Page 47 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

We end up locked in a standoff that she still resents me for winning hours after it’s over.

She shoots me dirty looks from the sidelines of the step and repeat Aubrey and I are posed in front of with Cordelia Barnes by her side, but as I smile for the cameras that have come to document Aubrey’s debate against President Sanders, I find that I’m more concerned about the eyes that are not on me.

Cal and Beck are across the room, standing shoulder to shoulder.

Two bodies in a wall of black formed by the agents in President Sander’s detail and ours that lines the perimeter of the room.

For everyone else they probably blend in with their colleagues, but to me they stand out, glowing like beacons of hope for all the things I shouldn’t want.

They didn’t spare me a single glance when Aubrey and I arrived, and they won’t look at me now even though I can’t stop my eyes from wandering in their direction.

“Right here, Mrs.Taylor,” one of the photographers yells, snapping his fingers like I’m a dog and not a human. I make a show of turning in his direction and then focusing on the man to the left of him instead.

“Play nice,” Aubrey grits out through his smile, shifting us to the right so the rude photographer can get his shot.

I don’t respond because despite all the words I know, I don’t have a single nice one for him.

The photo op is done soon after, and Jordan and Cordelia immediately swoop in to whisk Aubrey off to some private corner to discuss things I don’t care to know about.

With them gone, I’m able to find a quiet place to breathe and, of course, covertly spy on the men who won’t leave my mind.

I’m watching Cal speak into his comms and imagining the deep rumble of his voice washing over me when I’m suddenly surrounded by four large men in black that I don’t recognize.

“Ma’am,” the tallest one says, “President Sanders would like to speak with you.”

“Why?” I blurt the word out, knowing it’s the wrong thing to say but not really caring because I genuinely can’t imagine what he’d want with me.

“Please follow us, ma’am. The President only has a few minutes before he’s due on stage.”

Saying no to Jordan earlier felt good, like something I should, and will, do more, but actively ignoring the request of this man who, for all intents and purposes, represents the interest of the leader of the free world feels like something I shouldn’t do.

With a dip of my chin, I signal my acquiescence, and the big guy turns on his heel while the others form a wall around me, herding me in the direction of their boss.

He’s waiting in, what I assume is, the larger of the green rooms in the venue, holding court from a velvet armchair that faces the door with several agents at his back. They mark my entrance with little interest, but when the President sees me, his face lights up like we’re old friends.

“Mrs. Taylor,” he bellows, rising from his seat with surprising ease given his age and the low position of the chair.

His fingers do shake a bit when he fastens the button on his suit jacket, and as he approaches me, I force the list of his suspected and confirmed medical issues that I heard on the news out of my mind.

“You look lovely as ever,” he says, gripping the tops of my arms lightly and laying a chaste kiss on each of my cheeks.

It’s too familiar of a greeting for us to be strangers, but I allow it because, well, he’s him. I wonder how many liberties he takes as a result of that kind of thinking, how many liberties Aubrey will take if he’s ever fortunate enough to wield the type of power that affords you such a thing.

I step back to end the contact and force a smile to ease the blow. “Thank you, Mr. President. You look well.”

He chuckles, running a wrinkled hand over silver hair. “Not too bad for a man who’s, how did your husband put it? Knocking on death’s door?”

The smile, which I’d been holding for too long anyway, drops, which only seems to humor him more. “Relax, darling, I didn’t bring you here to visit the sins of the husband on the wife. We have much more important things to discuss. Come, let’s have a seat.”

With a grand sweep of his arm through the air, he directs me to the sitting area. The coffee table between the chairs is covered with an assortment of foods and drinks.

“Would you like something to eat? Maybe a drink? I always like to have a little whiskey before I take to the stage, helps soothe the nerves.”

“No, thank you. I’d much rather you get to the point.”

“A straight shooter,” he muses, crossing one leg over the other and resting clasped hands on his knee. “I like that. I like that a lot.”

“I prefer to think of myself as an efficient communicator.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you with the use of that turn of phrase.

” The stretch of his eyes and the flare of his nostrils indicate genuine regret, but everything about this conversation feels intentional, including the word choice he’s apologizing for.

