Jamie Carey has never known the meaning of normal. At age eight she was a National Pageant winner and child model. At age eleven she was a National Dance Champion. Her father has been in politics for as long as she can remember, and became Senator of Vermont when she was twelve. He's been in Office ever since. Now, he's running for Vice President with fellow Vermont Senator and things are getting even more chaotic. They've won the Democratic Nomination, so everything is full-speed-ahead from now on. Jamie is having a hard enough time dealing with the fact she has to tone down her hot-model image, never mind possibly becoming the daughter of a vice-president! But there's someone else with almost the same exact issues. Oliver is the son of the Presidential nominee, and has his sights set on her. However, she wants nothing to do with his cocky-arrogant type of personality. They've known each other since their dads became Senators, but still resent one another with a passion… or so they think. What will happen along the campaign trail? Will sparks fly or fizzle out? And what's with all the political fanatics talking about their 'relationship' on national television?

…

Chapter One: Only The Beginning

There are good things and bad things about having your Dad run for vice-president of the United States.

Some good things: You get free stuff… a lot. And, when your Mom is a retired supermodel and owner of a cosmetics line, you get even more free stuff.

The rest are all annoying, partly back-breaking and exhausting things: The press conferences, photo shoots (especially since I'm already in the modeling business), election trails and parades. It can really wear a girl down.

Right now, it's the big campaigns. We finally made it. My Dad and Mr. Buchanan are the Democratic candidates. Which means, this August isn't going to be much fun as it will be… torture? Especially since I'm sharing hotel rooms with my brothers. Yep, that's right plural. I'm the only daughter—and youngest—out of four kids.

There's the oldest, at twenty, Adam. He's stuck with us until his junior year in college starts up. Then there are the twins, Derek and David. They both just turned eighteen and are going into college. Needless to say they're obnoxiously excited about it. And they celebrate with the presidential candidate's son, Oliver.

Now, when someone says Oliver, normally a girl would think: tall, thin, geeky, computer nerd with bad acne. Think again. This Oliver—and his older brother, Liam (who's twenty one)—seem to be the two exceptions to their terribly nerdy names. But you have to trust me when I say… they're completely gorgeous. Of course, being a model and a seventeen year old girl trying desperately to hold onto my dignity, I will never admit that aloud. Plus, he and his brother are both cocky arrogant assholes most of the time. And I've had to spend the whole spring and this past summer campaigning on the road with them… However, this is just the beginning to our 'fun' together.

"Okay, darling, all set?" My Mom asked, stepping into my brothers and my suite. I was decked out in the usual sweet-wholesome-hometown-girl attire (don't forget the fact that I'm born and raised in Vermont). My outfit consisted of a navy blue dress shirt under a white cardigan with a blue pencil skirt and white closed-toe patent leather heels (three inches at the most). So you could say that, being a model for Vogue and Covergirl, I was literally out of my element with all this goody-two-shoes crap.

I peered out the window and already saw an ocean of red, white and blue clothing and posters, signs and blinking objects. It was evening and we were going to be broadcast over every nightly news station—just like the republican candidates—and then hosting a beginning-of-the-big-campaign-ball-sort-of-thing. Obviously, I will be changing out of this stupid cardigan for that. I just hope I can get through this without having a mental break down.

"Yeah," I finally answer my Mom and walk with her—the twins and Adam trailing slightly behind us—toward the elevators of the gorgeous hotel. Six security personnel were already flanking us, with three on either side.

The walk was silent… and then we reached the lobby. And boy was it anything but. I mean, sure, I'm a politician's daughter. I'm used to the screaming crowds and obsessed political freaks. But this was the big time.

There were chanting, "Buchanan and Carey!" In a sing-songy tune outside the glass doors of the hotel. The sound was already deafening because the doors were propped open. I winced as we pushed our way through and towards the stage, on the green in Burlington, next to the fountain. They wanted to hold the celebration here in Burlington because Mr. Phillips is also a senator of Vermont. He and my Dad are absolute best friends.

Once there I saw Dad. He was talking with Mr. Buchanan—or Tom as we call him, like always. The Buchanan family was standing behind their Dad/Husband. I caught Oliver's ink-blue eyes and he winked. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, for fear of a pap catching it on camera. I simply looked away and mumbled some choice words in Italian. (My Mom is full Italian, so she taught me how to speak it with her and her parents).

