A/N: This is my second story. It's told from three different distinct points of view but they are all detailing the same event. I really like the way this is done and I hope you all do too. It's a little longer than I expected but the muse is a tricky thing to capture and once I did, I refused to let it go. Anyway, there's a lot of creative license taken. Please read and review and enjoy of course (:
Mellie
A/N about Mellie: I write Mellie as more human than SR does. She has begun portraying Mellie as a victim of sorts lately and it sickens me personally because Mellie made her own bed. She was a victim at one point but she stopped being one immediately when she decided to use her attack as a bargaining chip. But I digress. My Mellie is the Mellie from S1 and 2 and I find her easier to stomach this way.
It was hard not to notice the chemistry between them. Mellie stood across the ballroom, watching them together. His eyes were wide and glassy, his smile brimming with so much happiness that Mellie couldn't help but frown. Olivia seemed to glow around him and tonight, dressed in ivory silk that seemed to serve only to make her skin look even more flawless than usual, she was positively luminescent. She said something and he laughed like he had never anything funny before she opened her mouth. Mellie found herself smiling at them. Their happiness was infectious. When she remembered that he was her husband, that they were the ones who were supposed to have the infectious happiness, the corners of her mouth fell. It should have been her presence that made his eyes sparkle like sapphires and his cheeks rosy with adoration. It wasn't a matter of jealousy; it was a principle. He could be in love with anyone he liked and she wouldn't have given a damn. But he could at least have been courteous enough to pretend in front of people.
Someone asked them for a photo and he stepped back, casually wrapping his arm around her. To anyone else—to anyone who didn't know him—it was just the president posing for a picture with the woman who had made the White House a reality for him. But to someone who knew him well, someone who had spent years learning every look on his face and every shift of his moods, Mellie knew exactly what every little nonverbal cue meant. Fitz was in love, besotted with the petite woman smiling at the camera as he grinned like a teenage boy finally getting a chance to talk to his crush. The photographer was about to leave when Fitz offered the wiry man his iPhone to take another picture of him and Olivia. Mellie smirked when Olivia, the more restrained of the two, gave him a quizzical look. He just smiled and Mellie watched the resolve leave Olivia's pretty face. They grinned, standing a little closer than before, for the camera.
The photographer scurried away, grinning like a goon, and Olivia turned to look at Fitz, probably telling him the picture on his phone wasn't appropriate. Fitz tucked his hand in his pocket, the other reaching for her face but stopping short and falling on her shoulder. Mellie wasn't sure what Fitz was saying, his back partially turned to her, but whatever it was made Olivia's eyes go soft and her mouth open slightly. She reached up and squeezed the hand on her bare shoulder, whispered his name. His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat so quickly that Mellie wasn't really sure it had happened. She smirked again. Those two seriously needed a crash course in subtlety.
Fitz's grin fell off his face as he walked over to her, Scotch in hand. He tried to call it back and ended up grimacing like a child being forced to smile for a picture, the happiness never reaching his eyes. He could grin like someone had stuck a hanger in his mouth for Olivia but for her—the woman who had been by his side since before he had the wherewithal to even consider himself good enough to lead, the woman who had given up her own political aspirations for him, the woman who had wasted her best years on him—he could only manage a lopsided smirk.
Luckily, a new song started up when he reached her and they were able to avoid a confrontation by dancing. Looking over his shoulder, she could see Olivia dancing with Billy Chambers. He was grinning at her the same way Fitz had been, probably making a fool of himself to get her to go on a date with him. She felt Fitz stiffen when they turned and he was the one looking at Olivia and Billy. Mellie grinned wickedly, and commented innocently, "They're a cute couple."
He made a noncommittal noise, and replied, "Billy's a good dancer."
"Do you think he's asking her out?" she asked. He clenched his jaw, turned them again so he wasn't looking at Olivia and her still-smiling dance partner. Fitz wasn't normally one for jealousy but Mellie could see the rage dancing in his eyes. She almost laughed. Olivia had turned him into a teenage boy again, seething like she had accepted someone else's offer to go steady. She decided to give him a break, announcing, "Well there's only one way to find out."
He caught up with her a moment after she strode purposefully in Billy and Olivia's direction. They stop waltzing and smiled at her. Mellie put on her best smile and asked, "Mind if I cut in? I'd love a go with the best dancer in the room."
