Page 28 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

“No. If my husband wins the election, I would advise him to start with a nationwide ban on assault weapons and high-capacity magazines. Then, I would suggest he lend his support to those lobbying for gun control laws that will require background checks for all weapons sales, keep them out of the hands of domestic abusers, and remove them from the possession of people who are proven to be a danger to themselves and others.”

Murmurs ripple throughout the crowd, making the fire in Hughes’ eyes burn brighter. He’s finally gotten whatever it is he was looking for. Suddenly, Monique appears at my side, inching herself between me and the podium.

“That concludes the Q&A portion of the evening. Thank you all for being here tonight. Refreshments are available in the lobby.”

The prompt but polite dismissal gets people moving, but Hughes stays glued to his spot, watching as Monique grabs my elbow and tries to maneuver me off stage.

“Mrs. Taylor,” he calls, smirking when I turn to the microphone. “Do you think he’ll do any of those things?”

Lately, all Jordan does is preach to me about the importance of solidarity in front of the press, and I’ve upheld my end of the bargain without much of a struggle.

Still, I’m relieved to be faced with an opportunity to expound on my belief in Aubrey without a single ounce of doubt threaded in my answer.

I hold my head up high, painting on a small smile for the photographer to Hughes’ right, and nod. “We lost our son in an act of senseless and preventable violence. I can’t think of a single reason why my husband would shy away from the chance to spare another parent from that same fate.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. I am confident my views are in alignment with his plans.”

“ What the fuck were you thinking? ”

The harsh words brush against the shell of my ear as Aubrey rocks me back and forth in his arms. The embrace and the smile plastered on his face are all for the sake of the cameras lining the tarmac to document my arrival in Georgia mere hours after I left the stage.

I’m still wearing my suit from the launch, and the bun at the nape of my neck is too tight, but I still smile when he spins me around to face the photographers.

Light from the flashes on their cameras creates spots that blot out my vision, and Aubrey’s nasty tone rings in my head, but still, I smile.

I smile, and I wave, and I allow him to kiss me on the cheek and place his hand on the small of my back, leading me to the black SUV he arrived in.

The agent I recognize as the team lead, Hicks, is behind the wheel, so another agent, whose name I don’t recall, is at the door, holding it open for us.

Aubrey gestures for me to slide inside first, and he follows closely behind, his face red.

Before he can speak, I turn to get a look out of the rear window, curious about the fact that we’re alone.

“Is Jordan not riding with us?”

She was standing beside Aubrey on the tarmac when the plane door opened, but I haven’t seen her since.

Aubrey scrubs a hand down his face as Hicks places the car in drive and hits the gas. “No, I asked her to take the other car.”

“That’s odd. Usually, you two like to extract your pounds of flesh at the same time,” I muse.

“So you know what you’ve done?”

“When I landed, I got a text from Monique telling me to stay offline. I assume a statement I made at the launch has been misconstrued in some way or another, and now you’re concerned about how that will affect you in the polls.”

“Misconstrued?” Aubrey sneers, pulling his phone out of the interior pocket of his suit jacket and tapping the screen.

“Presidential hopeful Aubrey Taylor will ban assault weapons once in office, per his wife. Selene Taylor disparages the proposed solution to mass shootings in schools, promising a Taylor administration will bring real change in the form of strict gun control.”

My brows collapse into each other as Aubrey continues reading headline after headline, his voice shaking with fury. There’s hostility rolling off of him in waves that make no sense to me.

“I’m not sure I understand what the problem is,” I admit, casting a sidelong glance in his direction. “Those headlines sound accurate to me.”

Aubrey scoffs and tosses his phone down on the seat between us. “The accuracy is the problem, Selene. You taking it upon yourself to shit all over a bill with bipartisan support and give your opinion on one of the biggest issues in this country is the problem. Who the fuck do you think you are ?!”

I flinch at his raised voice, and when the agents in the front seat stiffen but don’t say a word, I find myself wishing for the two men who are never far from my mind, knowing at least one, but probably both, of them would have had something to say about the way my husband is speaking to me right now.

“It’s not about who I think I am, Aubrey.

It’s about who I know you are, what I know you believe.

You are a proponent of gun control. It’s one of the smaller tenets of your campaign promise and, in case you’ve forgotten, one of the larger tenets of our life.

And we both know that bill and every other one like it won’t do a damn thing to change things. ”

The more words I say, the harder his leg bounces. I don’t understand it. This reaction or his growing agitation, and I don’t have the patience to sort through it when the facts are what they are.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “You have no idea how any of this shit works, Selene. You’re supposed to stand there and look pretty. You’re not supposed to rip apart bills or make promises about what I’m going to do.”

“I would never make a promise on your behalf, Aubrey,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning my head against the window. “I don’t have enough faith in you for that.”

Any chance for him to respond is lost in the vibrating of his phone against the seat, indicating an incoming phone call. Whispering a prayer of thanks that the discussion is over, I close my eyes and try to tune Aubrey’s conversation out.

I’m unsuccessful.

Mostly because I’m put off by the sudden shift in his tone when he picks up.

“Cordelia, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he coos, his voice oozing with friendliness and familiarity.

I can’t hear her response, but I do pay close attention to Aubrey’s end of the call.

My ears perk up when they begin to discuss the bill, and my eavesdropping affords me the knowledge that Senator Barnes was the one who brought it to Congress.

Clearly, that’s part of the reason why Aubrey is so upset with me.

If Senator Barnes is his friend, or at the very least a political ally, my public disparagement of legislation she is trying to get passed would create complications between them.

The added context is nice to have, easing some parts of my confusion while simultaneously creating more questions.

Aubrey ends the call, promising to speak with the Senator again soon.

I sit up and open my eyes, settling an inquisitive gaze on his face.

He’s still angry, that much is clear by the tension in his jaw, but his mood is a little better.

That’ll change.

“Since when are you in bed with the Republicans?” I ask.

He glares at me, offended that I’d dare question him, but he answers anyway.

“Since I’ve come to understand that bipartisanship is integral to the success of this country.

Sanders has had almost four years to bring both sides of the aisle together, and he’s only managed to divide the country further.

I won’t make the same mistake. I plan to take over the Oval with people on both sides in my corner, and accomplishing that goal means keeping people in my camp from shitting all over initiatives backed by my would be allies. ”

When his little speech is over, he shifts his focus to his phone, leaving me to wonder if his definition of bipartisanship is compromising his beliefs, bending his morals until they’re small and insignificant enough to fit neatly in the palms of those allies’ hands.