"Kendra! Oh it's so good to see you again!" My Mom exclaimed, embracing Mr. Phillip's wife. They both looked between the sets of off-spring, expecting us to react the same way to each other. So, my brothers, naturally, did that half-hug-half-hand-shake thing that guys do. I simply stood there, looking awkward.

"Hey, Jamie," Oliver smiled that cocky, arrogant, I-can-get-any-girl-I-want smile. He stepped forward and before I could protest, slipped his arms around my tiny waist and hugged me. I squeezed back a little, hearing the popping of cameras going off in some bushes nearby. Stupid paps…

"Hi, Ollie," I deliberately used that nickname that he hates so much. But all he did was whisper back into my ear, "You can call me that anytime."

We pulled away and everyone was busy chattering. The twins and Adam were conversing with Liam. So, I was left to mingle behind the stage with Oliver.

He ran a hand through his dark brown hair. "You're looking very patriotic today." His eyes grazed over me and I knew they were doing anything but simply examining my outfit.

But because of the cameras I couldn't scowl back at him. I had to keep the smile plastered on my face as I said, "You're lucky these cameras are on us right now."

"I know," he said. "But don't worry. There will be a time where you're alone with me." His grin made me nervous, just a bit. I know what he wants. It's been obvious since the day I met him. After all, every other girl is out for his fame and money. I'm the only girl that doesn't want him. That's why he likes me so much. He likes the chase, he said once.

"So, I guess we'll be spending a lot more time with each other," he commented, leaning against the back of the stage and casually sliding his hands in his pockets. I noticed he was; well, not as patriotic as me. And I envied him, in his plain navy blue dress shirt and black pants.

I crossed my arms and leaned on one hip—careful to keep a slight smile on for the paps lurking in the bushes. "I guess so."

"I take it your Mom didn't tell you about the photo-op yet?" He asked. My light blue (very Sicilian) eyes immediately flicked up to his. They widened even more—which makes them look pretty big since they're already the size of chestnuts—as I realized she never mentioned it.

"What photo-op?" I growled with my smile growing dimmer.

He chuckled a little. "Me… you… a very patriotic background… think the title: The Royal Couple of America." But trust me, I would have rather had Prince William or Harry taking pictures with me to be posted on every magazine in newsstands across America. Not the cockiest guy I'd ever met. Because, sure, he's a mega-hottie. I won't deny he's delicious. Six pack? Ink-blue eyes? Dark hair and lightly tanned skin? He's even been on an Abercrombie & Fitch bag before. His looks aren't the problem. It's the rumors, gossip and fandom that come with it.

"You're kidding me, right?" I can't help but laugh a little. "With you? Well you're certainly no Prince William. And I'm not Kate."

He laughed playfully, throwing a teasing smile my way. "No. You're right. We're not… We're better…. And we're American."

I rolled my eyes, finally not afraid because I could sense the camera lenses off of me for once. Although, the eye-roll was so quick I don't think a pap could have caught it on film.

"Oh come on, Jamie," he said, "This could be the difference between our Dads winning and losing."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Do you know how many times I've been told that?"

"Yes, because I've been told the same amount of times… and I choose to make the best of it." I wanted to punch the smirk off his face.

But before I could even say another word the announcer—the governor of Vermont accompanied by the mayor of Burlington—announced us.

"I give you, your democratic candidates for the two-thousand and twelve election! Mr. Thomas Buchanan and Mr. Gino Carey!" Oh yeah, my Dad's pretty much the only Italian politician known to the American government right now.

"Come on, pretty girl," Oliver teased me, grabbing my hand. I tried to pull away as our families walked up the back stairs onto the stage, but his grip was too strong. I should have known that six-pack wasn't just for show. "Show the press what they want to see," he whispered through his very own version of a fake son-of-a-politician smile.

So, I let him hold my hand and lead me onto the stage, where we stood amongst the other family members. Our Dads gave acceptance speeches. But I think most of the magazines were focused on the fact that Oliver and I were holding hands.

After the speeches and applause the red, white and blue balloons dropped from the netting on the overhang of the stage and music played. They were playing Jay Sean's song, 2012. And all I could think was…

"Corny."

