Page 67 of Longing for Liberty
Oh, no. More crazy heart palpitations.
I told him my size, and he nodded. “I’ll get you a dress. You’ll be accompanying me to a gathering this evening. Text your husband and let him know you’re not coming home until tomorrow night.” He looked at the time on his phone. “I’m going into the office for a few hours.” He leaned down and kissed my lips, leaving the penthouse while I stood there in a state of shock.
* * *
I’d hadall day to mentally prepare, and yet, I was not mentally prepared. How do you prepare to meet the tiny tyrant himself? The chosen face of the Order of Mercy? And what had he meant when he said he’d received a shipment?
I don’t think I’d ever been this scared for anything in my life. Not even the day I’d started working for Fitzhugh.
“Relax.” Amos ran his hands up and down my arms. “You look beautiful.”
He’d gotten me a black cocktail dress that drooped low on one shoulder and stopped just above my knees. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror in the dress with my hair down and makeup done. I still wore the dark shade on my lips that Kathy had given me.
“I’m not worthy of this, Amos,” I whispered, desperately wishing he’d change his mind about bringing me.
“I’ve chosen you. Nobody will question it.”
“But…” I looked around his bedroom, flailing for words. “They’ll all know that we…”
“Don’t you see?” He continued rubbing my arms slowly, his voice steady. “This is the way of men.”
What? The entire society they’d formed was based on rules about family values and Biblical commandments. How did being unfaithful align with that? Or, perhaps, those standards didn’t belong to the ruling class? I didn’t dare argue. I let Amos take my hand, twine my fingers through his, and lead me out.
It was strange to walk into the elevator with him. And even stranger to go up. Amos punched in a code that I didn’t see and flashed his ID at the scanner.
I was going to puke. I closed my eyes and squeezed his hand, pulling his whole arm into a hug. He gently patted my hand with his free one.
“Just stay next to me and don’t interact with Roan if you can avoid it.”
What! Why? Not that I wanted to…
“Do I call him President?”
“Sure. Or sir. He loves it. Oh, and don’t drink anything unless I give it to you.”
Excuse me?
The elevator slid open to absolute opulence, but before I could take in the view or sort out the implications of the drink comment, I was overcome with the sound of music playing. Actual music. Was that…Cindi Lauper? My frazzled nerves softened at the sound. Yes! “True Colors” was the song! I looked up at Amos, feeling wonder, and he gave me that half-grin, leading me out of the elevator.
Roan’s top-floor penthouse was like a glittering museum with high ceilings, everything gold and silver, chandeliers and crystal vases, gilded paintings, black oversized couches and chairs, and a massive wall of windows overlooking the darkening sky above Community One.
On one side was a massive statue of an eagle with outstretched wings standing at the tip of a boulder—it was a smaller replica of the one in the square. The Vice President was standing next to it with a woman. A prickly shiver went through me as I took him in. He still had the belly. And the cowboy hat and beard. The sight of him made me want to hide behind Amos.
“Ah, there he is!” From within a group of people standing near a sculpture came President Samuel Roan. Oh. Wow. He was short. And I had nothing against a short guy—had dated my share—but it was still somehow shocking given how larger-than-life he appeared on screen. As he walked toward us, spine straight, full-capacity confidence, the issue of his height completely faded.
“Fitzy!” Roan was only a few years older than me, perhaps forty, but could easily pass for thirty with his baby face, boy-next-door haircut, and his toned, muscular physique. Like all of the men, he wore a fitted, tailored suit. He reached out for Amos’s hand, and they shook.
“Sam.” Amos gave a nod.
Then Roan looked at me. I made eye contact for a zap of a second before dropping my eyes with a lurching feeling.
“And who might this be?”
“Samuel Roan, this is Liberty Carson. Liberty, Samuel Roan.”
My eyes flicked up and back down. “It’s an honor, Mr. President.”
“Liberty,really? That’s the coolest name of all time. Let me see this woman who’s finally caught our boy’s eye.” He took me by the hand and spun me masterfully, making me let loose a surprised giggle. “A ginger…I should have known.” He held onto my hand and wagged a finger at Amos, then slugged his shoulder playfully.
