Page 37 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

SELENE

M onique and Nichelle’s squeals of delight threaten to burst my eardrums. They’re so shrill and go on for so long that I have to mute the sound on my computer and massage my temples to stave off the headache I’m sure they’ve just activated.

When I’m certain my head won’t explode, I turn the volume back up so I can hear what Monique is saying, which has Nichelle nodding so enthusiastically.

“I had to mute you, so I missed part of that,” I cut in. “Can you please start over? And at a normal volume this time.”

“Silencing a Black woman is crazy,” Monique complains.

“I’m not trying to silence you, heffa. I’m just trying to walk away from this call with my hearing intact.”

“Anywaysssss,” she drawls, rolling her neck for dramatic emphasis. “I was saying that you’ve had a crazy week. First, you survive a shoot-out, and now you’re about to be giving a TED talk!!!”

News of the bank robbery broke a few days ago, turning Aubrey’s rally in Madison into a public spectacle that brought out the entire city and seemingly every news crew in the state.

Everyone was desperate for a glimpse of me, conducting visual inspections of my body for any proof of the incident and coming up empty.

Apparently, some folks, mostly Aubrey’s new supporters who despise me for existing, were disappointed that I wasn’t walking around with a gunshot wound.

They turned to social media to express those feelings, even going as far as to speculate that my proximity to the robbery was a lie, some hoax to garner public sympathy and put a stop to the death threats.

As if I would ever expect a nation founded on racism and misogynoir to be moved by the thought of a Black woman being in imminent danger.

They thirst for our tears, gorge themselves on our pain.

They want nothing more than to see us humbled by violence, destroyed by hate, erased and abused.

A society like this? People like that? They wouldn’t even know how to begin to feel sympathy for me because that would mean seeing me as human, and all I have ever been to them is expendable.

“It wasn’t a shoot-out, Mo.”

“There were guns and bullets, Sel. It was a shoot-out.”

“But enough about that!” Nichelle says, stopping us before we get caught up in a pointless back-and-forth. “Let’s focus on more positive things, like this exciting email from the TEDWomen team!”

The email is the entire reason for this impromptu video call, and it feels like a beacon of light, breaking through the dark cloud that has been hanging over my head for days.

At first, I thought I was fine. I even managed to smile and thank Beck for getting me through the whole ordeal, but once I got in the car, I felt myself shutting down.

Retreating into the silo of my anxious mind, wondering if any of this—the campaign, the election, the White House, my First Lady initiative, Aubrey’s campaign promises and this farce of a marriage—is worth what I might be giving up to have it.

I had a taste of it, all of the things I could be missing, when I was in Beck’s arms on the floor of the dressing room.

And although the presentation was new, the preparation different, the flavor of the dish was familiar on my tongue.

I’d sampled it before in the quiet, rare moments I spent alone with Cal.

Care.

Compassion.

Empathy.

Basic ingredients of human interaction that I’ve been starved of for so long, that I’ve agreed to live without. And for what? To stay attached to Aubrey?

To honor AJ.

The voice in my head supplies, dousing every scrap of my doubt in gasoline and striking a match. The fire warms my skin, and I breathe in deeply, pulling in lungfuls of self-loathing and smoke as ash rains down on my head.

“Sel? You good?” Monique asks.

I split a forced smile between her and Nichelle. “Yes, let’s focus on the email.”

Nichelle shares her screen, displaying the email that was sent directly to my inbox, which I haven’t been allowed to check in what feels like forever.

“Alright, essentially, they’re asking if you would be interested in giving a talk in Houston.

As you know, the topic is up to your discretion, but they would love it if you could tie in some points about the coding academy.

They’d want to see an outline of the talk beforehand, but it’ll be up to you what makes the final cut. ”

“That all sounds good.”

Giving a TED talk has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember. The thought of being able to check this item off my professional bucket list has my leg shaking with anticipation. I’m already formulating my talking points when Monique chimes in with a question I didn’t think to ask.

“When is the Houston event?”