But it wasn't me that said it. It was Oliver. It scared me, how well he finished my thought. But he didn't even realize he'd done it.

My face nearly turned red as my Dad and Oliver's started to dance. Soon everyone in the crowd and on-stage alike were dancing—even my Dad's stuffy manager, Susan was dancing with Phillip's manager, Garret. Oliver pulled me against him and started to dance. Everyone in the audience did that collective, "Awww!"

"How about a kiss for the crowd?" He mumbled into my ear as we danced.

A balloon hit me square on the head—and probably ruined my perfectly straightened brown hair—as I hissed back, "how about if you want to keep your ability to have children in the future you stay away from my lips?"

He laughed, "Ah, touché… but don't worry, beautiful, I'll catch you off guard one of these days."

"Yeah. Right."

After everything was done and over with we headed back to the hotel. I was stuck walking over with him, since we're in the same hotel. His hand was still plastered to mine. I couldn't work my fingers free. And I was getting aggravated.

They're on the same floor. So, when we got off the elevator they went to left and we went to the right. Oliver wouldn't leave without giving me another hug. I know it was simply because he likes touching me in general… and he likes our parents to think we're involved with each other because then his parents shower him with gifts for choosing such a nice girl like me (let's just say he's had his fair share of… whores).

"Your gown for tomorrow is on the door, sweetie," my mom told me. I rushed into my room in the suite and shut the door, seeing something navy blue (what a surprise).

I pulled it out from the plastic wrap (there was about ten layers of the stuff) and laid it out on my bed.

It was absolutely gorgeous. I have to remember to call Sherri and thank her… a lot. Sherri Hill is a genius! I told her I didn't want it to be too conservative. But then my Mom had a fit. So, Sherri said she could fix it up to fit both our needs.

Boy, am I going to trust her with my wedding dress someday.

It was a rich, luxurious lycra fabric. It was a-line and had off-the-shoulder sleeves. It was absolutely beautiful. I loved it.

"Oh my god!" I gasped. My Mom stood in the doorway smiling. "It's gorgeous!"

She stared at me for a long time before coming in and closing the door. As I was hanging the dress on my closet door without the wrapping she plopped down on my bed.

"So… taking a liking to, Oliver, huh?"

I turned around—a little too fast—at her comment. She raised her eyebrows. I blinked and thought for a long time before blurting out, "He grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go."

"You know, it's okay for you to like him."

"I don't."

She sighed as I walked in the bathroom and changed. I left the door open. So, she shouted as I changed into my camisole and shorts.

"Well he's a nice boy, Jamie. I approve of him. I know he's a year and a half older but I think that's fine. Your father is four years older than me."

I let out a noise that I usually make when I'm completely fed-up with a situation. She heard the noise as I was stomping back into the room and rolled her eyes as I entered.

"How many times do I have to explain this to you and Dad?" I stopped in the middle of the room and crossed my arms, leaning on one hip. "I'll look cute and act like I like him for the press. I have no problem with that. But if he ever tries anything more than holding my hand he's getting slapped."

She continued her rant, though. "But we know you don't do anything just for us without there being something else… come on, James you can tell me. I'm your Mom. You can tell me this stuff. I won't tease you like the boys would." As I took out my contacts and slipped on my glasses she almost gave me a heart attack, asking, "Have you ever kissed him—."

"No!" I said it, admittedly, a little too loud. But I quickly dropped my voice down, pulling my hair out from its half-up position. I let it fall down my back and chest. The brown curls and waves began to come out again. So much for my flat iron. I need my stylists…

"Do you want to—."

"No," I said flatly and evenly like a true politician's daughter.

She frowned. "Don't you use that politician's tone with me like your father, young lady." She said it playfully, though. "I can't stand when you and the boys do that."

I batted my eyelashes. "It's an inherited trait."

She sighed. "Alright, I won't bug you about it anymore… get some good sleep, honey. It's a long day tomorrow. We won't be getting back here until midnight and then we're leaving for Augusta."

"Maine?" I asked, slipping into bed.

She laughed lightly and sarcastically said, "No, Greece. Of course, Maine, James." She kissed my forehead and flounced out the door.

I heard my brothers in the kitchen, searching for a morsel of food before I turned out my lights and totally blacked out.