She grinned as a look of relief swept over Olivia's face. Billy, ass-kisser he was, gave her an almost cartoonish smile. He placed one hand chastely on her lower back and they danced away, leaving Fitz and Olivia alone. Mellie wondered what he would say to her. She was thankful Billy didn't seem to have anything to say to her so she could watch Fitz be a brat. The song ended and she wished Billy all the luck in the world as he slithered away to con his way into someone's employment. She sipped champagne, watching Fitz frown, his hands stuck in his pockets, as he looked at Olivia like she had just accepted someone else's letterman jacket the night before the prom.
"This one is for the Commander in Chief himself," the conductor announced as the orchestra played the opening strains of Henry Mancini's "Moon River." Mellie's breath caught; it was Fitz's favorite song in the world. She watched him grin, read his lips as he told Olivia about the song. Olivia said something to him, glancing in Mellie's direction, probably telling him that he should dance to his favorite song with his wife. He declared "no" simply, and with that said, took her into his arms, his hand pressed to her bare lower back. Mellie had to admit the gown was gorgeous. It had a high demure neck and thin shoulder straps. When she originally saw it, Mellie had originally scoffed at its boring color and simple shape. When Olivia walked away after greeting her and Fitz at the door, revealing the dress's nonexistent back, Mellie almost dropped her glass of champagne. She had glanced at Fitz just in time to see his jaw go slack. A sharp nudge from her elbow had reminded him that everyone could see him drooling over the bare back of a woman who wasn't his wife.
They were certainly something to watch. He had a certain lightness and grace with Olivia that Mellie had seen in him. He was whispering in her ear, the two of them never missing a beat, and it occurred to Mellie that their connection wasn't something as sordid as good sex. While it was true that he seemed to have discovered some wealth of lifeblood between Olivia's "magical" thighs, he had found something else with her, something deeper. They apparently had the kind of love that Mellie had hoped would come when she agreed to his proposal some twenty years before he had even known of Olivia's existence. Mellie couldn't be angry about it—she chose to be, true enough—but inside she knew it hadn't been done maliciously.
She and Fitz weren't that. They weren't those people who had been together forever and were comfortable with the idea of spending an infinity of forevers together. They were too people who owed each other some debt that neither had the courage to claim. However, watching him smile as he talked to her then saunter out like someone had let him in on the world's best secret, she guessed that those doe eyes watching him leave would be the catalyst of Fitz calling her tab so he could get out. She smirked as she watched Olivia slip away a few minutes later, probably going to meet him somewhere the moon would shine on them as they made goo goo eyes at each other. He had found his missing piece and now Mellie didn't fit. But she wouldn't leave quietly. Love had made Fitz a damn fool, not her.
Fitz
Fitz wished he had known about Olivia's dress beforehand, or at the very least that he hadn't been standing next to his wife when he had first seen her in it. He might have been able to stop himself from devolving into a sixteen-year-old boy who couldn't keep his tongue from lolling out of his mouth at the sight of her bare back. The dimples on her lower back had him practically salivating. He wanted to run his tongue down her spine, to peel the thin straps off her shoulders and watch the silk pool around her ankles. He imagined she was naked under the dress—after all, it was cut so dangerously low in the back that any underwear she could have been wearing was negligible at best—but he couldn't stare at her long enough to decide if she really was without seeming like he was leering. Mellie's sharp elbow to his ribs had let him know that subtlety just wasn't a quality he possessed that night. Honestly, he was never subtle around Olivia. He just couldn't manage to keep his wits around her. Even then, he found himself staring at her, willing the dress to disappear. He cleared his throat, his face reddening at the thought, then decided to mingle to distract himself, moving in the opposite direction of his wife as he did so.
He found himself faced with her glorious back unexpectedly, having somehow managed to wander closer to her than he'd intended. She was talking to Cyrus's date, a bubbly reporter named James Novak, and he lingered behind her, enjoying her laugh. It wasn't easily gotten so he guessed that James was really funny. When James left, announcing he was going to dance with his "boyfriend," Fitz stepped close enough to run his finger down the valley of her spine. She jumped and whirled around, glaring like she was ready to throw a punch. When she saw it was him, she huffed, turning her back to him again. She was determined to leave him alone, to let him go, but that just couldn't be. Now that he had her, he couldn't imagine not having her. It had been easy to live before he had known her existence, but now that he had lived through the exquisite pain of loving someone so unattainable, his memory was split in two parts: before and after Olivia. The before seemed nothing short of tragic, the after nothing but constant thoughts of her.
