Page 118 of Bona Fide

It’s gotten so nerve-racking and creepy that I’ve actually had to set a Secret Service agent up in front of my door just to keep her ass out.

I’m in the Oval now, I don’t need to lay on the lies that thickly anymore. I could give two flying fucks if a paper mentions how “distant” we’re becoming. We’ve been isolated from each other. We were separated for fucking years. No magical reunion was going to fix that nor did I pray every night for a miracle.

How the hell anyone buys into this “ideal” marriage is beyond fucking me. But I know how powerful the press is and how people eat and shit that crap out.

Attired in a pink, pleated dress and black heels, Demi strides towards my desk with a giant, shit-eating grin on her face. Her dark hair is neatly pinned back, letting her long tresses fall to her back, appearing like the most well put together First Lady that we’ve seen this decade.

Just like her idol, Jackie-O.

“Hello,” she greets, stopping and sitting in one of the tan leather chairs in front of my desk. “I thought you were meeting one of the defense generals today.”

So, she’s looking into my schedule again—noted.

“How are you doing, Demi?”

She nods. “Good, you?”

“Busy.”

“Good.” A silence falls between us while I suit myself up into character. I’ve tweaked the persona that Demi is used to seeing; broody, pissed off, irritated, wanting her out of my sight, glaring at her with disdain in my fucking eyes.

The usual.

Instead, I’m trying the calm approach. The perfectly set and proper President of the United States. The one who deals with leaders all over the world who have some of the most moronic ideas I have ever heard.

“I heard the news,” I deadpan before she perks a curious brow. “You’re pregnant.”

Her blue eyes widen but go right back to normal. She settles deeper into her chair and lifts her chin. “Who told you that?”

I smile and shake my head. “You know I have eyes and ears everywhere.” Her jaw tightens, but I continue before she can throw one of her famous fits. “Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is soft, not the agitated one that wants to break free and rip her fucking face off.

She’s either faking it.

Or she knows where Indie lives.

I keep my sexual needs away from the White House and not where Demi’s little spies can report back to her.

Honestly, I don’t even know if Demi is aware of Indie. She’s never mentioned it, we don’t talk much anyway, and I’m obviously not going to lay my personal shit on the table for her to use as ammo.

“Because I know how you are,” she retorts with a wrinkled nose.

“How?”

“How what?”

I keep my face blank. “How did you get pregnant, Dem?” She presses her hand to her cheek and averts her gaze from me.

The baby either isn’t mine or she’s fucking lying again. I’m going with option two.

Demi would love to rub in my face that she is one step ahead of me. That she found out about the woman I have on the side that I fuck until I can’t think or see anymore. She wants to trick me into staying with her because, even though she hasn’t mentioned it lately, she knows I’m exactly where I’ve always been—not in love with her anymore.

“Whose is it?” My voice isn’t condemning, so hopefully she’ll break her wall and let me in, even though she has a lot of pride. But I need her to believe that I’m here to help her, and myself, not looking to bitch at her for opening up her legs.

“I’m not pregnant,” she deadpans.

Thought so.

“Then why are you trying to release a story then?” Her gaze snaps back to me.

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