. That night, Margot had exposed all her deepest fears and vulnerabilities, exposing how deeply she was hurting and how much she struggled. Then this, in the middle of all of that? Francesca wanted nothing more than to wrap Margot up in her arms and hold her safely until all this went away. Now, she couldn't even reach her. God, this was a mess.

“I hate this,” she mumbled as she slumped back in her chair.

“Yeah, me too,” Juliet agreed sympathetically, checking her watch. “Time to get going. You can get all that moral outrage out on camera. It'll look really powerful.”

Francesca scoffed humorlessly, taking Juliet's hand when she offered it to help her up. Another interview session with another reporter. Unsurprisingly, her team was being inundated with requests, and she wanted to be out there, letting the world know how profoundly unacceptable this was. She wasn't going to give anyone a chance to speculate that she was happy about this turn of events. A central tenet of her platform was the protection of LGBTQ+ people. Francesca had championed that cause ever since her high school activist days. Winning votes because of this felt utterly wrong and disrespectful, and she had a responsibility to show the world that.

So, in between anxiously awaiting a response from Margot, that was what Francesca did. Racing from one interview or speech to the next, while keeping track of all the different opinions and reactions from across the nation and around the world. At the same time, her team was scrambling to finish off the remaining few weeks before Election Day in a way that wasn't completely centered on this scandal. They couldn't lose focus on all their other causes and commitments just because of this. They had run a positive, optimistic, hopeful campaign focused on making everyone's lives better, and they didn’t want to lose sight of that now.

They all knew what the outcome would be, though. As the week progressed, Margot's numbers just kept dropping, with more and more details about her past suddenly popping up into public view. There were speculations about affairs with just about every woman she had ever spoken to, rumors about her marriage, and countless photos circulating around the internet. Nothing was spared from the ravenous appetite for scandal. Every corner of Margot's life was poked, prodded, and violated, while she remained silent throughout, hiding away somewhere in Virginia.

It was beyond disgusting to witness. The fact that society so readily devoured the most personal aspects of Margot's life, feeding a frenzy for more dirt while simultaneously berating her and denying any empathy for the stress and trauma Margot must surely be going through right now was an offense to everything Francesca stood for and believed in. Every ounce of compassion in her body cried out for action, urging her to do something, anything to make it better. Yet Francesca was helpless to do anything except stay publicly vigilant, condemning the attacks at every turn.

It took a full week of crafting long, heartfelt texts to Margot late at night, begging her to please answer so they could talk, before, finally, she received a terse text back. The notification made Francesca's heart practically leap out of her throat, and she hastily tapped the screen to read the short message.

Margot: In D.C. tomorrow. Meet me at the Hay-Adams Hotel at 9 p.m.

Eagerly, she typed out an affirmative response, asking how Margot was feeling, if there was anything she needed, and if there was anything at all that Francesca could do. The read receipt revealed that Margot saw it almost immediately, but that it went unanswered. Well, that was fine. At least there was contact. Hopefully, this was progress. It didn't seem like Margot was ready to forgive and forget, but at least Francesca could look her in the eye and say exactly what she thought of all of this. Of her. This wasn't something Francesca could fix, but at least she could be there.

When she arrived at the venerable hotel the following night, she was escorted to the suite reserved under Margot's name. Knocking softly, she held her breath. Her heart was racing wildly, thumping against her ribcage almost painfully. It took all her strength and focus not to break down entirely upon laying eyes on Margot once the door swung open. Margot looked haggard, tired, and miserable, with deep shadows around her eyes and her perfect hair looking noticeably less shiny and bouncy than usual.

“Well?” Margot demanded snippily as Francesca stepped inside. “Happy? Did you come here to gloat?”

“Jesus, Margot,” Francesca exhaled as she turned to face her again. “Of course not. This entire situation is horrible. I've been worried sick about you. How are you holding up? Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need anything?”

“Oh, spare me,” snarled Margot with a contemptuous sneer, slamming the door shut and walking over to a dresser to pour herself a drink. “You know, you really had me fooled. I can't believe I fell for your whole earnest, genuine, empathic charade. Honestly? Well done. You outplayed me. I've been playing a role all my life, but I couldn't do it half as well as you.”

Margot's voice had lost some of the clipped, refined polish it normally carried. Instead, it sounded harsh and strained, every syllable dripping with seething contempt and hurt. She lifted the glass to her lips, knocking back the amber liquid with a practiced flourish. Whiskey, judging by the smell emanating toward Francesca. The way her hand shook betrayed a hint of unsteadiness.

“I know you're hurting right now, but that's ridiculous,” Francesca said as calmly as she could, inhaling deeply. “Margot, I wouldn't do this. Not to you, not to anyone. No victory would be worth causing this kind of pain to achieve. I don't know how any of this came out, but it wasn't me.”

“Nobody knew about this, Francesca,” Margot spat at her. “Nobody who isn't currently having their lives and careers destroyed by this, anyway. Except you. I told you and the very next morning, this was splattered across every website and newspaper in the world. What other logical conclusion am I meant to draw from that?”

Francesca frowned, biting her lip thoughtfully as she watched Margot knock back another large gulp of whiskey. She was still standing awkwardly beside the door, unsure of whether or not she would be welcome to approach Margot, wanting desperately to go over and comfort her. Not knowing what else to do, Francesca stayed put. It was probably for the best.

“If you really believe that, then why am I here?” she asked cautiously. “You know this doesn't make sense, Margot. Even if I had wanted to, and I didn't, how would I possibly be able to get ahold of those photos? You've been trying to track down this person for months. But you think that I somehow not only found her, but convinced her to go to the press, to sit down and do a full interview, and to release pictures you were paying her to keep private—all in less than eight hours? Come on. You aren't stupid.”

Margot seemed to falter for a moment, looking scared and bewildered rather than furious. Her hand was shaking slightly, clutching the glass so tightly it looked like it might shatter. Cautiously, Francesca stepped forward, placing a gentle hand around Margot's to steady her. Margot looked down, frowning. Her brow furrowed, but she didn't pull her hand away, nor did she push Francesca off. Eventually, Margot slowly lowered the glass, while taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“The timing's awfully convenient,” Margot said shakily, sounding like she was trying to convince herself that this narrative actually made logical sense, but not quite able to pull it off convincingly anymore. “You knew I was upset and vulnerable that night, and you showed up at my room and were all, well, you know. And I told you all those things, and then the very next morning...”

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