"You look so beautiful," he murmured, aching to reach out and touch her again, any part of her he could get his hand on.
"Stop it," she whispered harshly. He was making small circles in the small of her back with his index finger. He stepped closer so he could peer down at her. Her eyelids fluttered, threatened to close. Her mouth formed a delicious "o," a moan on her pouty lips. She threw a look over her shoulder, her face flushed. A little firmer, she implored, "Stop it."
He snuck a kiss on her bare shoulder. She inhaled sharply. Her voice almost lethal, she murmured. "People can see you."
He glanced around. The place was crawling with press and Mellie was looking at him, but he didn't care. He was in love with her and he seriously considered just shouting to everyone that he was in love with her. He chuckled to himself, thinking that Olivia would probably stab him with something handy before the words got out of his mouth, and that if she didn't, Mellie definitely would. Mellie wouldn't let go of the White House until she had had her eight years, and he was willing to bet money that she would destroy anyone who jeopardized it. He stepped a little closer, almost close enough to rub against her magnificent backside, and murmured, "God I can't believe how beautiful you look Livvie."
"A photo for the Times, Mr. President? Ms. Pope?" a cheerful photographer asked, seemingly appearing from nowhere. The wiry man already had his camera poised. Fitz wasn't sure how to respond. Olivia nodded graciously. It would have looked suspicious if they declined. Fitz stepped so that he wasn't behind her anymore, casually wrapping his left arm around her, his fingers clasping her thin bicep. Her skin was warm and he could smell the pomegranate scent wafting off her hair. The photographer didn't even blink when his hand slipped off her shoulder, his hot palm pressed to the small of her back, but he could swear he felt Olivia's breathe hitch. He snapped two pictures then blubbered his thanks.
Just as he turned to leave, Fitz quickly pulled out his black iPhone and requested, "One more, please."
The photographer was flabbergasted at the idea of using the President's phone. He sheepishly took it and snapped their picture quickly, exclaiming, "I can't believe I'm holding the President's iPhone! I can't wait to tweet this!"
He gave the phone back and floated away. Fitz smiled at the picture. Olivia frowned at him, and asked, "What was that?"
"I don't have any pictures of you," he replied as if it made complete sense. He hoped she would let it go but he knew she wouldn't. She couldn't. She wore the white hat constantly it seemed.
"You don't because you shouldn't," she deadpanned. Fitz put the phone in his pocket, leaving his hand there.
He sighed. He was so tired of their love being a secret, a burden that hung around his neck like the albatross worn by the ancient mariner. He glanced around. No one seemed to be looking at them. He reached out to touch her face but remembered where they were and settled for her shoulder. She looked from his hand to his face and her eyes softened. "Livvie, I don't have any pictures of you when you're just waking up and your hair is a mess, or when you're angry and you pout in that cute way you do, or random pictures of you snapped when you least expect it. This one isn't what I want but it's what I've got. It's all I've got. Don't take that from me."
She looked like she might cry, her coffee brown eyes glassy. Her top lip quivered and he wanted to hold her so badly. He couldn't tell her that the picture meant the world to him, that he already knew he would spend a little time each day staring at the picture, memorizing every little detail of her. She didn't realize that that picture was all he had. It was the only proof he had that he wasn't just a fool pining away for a pair of wide brown eyes with eyelashes that curled back to the lid, that he wasn't crazy for thinking he had found a love he hadn't even known he'd been looking for. When he told her that, she he had laughed, and instantly he knew. She was what was missing. Her eyes always held a question to be answered, and he hoped to one day declare to them, "I do."
