Page 21 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)
SELENE
N one of the scenarios I pondered in the bathtub on the night my marriage fell apart for good came to pass.
Aubrey left the bathroom in a dramatic huff, deciding to spare my life, no doubt for the sake of his political campaign, and I finished my bath, grateful to know there is a limit to my husband’s depravity after all.
Something about knowing that left me feeling brave and destructive, and in the days since, I’ve dedicated my time to getting on his nerves.
I started out small: skipping events and appearances, liking and sharing get-well-soon posts for President Sanders, and, when he failed to give me the desired reaction, creating one of my own and sharing it across all my platforms. Needling him in such small ways has been fun, but after days of minor nuisances, I’m ready to become a big fucking problem for him.
That desire is what leads me to his headquarters on the Friday after our doomed dinner date.
I stride in on sure feet with my shoulders square, my head held high, and my favorite white pantsuit hugging my frame.
Jordan forbade me from wearing it years ago, telling me that I should never wear the same thing twice after a fashionista dedicated an entire series of posts to the outfit, documenting every time I’d worn it.
Being the dutiful wife, I pushed the suit to the back of my closet and haven’t touched it again.
Until today.
I knew it would be the first non-verbal communication to Jordan that I was done taking her and Aubrey’s shit.
And when I walk into the conference room in the center of the headquarters, interrupting what I’m sure is a strategy meeting dedicated to the continued exploitation of President Sanders’ prolonged hospital stay, I can tell she’s gotten the message.
Her green eyes narrow, and those perfectly arched brows curve with interest and annoyance as she watches me move to the end of the table closest to the door, directly across from Aubrey.
“Give us the room,” I say. My voice is laced with authority that leaves no room for question.
Everyone but the two people I need to speak to rises to their feet and scrambles out the door behind me.
When we’re alone, I drop into a chair and place the manila folder I’ve been holding in my hand on the table.
Jordan and Aubrey both eye it suspiciously.
I pat it and smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to that eventually. ”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Aubrey asks, rolling up the sleeves of the crisp white button-up he’s wearing today.
The navy blue tie he paired it with is already loose, a sign that his day has been filled with agitation.
For years, I’ve let that sign and so many others be the difference between me walking on eggshells or moving and speaking freely around him.
I won’t be extending him any such graces today.
I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table and steepling my fingers together. “I’m not happy.”
“So make an appointment with your therapist,” Aubrey retorts.
I bare my teeth in a sharp smile. “This is therapy, Aubrey. Coming in here, interrupting your day. Forcing your world to bend to my will for once. It’s quite intoxicating, I can see why you two like disrupting my life so much.”
Aubrey glances at Jordan, but her eyes are on me.
Her expression unreadable as she studies my face.
I want to know what she’s thinking, but I don’t ask because I know she’ll lend her voice to whatever is on her mind soon enough.
She won’t do that until she knows exactly why I’m here and what I want, though, so I fight past the rush of agitation that runs through me at the thought of my delayed launch and all the other ways they’ve interrupted my life over the past few months.
I’m not here to rehash the past. I’m here to talk about the future.
About my future.
Turning my head, I hold Jordan’s gaze. “You told me I should file for divorce if I wasn’t happy.”
She nods, eyes lighting up as the wheels in her mind start to spin. “I did. Is that what you?—”
“No.” Jordan visibly deflates. She tilts her head to the side, trying to understand my angle.
I laugh. God, I enjoy her when she’s confused.
“I’m not filing for divorce.” I swing my gaze back in Aubrey’s direction.
“I thought about it. I thought about it for a long time, but then I decided that that would be too easy for you.”
“A divorce in the middle of a presidential campaign on the heels of a cheating scandal?” Aubrey huffs incredulously. “There wouldn’t be anything easy about that. It would likely cost me the election.”
“We both know she wouldn’t let that happen,” I toss back, nodding in Jordan’s direction.
“She’s already got it all planned out, Aubrey.
They’d paint you as a victim in all of this.
The poor, misunderstood patriot who made one small mistake that his frigid wife would never forgive.
They’d practically hand you the Oval and then you’d hand your mistress the role I bled for. ”
Just the thought of it has me hiding my hands in my lap so no one can see them turning into clenched fists.
It’s not about Sutton. Not really. It’s about the causes she would choose to champion.
They’d be all lighthearted and easy to stomach, just like her.
She wouldn’t push for any real change. The platform, the influence, the proximity to power would all be wasted on her.
I swallow, feeling the burn of the edges of my nails cutting into my palm.
“You would move on, Aubrey. You’d have everything you wanted, including your mistress.
I’d be crucified in the media even more than I already have been, and everything I’ve done to further your career, to get you here, will have been for nothing.
There will be no payoff, no reward, just more suffering.
” I shake my head, a rueful smile on my lips. “I can’t abide that. I won’t .”
“So what is it that you’re proposing?” Aubrey asks as red rises from the collar of his shirt up his neck. He’s been growing more agitated the longer I’ve been in the room, commandeering his time and attention.
“A political marriage,” I pause, letting the offer sink in.
“We stay married in name only. There will be no physical intimacy. No attempts at reconciliation or emotional connection. You don’t love me anymore.
I don’t know when it happened or how, and truly, I don’t care because I’m not in this marriage for you anymore.
I’m here for our goals, for our vision, for the promise we made to each other when we lost our son. Do you remember that promise, Aubrey?”
“Of course, I remember that promise, Selene.”
I nod, never having doubted his answer to that question.
“Then you won’t have any problem backing my First Lady initiative to place mental health professionals trained to create emotionally safe environments in schools to help prevent school shootings.
You will be vocal about your support and use all your presidential influence to persuade AJ’s school to be the first to implement it.
You’ll also guarantee the $ 1.2 billion in funding that my team estimates we’ll need to implement it nationwide and promise continued funding for this program through the presidential foundation you’ll establish after your term, or terms, are over.
Lastly—” I look between him and Jordan, hardening my stare, “—all messaging around the start of a First Family is to be discontinued immediately. I will not bring any more children into this world with Aubrey as their father.”
My last declaration is followed by several seconds of silence that are pierced suddenly by the sound of Aubrey’s bark of laughter. “What the fuck makes you think we’d ever agree to something like?—”
Jordan places a hand on his arm, and I read the silent order for him to shut up in the subtle shake of her head.
He ignores her, though, pushing his chair back from the table and rising to his feet.
He plants both palms on the table and leans forward like he wants to climb across it and rip my throat out.
“Extortion? This is low even for you, Sel,” he growls.
“I should have known it would always end up this way with us. My father warned me—the day he wrote the check that helped you start Culture Code— he told me that you were only in it for the money. That all you wanted was the power and prestige that came along with my name. I didn’t speak to him for weeks afterwards, do you remember that?
I told him you loved me, that you’d never use me like that.
I loved you. I made you . The business you keep crying about my campaign interrupting wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for me.
” He lifts his left hand and slams it into the table.
“My money.” Another hard slap. “My name.” One more collision between his open palm and the glass.
“My connections and power. You don’t get to sit here and make demands of me, Selene.
You don’t get to tell me how this is going to go. That’s not how this works.”
Every word, every sentence comes with a rise in his volume. Jordan places a hand on his forearm, attempting to calm him. “Aubrey. You need to lower your voice and sit down.”
He shakes her off, but he does sink into his seat. “I’m not agreeing to it. I’m not agreeing to any of it, do you hear me?”
“You will.”
His chest is heaving, and the redness that was creeping up his neck has now overtaken his face. “What makes you so sure?”