Page 49 of Power Games

Not since the night he figured out she wanted to be his.

“Did you kill my wife?”

“No.”

“But you wantto take her place.”

“Yes.”

No, that wasn't right. She wanted to be First Lady. She wanted power.

They'd remained mostly silent for the rest of the evening. He'd called in room service, ordering for her. She'd eaten her food without complaint.

"I'm going home," she'd told him then.

Panic. The thought of her leaving him while his world had imploded made his stomach churn. He took her hand.

"I need to set some things in motion and let my agent know I'm taking a break for a couple of weeks.” She sighed, before adding, “The next few days will be the worst. They’ll say we’re probably out in Vegas getting hitched and celebrating Isabella’s death, or something like that. Stay away from social media if you can help it. We need to let them insult us, scream all their obscenities. ”

That had made no sense to him.

"Why would we want to let people think anything like that? We need to get in front of the story.”

"Because,” Vanessa had replied, taking her hand back, “people never believe what peoplesay.Statements are useless. We need them to come up with a load of bullshit, and then prove them wrong with concrete evidence. It'll make them feel terrible when they know the truth: that you went to see your family, and hers, to grieve. That I worked all weekend to free up a couple of weeks, so that I could help you through it. And that Isabella was unfaithful while you weren't."

His first reaction was anger, but he breathed through it. "I was."

She had caught his eyes. "Is there any proof?"

He'd shaken his head.

"There. You weren't."

Simple. All that mattered in their world were appearances.

"We aren't dragging her through the mud. She doesn't deserve it."

Vanessa sighed. "Your call. But there will be a bad guy in this story. It's either you or her."

She'd taken her purse, given him his room key back and said, "You think it through. Go home. Don’t make it a photo op. I’ll see you in a few days.”

Charles had done like he was asked. Going home, back to Annapolis, spending time with his parents, hugging Izzy's. It had felt good, although at the back of his mind, he was replaying her parting words.

There will be a bad guy.

He wasn't choosing to spit on Izzy’s grave. He wasn't doing that to her family, to her memory. She hadn't been perfect, but she wasn't going to get insulted while he came out of it clean. They had to find another solution.

Vanessa and he exchanged texts over the next few days. Just short updates, but they marked a clear change in the dynamic between them. Even when they spoke to each other regularly, they never got to a point where they were checking on each other.

“How are you doing?” she’d sent Sunday morning.

“Good. My mother made pie.”

“Apple?”

“Yep.”

“Lucky you. I’d kill for pie.”

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