She reached up and squeezed his hand. It was all she could give at the moment. She half-whimpered, "Fitz, I…"
He brushed the hollow of her throat with his thumb so quickly that his hand was gone before her eyes registered the thought. She crossed her arms, tried to put up a wall to keep herself from falling apart. He knew what she wanted but he couldn't leave, not just yet, not when his sweet baby was splintering into so many pieces right before his eyes. She swallowed, blinked hard. "Go…please…"
Fitz nodded, left reluctantly in search of Mellie. He didn't care for the dog and pony show but he needed to keep up appearances. He tried to smile at his wife but she made him as cold inside and she was outside. Luckily, the orchestra started a waltz and they simply danced instead of forcing conversation. He stiffened, hot bile boiling in his stomach when he saw Olivia dancing with Billy Chambers. He didn't have any particular dislike for Billy but at that moment, Fitz could have slit his throat and watched him squirt blood like a fountain. Billy said something and Olivia laughed.
"They're a cute couple," Mellie declared.
Fitz grunted. "Billy's a good dancer."
"Do you think he's asking her out?" Mellie asked. Fitz hoped he wasn't but was sure that he was. He wondered what Olivia would say, if she would agree for the sake of appearances. Fitz shrugged, not wanting to talk about Olivia being with someone else. Mellie announced, "There's only one way to find out."
With that said, she strode determinedly across the ballroom towards them. Fitz hurried to keep up once he realized what she was up to. When she reached them, the song had just ended. Putting on a positively saccharine smile, she asked, "Mind if I cut in? I'd love a go with the best dancer in the room."
Before he had a chance to reply, Mellie whisked Billy away, leaving Fitz alone with Olivia. He smirked at the relief on her face when the musicians took a momentary rest. She didn't want to dance with him and he couldn't say that he blamed her. They lost all subtlety when they touched—not that they had much to begin with. She had more resolve than he did, but she was only human, and though she wouldn't breathe it aloud unless they were making love, he knew how she felt about him.
"This one is for the Commander in Chief himself," the conductor announced as the orchestra played the opening strains of Henry Mancini's "Moon River," Fitz's favorite song. His mother used to play it all the time before she died. She'd taught him to waltz to it.
He smiled at Olivia. "This is my favorite song in the world."
"You should go dance with your wife, Mr. President," she replied evenly. He guessed that she had assumed the song had something to do with his and Mellie's relationship. She was jealous. He had never wanted to kiss her pouty mouth more.
"Livvie…please," he half-whispered, his hand instinctively going to her waist. Her chocolate doe eyes softened, her lips parting as he pulled her to him. He could swear he felt a shiver run through her. She tried to maintain an appropriate amount of space but he pulled her as close as he could for a waltz. He breathed in her scent, pomegranate shampoo, vanilla lotion, womanly perfume. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to hold her long enough to inhale her magical scent. It was an aroma he would never forget.
It was a culmination of his favorite moments and memories: holding his Livvie, and the memory of his mother humming that song. Olivia and his mother were the only two people who ever sought to understand him, who didn't want anything from him, who believed in him. Mellie was practically a glacier, her eyes all judgment and contempt. Olivia seemed to understand that even the greatest heroes failed and she always helped him put the pieces back together, even when he had been the one to tear the walls down.
Her skin was warm. Her hand on his shoulder was light. No one would ever have guessed there was anything between them, but there it hung as they danced, so many things wanting and needing to be said, so many feelings.
"Stop looking at me," she muttered, her eyes fixed on his shoulder.
"Why?" he muttered back.
"Because people are looking at you look at me and," she stopped and smiled as they waltzed past the Canadian prime minister and his wife then continued, "the look on your face is incredibly inappropriate."
"You look beautiful tonight, Livvie," he replied as if he hadn't heard her. He almost hadn't. Between her scent and the warmth of her bare skin, he was barely able to focus on anything that was going on around him.
"Fitz…stop." He could practically see her resolve waning as her eyes softened. The song ended and they clapped for the musicians.
"Our spot. Ten minutes."
"You can't leave your own state dinner."
"Watch me." With that said, he sauntered out of the ballroom. Cyrus called after him but he waved dismissively. Tom caught up to him quickly.
"Something wrong sir?" he asked.
"Just taking a break," Fitz replied. Tom nodded then walked ahead of Fitz to take his post outside the Oval Office door. Fitz entered the office and sat behind his desk, swiveling the chair so he could stare out the window behind the desk. A waning crescent moon peeked from behind thin clouds. He hoped it rained. Olivia loved the rain. He found himself humming "Moon River" for a while before it occurred to him that it had been a while and she still wasn't there. He was about to send Tom to look for her when he heard the door open and close. Her scent wafted to him as she stormed across the office.