“I know how you feel about guns. I saw a clip of your speech about gun control on the day of your software launch. You spoke with so much conviction.”

Keeping tabs on your opponent and everyone in their inner circle is basic strategy, but it still kind of creeps me out to know that he’s this tuned in to what I’m doing and saying.

“Well, as you know, the issue is close to my heart.”

“Yes, I was so sorry to hear about the loss of your son.”

“Thank you.”

I want to urge him to get to the point again, but I don’t bother because he’s working up to it slowly but surely. As soon as I accept that he’ll drop the bomb when he’s good and ready, it explodes right in my face.

“Selene, were you aware that your husband no longer shares your views on gun control?”

“I’m sorry?”

President Sanders drops his leg and sits up straight, the light overhead casting long shadows over his face. “Aubrey won’t make a move against the NRA now that Cordelia is backing him. Any hopes you had for gun reform are dead in the water, darling, and your husband is the one holding the gun.”

My head swings back and forth on its own volition. An involuntary rejection of the President’s words, of a reality where the one thing I trusted Aubrey to give me is being ripped away.

“No. That’s not true. That can’t be true.” I’m looking down on Sanders now, taking in his repressed smirk, but I don’t know when I stood up. “He promised,” I whisper, my voice weak but somehow still laced with anger.

“I’m sure he did,” Sanders says although I’m sure he knows I’m not talking to him. “It’s a shame really. How he keeps finding new ways to betray and embarrass you on the world’s stage.”

The final shot works like a charm, turning me into a heat-seeking missile tuned to the exact temperature of Aubrey’s body.

I find him just down the hall from Sanders, his name on the green room door that I burst through without knocking.

I’m absently aware of the agents around the room with their hands on their holsters, ready to shoot down a threat.

It occurs to me that they might view me as one, but that doesn’t stop me.

Doesn’t make my steps falter or take the red out of my vision.

“Are you fucking serious?” I hiss, all rage now. My body vibrates with it as I slap the papers Aubrey’s holding out of his hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cordelia literally clutch her pearls, pleading blue eyes on Jordan who is just standing by waiting to see how this all plays out.

“What the fuck is your problem, Selene?”

He starts to bend down to pick up the papers, but I pin them underneath my heel. “You are my fucking problem, Aubrey Taylor. Were you seriously going to let me sit in that audience tonight and find out with the rest of the world that you’re flipping on gun control? Gun control , Aubrey?”

“Selene.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Our democracy doesn’t work without bipartisanship, and bipartisanship only happens when you’re willing to compromise.”

“Where is the line?”

“What?”

“The line, Aubrey. The thing you won’t do, the concession you won’t make.

Where is it? Do you even know? Does it even exist ?

” I shake my head, disgust twisting my stomach into knots.

“You are a pathetic man. Weak-willed. Undisciplined. Spineless . I’m ashamed to have ever loved you, to have ever trusted you, and I know without a doubt that AJ would be ashamed to call you his father. ”

There aren’t many things I can say to Aubrey these days that actually touch him, but that does. Too bad I’m far too disgusted with him to take in or appreciate the effects my words have. I stumble back, ripping the papers underneath my feet when I turn to head for the door.

No one tries to stop me from leaving or follows me out, and I’m grateful for that because it gives me time to compose myself.

It only takes a few minutes to set myself back to rights, and I emerge from the darkest corner at the end of a long hallway feeling well enough to fake a few smiles for the cameras who will capture my early departure.

Only, it seems Jordan has other plans.

She intercepts me just as I’m about to enter the backstage area and request to be taken home, already aware of what I’m about to do. “You can’t leave.”

I take a step to my left to walk around her, and she mirrors the move, blocking me. I huff out a breath of frustration. “You need to get out of my way, Jordan.”

“Aubrey needs you here.”

“Aubrey has you and Cordelia Barnes; he doesn’t need me.”

“I’m not his wife and neither is Senator Barnes.”

“But you’re his partners. You know what he’s going to get up there and say tonight, don’t you? The points he’s going to make, the stances he’s going to take?”

“I mean, of course, I?—”

“Then you can be the one to sit in the audience and cheer for his lies,” I interject.

Exasperation writes itself into the lines of her face. “Selene, the media wants to see you here supporting your husband.”