Nichelle scrolls to the bottom of the email, using her mouse to highlight the date that is underlined and capitalized: JANUARY 27, 2025. My heart sinks, and Monique curses.

“Why the fuck would they ask you to speak at an event that’s a week after Inauguration Day?”

“Maybe they think Aubrey won’t—” Nichelle folds the rest of her sentence between her lips, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the thought of Aubrey losing the election. “Forget I said that,” she murmurs. “I’m sure they’re just as hopeful for a Taylor presidency as we all are.”

Monique pulls a face but keeps whatever disparaging comments swirling around in her head about Aubrey to herself. “Email them back, Nichelle. Ask if they can move the date of the event.”

“We can’t ask them to do that.”

“Why the hell not? They came to you, Selene, which means they should be willing to accommodate your needs. On January 27th, you’ll either need to be settling into your role as the First Lady of the United States, or, God forbid, hiding from the world and tending to Aubrey’s wounds while President Sanders starts his second term. ”

She shudders at the thought of me comforting Aubrey, which only serves to remind me that we’re doing such a good job of selling the lie of reconciliation that even my best friend believes it.

Everyone does. When my mama called to check on me after the boutique incident, she ended the call by saying she was glad to see that we found our way through such a trying time.

This lie is so isolating, and the act I volunteered to put on for the world has already cost me so much. I’m not the least bit surprised that it’s going to cost me a TED talk.

“Tell them no, Nichelle.”

“Selene, don’t be stupid,” Monique growls, leaning closer to the camera. “You’ve wanted this for so long. We’re not going to let a damn scheduling conflict stop you from having it.”

“I’m not being stupid, Mo. I’m being realistic.

If the opportunity came around once, it will come around again.

” Pulling my gaze away from the square on the screen vibrating with my best friend’s disappointment, I focus the last bit of energy I have for this call on Nichelle.

“Keep the email brief. Decline the invitation and make sure you let them know how much I appreciate them thinking of me.”

Monique’s disappointment is palpable, and it clings to me when I end the call without waiting for Nichelle to acknowledge the directive.

She’s right to be disappointed in me. I’m disappointed in myself.

I admit that to myself as I climb into bed and pull the covers back over my body.

I’ve been hiding out in here for the last twenty-four hours, refusing to do anything besides play games on my phone I know I need to delete because I’ve resorted to spending actual money to purchase virtual coins that can be redeemed for extra lives and special tools that make it easier to beat more difficult levels.

My thumb is poised against the button on the side of my phone, ready to double click to make yet another ill-advised purchase when a text from Monique pops up at the top of my screen.

Sighing, I open our message thread and prepare myself for another argument.

Honestly, I’m surprised it’s taken her so long to reach out.

It’s been hours since I abruptly ended our video chat with Nichelle, and she’s usually so much quicker about letting me know how much of an asshole I am.

The text isn’t long, just a few lines. The first of which includes the phrase ‘stupid bitch’ and makes me smile.

Monique: If you think I’d let you give up on this dream, you’re one stupid bitch.

The TED team agreed to let you pre-record your speech.

You’ll do it at the event space in Houston for continuity’s sake.

They’ll have it ready to go in 48 hours.

Aubrey and Jordan have already been notified. You’re welcome.

A mixture of emotions flows through me, and I take a slow, deep breath, then release it as I identify each one.

There’s excitement, of course, a little bit of shame at having given up so easily, and finally, an overwhelming kind of love for my best friend that my two-word response doesn’t even begin to convey.

Selene: Thank you.

Less than twenty-four hours later, I’m walking into a spacious, two-story farmhouse in the heart of Houston and listening to Cal and Beck grumble about me being the first person in the house as they bring our luggage in from the car.

“I promise I’ll let you clear every room in the house before I go any further.

” I hold up my hand, trying to look repentant but failing miserably because I can’t stop smiling.

Being away from Aubrey and knowing that tomorrow I’ll be fulfilling one of my lifelong dreams has done wonders for my mood.

It also doesn’t hurt that my travel companions are the only two people this campaign has brought into my life that I trust.