"You can't do that," she hissed, aware of the cameras. "People are looking for you. Cyrus is on the verge of an aneurism."
"I'll go back," he replied casually, "at some point."
She walked around the desk and looked out the window at the moon. He stood, wrapped his arms around her, kissed her shoulder.
"Fitz we can't," she whispered, practically trembling. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her heavenly aroma.
"I've missed you," he murmured. "You should come back."
"We won't get anything done," she replied, interlacing her fingers with his at her waist. "Besides, we're supposed to be letting go, remember?"
"And yet, here we are." She laughed and he did too. He loved her laugh. It was a rarity, a prize, and every time he made it happen, he fell a little more in love with her. She turned around in his arms, leaning her tiny frame against that of the window. He traced the outline of her mouth with his thumbs, pulling the corners upward, his palms cradling her face. The smile remained, reaching her eyes as she looked up at him.
"Hi," she said in a soft voice, her eyes chocolate pools of affection.
"Hi."
Olivia
Olivia could feel his eyes on her as she walked into the ballroom and exchanged pleasantries with Mellie. She wasn't sure exactly how Mellie felt about her. But then again, she wasn't really sure how Mellie felt about anything. The First Lady was a cornucopia of facades and pretext, one that Olivia found both intriguing and repulsive. She had smiled at Fitz, called him Mr. President in a voice meant to convey the message No I haven't seen you naked to anyone who happened to be listening. His eyes killed the platonic air between them and she moved away quickly. Throughout the evening, she kept her eyes on him, always moving in the opposite direction. She finally relaxed when she found James pouting in a corner. Upon asking what was wrong, she discovered that Cyrus had refused to match bow ties with him, an incident that apparently carried some monumental sentiment of which Olivia was unaware. Fitz made eye contact with her from across the room and she smiled thinly, looking away as soon as she could. He looked good, beyond good, dressed in a tux that looked like God had tailored it personally. After convincing James to apologize to Cyrus because the older man would never be the one to give in, she looked around again. She cursed internally when she realized she had lost sight of him. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his index finger travelling down the valley of her spine.
"You look so beautiful," he murmured.
"Stop it," she mumbled, her face hot. The other made small circles in the small of her back. Her eyelids grew heavy, fluttering as they threatened to close. A moan crawled up her throat, an unholy warmth spreading through her body. Her heartbeat hammered in her core, throbbing a sensuous rhythm she was sure he could hear. She had to stop him before she came undone. Firmer, she hissed, "Stop it."
The place was crawling with press, and the president whispering sweet nothings in an ear that didn't belong to his first lady was definitely a Kodak moment that definitely didn't need to be captured. Just as she was about to reach back and pinch the hand enjoying the lamb-soft skin of her lower back, a wiry photographer materialized out of thin air, his camera poised, his Buddy Holly glasses perched on his beak nose. "A photo for the Times, Mr. President? Ms. Pope?"
Fitz looked at her for approval. She nodded graciously. It would have raised some questions if they had declined. Fitz moved so that he was standing beside her, his arm wrapped casually around her shoulders. Her breathe caught when his hand slipped from her shoulders to her lower back, his hot palm pressed against her cool flesh. They smiled happily and the photographer snapped a picture then examined it. He snapped another, professing his thanks, then turned to leave. Fitz's voice stopped him, "One more please."
The thin man looked down at Fitz's iPhone then took it sheepishly, exclaiming, "I can't believe I'm holding the President's iPhone! I can't wait to tweet this!"
He snapped their picture then scampered away in search of other photo-worthy moments. Olivia turned to look at Fitz, smirking at him as he smiled at their picture. He was so sentimental. She loved and hated that about him. Still, his smile was so genuine, so sweet on his handsome face, that she wanted to kiss him. She loved his face. She could probably spend the next few eternities staring at his ice blue eyes, and committing the exact color of his lips to memory. She wanted to count his eyelashes and trail kisses along the curve of his jaw and the bridge of his nose. But nothing about his handsomeness made his current carelessness excusable.
She asked, "What was that?"
