Page 65 of Bona Fide

“Which would be…”

“I’m your wife. I’ve kept your secrets and lies. I’ve kept your father and my son, Daxton, hidden away from being linked to—”

“Congratulations, Demi, I really don’t give a fuck.”

“A scandal like this would ruin any chances of you becoming president.”

“And any chances of you becoming the First Lady,” I counter back, pulling a pen from my pen holder. “We both know you’ve already picked out your wardrobe for that role.”

“All I need to do is date another politician, maybe that Grant Hardison, for instance.”

“By all means, please do.”

“I deserve to be by your side. I did what you wanted, I stayed away.”

I hoist my chin to look up at her. “Is this when you start to have a temper tantrum?”

“There are other ways to make you do what I want,” she seethes. “Don’t make me go there.”

“Like what?” I challenge. “More like you crying wolf. Since when did you become the jealous type?”

“Since our asses will both be on the line.”

“Then I suggest you get rid of that twenty-something-year-old model staying in your hotel room.”

Her brows furrow. “You’re spying on me?”

“Just divorce me and let me go on my merry little way.”

“Why, so that little bitch of a party planner can take my place?” I chuckle, though it isn’t genuine.

Reagan wouldn’t be caught dead as the First Lady—I guarantee it. She hates the attention, the paparazzi, the fakeness that comes along with it. It isn’t her, will never be her, and I’m not sure where that leaves us at the end of all this.

“Don’t worry,” I concede. “No one could ever take your place.”

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