Page 68 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

SELENE

T here are few things scarier than a cemetery on Halloween day, or at least that’s what I believed until I watched Aubrey offer his condolences to President Sanders’ entire family and come across completely genuine.

His features collapsed in on themselves, his eyes rimmed with tears he doesn’t let fall because that would be a step too far. He stands next to me, one hand on the small of my back and the other over his heart as he nods enthusiastically at whatever it is that Deborah Sanders is saying.

She’s not hard to understand, I’m just not listening.

I’ve mostly been tuned out all day, refusing to take part in the mockery Aubrey is making of this family’s very real grief.

I’ve been stone-faced but polite, keeping mostly to myself.

No one has seemed to mind. They’re all too busy fawning over Aubrey or standing off to the side, whispering to each other about why we’re here.

I’m wondering the same thing.

To me, the proper thing to do would have been to attend the State Funeral service and leave it at that, but Aubrey insisted on flying to Ohio for the Burial as well, and now we’re standing in the Sanders’ home like we’re their family when we’re not even their friends with Jordan and fucking Cordelia in tow.

As if he can sense me thinking their names, Aubrey turns to search the room for them.

I turn too, watching Cordelia wave him over to a corner where she’s holding court again.

She seems completely at home here, among the very colleagues who probably helped Sanders edge her out of the Republican nomination.

Aubrey releases me, cupping Deborah’s hands in both of his. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Sanders, will you excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course, dear.”

Since his permission slip to depart doesn’t seem to include me, I linger awkwardly in front of the now former First Lady. We stare at each other, and I have no choice but to fill the silence around us.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

She dips her chin gracefully. “Thank you.”

I could leave it at that. I could find a quiet corner to spend the rest of the afternoon or even go to the car where Cal and Beck are waiting, but instead of doing any of those things, I say more words.

“I didn’t know your husband well, and I wasn’t really a fan of his politics, but the one time I met him, he seemed kind enough.”

Deborah’s green eyes stretch wide the way people’s always do when I forget to sugar coat things. I expect her to be offended, but she shocks me by letting out a short peal of laughter that draws the attention of everyone in the room. She covers her mouth with her hand.

“That was inappropriate, wasn’t it?”

“It’s your house and your husband’s funeral. No one can tell you what is or isn’t appropriate. If they’re uncomfortable with you laughing on a day like today, then they can leave.”

“You’re very honest, aren’t you, Mrs. Taylor?”

I shrug. “Not enough people say what they mean.”

“And even less mean what they say,” she returns. “You should be careful of that, though; the American people don’t appreciate it, especially in women.” She gives me a smile that I automatically read as sad. “I don’t envy you one bit. Being the First Lady will be hard for a woman like you.”

With a raised brow, I ask, “A Black woman?”

She nods, displaying her own penchant for honesty. “Yes, but also a woman who knows her own mind and has her own agenda. You must know it won’t be valued in the White House, that when you’re in the Oval, only he matters.”

I follow her gaze across the room to Aubrey, my mind on the contract we signed and the secrets I need to uncover to get him to honor it, on the son we lost and the promise I’m now tasked with keeping on my own.

None of that happens if Deborah’s warning becomes a reality.

I lift my chin, defiance swelling in my chest.

“Maybe that was true for you, but that won’t be my reality.”

Once again, Deborah reacts completely differently than I expected her to. She studies me with something close to admiration in her eyes. “Is that why you stayed after news of the affair broke? Because you thought you could be something other than ornamental?”

There’s no condescension in her tone, just a curiosity that makes me comfortable enough to be honest. “Yes.”

“I told Lucas,” she says. “I told him the photos wouldn’t sway you. I told him you were a determined woman with a plan for that platform, that you would use it to do something more meaningful than plant flowers and set fashion trends.”

It takes me a minute to catch on to what she’s saying, but when I do, my jaw drops. It’s one thing to suspect that the late President was the one behind the distribution of the photos, but it’s another thing entirely to have it confirmed by his wife.

She laughs once again, and this time it lasts longer, tapering off when she wants it to instead of when she thinks it should.

“Oh, honey, please tell me this isn’t news to you.

Your camp should have figured out it was Luke behind the photos a long time ago, but it should have been glaringly obvious when new ones emerged after the debate. ”

“That’s when they put it together,” I admit, rolling my eyes. “Up until then, they suspected that I was the one behind it all.”

“You? What on Earth would you get out of exposing the affair and then sticking around to be publicly ridiculed?”

“That’s the same question I asked, Mrs. Sanders.”

“Oh, please, dear, call me Deborah.”

I smile. “Then, please, call me Selene.”

“I must say, Selene, I was surprised to see how the news of the affair seemed to breathe new life into Aubrey’s campaign. Lucas was especially frustrated by that. Every night, he went to bed fussing about inadvertently activating a new base of voters for his opponent.”

“Yes, well, Aubrey does have a frustrating tendency to come out on top in every situation, even the ones that should destroy him.”

“Listen.” She grips my hand, squeezing tight as she steps in closer and lowers her voice. “Your husband is going to win this election. I know it, and you know it too. When that happens, there won’t be a single thing in your world that’s not about him.”

“It already feels that way.”

“I know, darling.” She pats my hand, trying to offer some comfort.

“I know, but trust me when I say, as soon as those results come in, it will be a million times worse. Suddenly, it’s not just you, his team, and a gaggle of campaign staffers running yourselves ragged to please him; it’s the entire world.

That kind of power is intoxicating, and when, not if, but when , he gets drunk on it, he’ll do anything to protect it.

Lie. Cheat. Steal. Kill . And there will be no end to the number of people who will be in his corner, offering every resource and skill at their disposal.

” Her eyes are locked on mine, every ounce of humor from our earlier conversation forgotten as she issues a final warning.

“You need to think about who will be in your corner if he ever decides you’re someone he needs protection from. ”