He sighed and she saw the clouds roll into his eyes. He was tired of hiding. She wasn't sure they could make it out in the open. Things were surprisingly easy to do in the shadows, and a handful of stolen moments could seem like love when they weren't scrutinized by the light of day. He said, "Livvie, I don't have any pictures of you when you're just waking up and your hair is a mess, or when you're angry and you pout in that cute way you do, or random pictures of you snapped when you least expect it. This one isn't what I want but it's what I've got. It's all I've got. Don't take that from me."
Her eyes softened and she felt that all too familiar tug at her heartstrings. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, blinked away tears that threatened to spill over. He reached out to touch her face but stopped short, remembered where they were, and settled for caressing her shoulder. She wanted to lay his head on her chest and run her fingers through his hair, and make him a million promises about all the things to come when they made it to Vermont. She reached up and squeezed his shoulder, whispered, "Fitz, I…"
His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat so quickly that she wasn't even sure the touch was real until the familiar warmth spread through her body. His touch always threatened to turn her into a pile of dust boasting nothing but a wanting heart clinging to a handful of minutes that were all she really had of him. If it wasn't for the fingertip-sized bruises that littered her hips like constellations after they made love, and the sheets that she slept in shamefully for days after he'd gone because the scent of his soap and cologne lingered like the smell of just-fallen rain, there was almost no record that he had ever been with her. But there he was, standing in front of her in the flesh, his neediness almost mirroring her own, his heart set on one picture of them. She couldn't have taken it from him even if she'd truly wanted to, not if he was going to smile that way.
She wanted to tell him so many things, to make so many promises she would die trying to keep, but it wasn't the time or the place to delve into that. She looked at him again and her stomach knotted. No, the place wasn't the problem. Neither was the time. She never talked about her feelings for him, not even when they threatened to leap from her lips regardless to her intentions. There were words—God, were there words. Her whole life was words. People paid handsomely for her words. Cyrus's appreciation for her words was what brought her into his life. There were words—God, were there words—but not for him. Never for him. With one look, he turned every declaration, hot and beautiful in her mind and heart and the pit of her stomach, into gobbledygook in her mouth.
"Go," she whispered. He squeezed her shoulder then went to Mellie. Every time she saw them together, her heart shattered and she hated herself for loving him with all the fractured pieces. Olivia sighed and went to get champagne.
Billy Chambers appeared as if from nowhere, grinning gleefully. He was a nice enough man but something about him made Olivia terribly uncomfortable. His smile never reached his eyes and he was far too polite. Olivia generally avoided him but he managed to catch her by surprise. That was another thing she didn't like about him: he moved around far too stealthily for her taste, like he was intentionally trying to be unseen and unheard. He grinned like The Joker as he filled her flute with champagne, "Well you look gorgeous."
Olivia smiled politely. "Thank you Billy."
The orchestra started playing. Billy beamed. Olivia tried not to cringe.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked hopefully. He was handsome but there was something cartoonish about his features. There was also something hilariously sinister about his sharply angled face. Olivia almost laughed aloud when she pictured him in a purple zoot suit, declaring, "It's simple; we kill the Batman."
She found herself dancing with him twice. He was chattering incessantly about a subject that was lost to Olivia before it even came out of his mouth. She was too busy watching Fitz dance with Mellie. The First Lady's head lay on her husband's shoulder and Olivia felt hot tears searing her eyes and throat. She watched him too long. He felt her eyes. He looked up, long and wanting, his eyes desperate to say words he wasn't close enough to utter. Olivia got the prickly feeling that she was being stared at. She blinked away from Fitz and found Billy watching her intently with that Joker grin still plastered on his face.
"What?" She tried to force a smile onto her face.
"I'm just trying to figure out how I can sexually harass you and get away with it," he replied.
"Billy…" She glanced at Fitz. He was watching them intently, his mouth set in a hard line, his body moving on autopilot.
"What? You could date me. I don't work here anymore. I'm a nice guy. I'm a phenomenal dancer if the instructors at Andover are to be believed." He was smiling so hard, Olivia wanted to rip his lips off his face just to make him stop.
"Mind if I cut in? I'd certainly like a go with the best dancer in the room." Olivia had never been so delighted to hear Mellie's saccharine voice. She made eye contact with Fitz over Mellie's shoulder. He was frowning at Billy.
"Anything for the First Lady," Billy chirped. He and Mellie danced away, amicably chatting one carton villain to another. The song ended and Olivia felt a rush of relief that she didn't have to dance with Fitz. She couldn't bear it, not tonight, not when his heart was on his sleeve.
"This one is for the Commander in Chief himself," the conductor announced. The crowd applauded the opening notes of Henry Mancini's "Moon River." Fitz's face lit up. Olivia wondered what significance the song held for him. She prayed it wasn't something to do with Mellie but her cynical side told her that it had to be. She started thinking of reasons to leave so she wouldn't have to watch him be romantic with someone else. She couldn't watch him look at someone else the way he looked at her; her heart wouldn't survive it. But he made no move to leave her.
"This is my favorite song in the world," he said in a nostalgic voice, like the song called up another lifetime for him. Olivia wondered what it was, if she fit into it at all. "My mom sang it all the time when I was growing up. She even taught me to dance to it."
Olivia's eyes softened. She watched him become a curly-haired boy again as he listened to the song. Her eyes grew glassy and her lip quivered. She didn't want to cry but she wasn't sure if she could hold it back with him looking like that. She croaked, "You should dance with your wife, Mr. President."
"No," he said simply. He pulled her into his arms and she closed her eyes for a moment as he moved them to the music. She breathed in the strong soapy scent of his skin, the light cologne sprayed on his suit, the heady musky scent that was all him, and something inside her broke. She squeezed her eyes tighter, willing the moment to last forever. This moment wasn't stolen or hidden in the shadows. This one was all their own and she needed to ingrain every millisecond into her memory. His heart thumped rhythmically in her ear. She could listen to it for the rest of her life and never tire of its monotony.
He tapped her side ever so subtly and she opened her eyes, remembered they were in front of people. She looked up at him and found him staring down at her with a look that said everything she had just been feeling. She glanced around and found people looking innocently. No one seemed to think anything was inappropriate was taking place. She took a deep breath and stepped back, putting an appropriate amount of space.
"Stop looking at me," she muttered.
"Why?" he whispered back.
"Because people are looking at you look at me," she paused and smiled as the Canadian prime minister and his wife waltzed by, "and the look on your face is incredibly inappropriate."
"You look beautiful tonight Liv," he murmured as if he hadn't heard her.
"Fitz…stop," she almost whined. He made her weak, weaker than she ever wanted to be. The song ended and they clapped with everyone else after she pulled away a little too quickly.
"Our spot. Ten minutes," he said, his lips barely moving.
"You can't leave your own state dinner."
"Watch me." She watched him strut out of the ballroom then locked eyes with Cyrus, whose face reddened to an alarming shade. A few minutes later, she slipped out of the ballroom too. Tom was standing outside the Oval office the way he always was. He nodded at her and she smiled.
When she entered the room, she found him sitting in his chair, staring at the moon, humming "Moon River." She shook her head at him. Beneath all his straight-laced bravado, he was just an idyllic man-child who wanted to live the American Dream in Small Town, USA…with her. She smiled at the tail end of her thought. When she remembered who and what they were, the corners of her mouth fell. He was the leader of the free world and she wasn't supposed to be in love with him. She cleared her throat, "You can't do that. People are looking for you."
"I'll go back…at some point," he replied. She walked around the desk to stand between him and the window. The iridescent moon blinked between rolling cloud. The stars twinkled like they knew she and Fitz needed a little hope for the night. He stood, wrapped his arms around her. "I've missed you. You should come back."
"We won't get anything done," she replied. It was true. They couldn't be with each other for more than five minutes without someone losing what little self-control they both possessed and pawing each other like horny teenagers who only had a few minutes of privacy. She stammered, "Besides, we're supposed to be letting go…remember?"
"And yet, here we are." She laughed. He did too. She turned around in his arms and leaned against the window frame. His closeness spread warmth throughout her body and she found herself trembling with anticipating of any touch from his glorious hands. He cupped her face in his hands, using his thumbs to trace the outline of her lips, pulling the corners of her mouth up. She smiled at him, her eyes wide. She never let him see how soft she truly she was. But there, in the moonlight pouring through his window, barely lighting the dark office, her heart lay bare for him.
"Hi."
He smiled, his eyes glowing like sapphires. He looked like there was no other place he would rather be. And though this was another stolen moment, another secret to hide from everyone, it was the kind of secret she didn't mind keeping. "Hi."