To Lyger 0: She is, though she's not quite ready to admit it to herself yet!
"How was your day with your friends yesterday, girls? Jean-Claude found a couple pictures of you four at the park together online – it looked like you were enjoying yourselves."
Chloe glanced over at Zoe and hummed, watching the girl cut up her apple and put a wedge in front of Pollen. Pulling a piece of bacon off her own sandwich, Chloe dropped it in front of Bee-atrice, who immediately pounced on it. Breakfast with her parents – with her whole family – for the second time in three days. Was it a sign of the apocalypse? "It was… nice. Though one of the reporters tried to follow us into the Agreste boutique; Marinette chewed him out pretty good." She frowned. "He was waiting outside when we left – I think he got at least a few photos of Zoe with the new clothes."
"Were they at least stylish?" demanded Chloe's mother, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "None of that godawful rubbish like she was wearing the other day, right?"
Zoe flinched, starting to open her mouth.
"Marinette picked everything out," Chloe informed her curtly. "So, yes."
"Oh, well if that Marinette picked her clothes…"
Chloe folded her arms. "She knows what she's doing. I do, too, by the way."
Her mother scoffed, muttering something under her breath.
Ignoring her mother, Chloe turned back to her father. "So, other than the dozen or so photographers stalking us, we were fine."
Her father's eyes widened. "Were you two safe? They didn't… do anything, did they, Princess?"
"Um, no." Chloe quirked an eyebrow at him. "You realize I could have thrown any one of them to the Moon if we'd actually been in danger, right?"
"Of course." Her father cleared his throat. "Well, all the same, perhaps we do need to increase your security – at least until we win this election!"
Chloe gave him a deadpan look. "No. I am not going around with a bunch of security guards," she informed him curtly. "I can look out for myself." Her jaw clenched; she could feel the anxiety rising. Slowly, she forced herself to breathe, in and out, deeply. Yes, she had been captured by the Lynchpin's people while she was on her own. But that wouldn't happen again. She was okay. She knew what to do. Finally, she cleared her throat. "And anyways, there's no way in hell that I could do Heroes of Paris stuff with a security guy in tow."
Her father frowned. "Maybe not for you, but what about for Zoe?"
Zoe looked up from her apple in surprise, her eyes darting back and forth between their father and Chloe. "Uh… I'm… I think I'll be okay if I'm with Chloe – if–if that's okay?"
Chloe shrugged noncommittally. "I suppose I can look after you well enough," she agreed.
Her father gave them a concerned look. "Well, if that's amenable to you both… though in public you should still have some security – if the other side thought I was neglecting my daughters' safety and wellbeing…"
"I–I don't feel neglected," Zoe insisted, a little too quickly.
Chloe arched an eyebrow. Give it time. You will.
Her father rubbed his hands together in a show of eagerness. "Well, we only have another three hours before the press conference," he told them, glancing at the clock on the far side of the penthouse. Looking across the table at her mother, he asked, "Audrey, will you help Zoe get ready?"
Chloe suppressed a scoff.
Her mother's eyes narrowed icily. "I will embrace your scandal. I will accept her. I will be nothing but supportive of you as you claim her. In public." Her voice dropped. "But I do not have to like her in my own home. Ugh. You are utterly ridiculous!"
Zoe flinched, her eyes shooting wide open nervously, and she looked back and forth around the table. At Chloe's feet, Bee-atrice let out a high-pitched whine. Her mother turned her glare on Chloe, who reached down and rubbed the puppy's head, quieting her.
Finally, Chloe groaned. "Marinette will be here in an hour," she told her father. "We'll take care of Zoe."
Chloe stood on the other side of her mother, a demure smile plastered on her face, listening to her father give his speech. Carefully, she scanned the crowd in front of them – at least twice as large as at the rally two days ago. On arriving, her father had been excited by the increase, but watching the faces, Chloe could see exactly why they had come. Their focus was not on Chloe or her parents; based on the direction of their staring, there was only one reason so many had come today. The bank of a dozen reporters at the very front of the crowd hadn't stopped taking photographs since their arrival, and most of the cameras were aimed to the other side, at where Zoe stood next to their father, wearing the new sundress that Marinette had dropped off that morning. Chloe sighed, drowning out her father's words.
She had tried to get out of coming today… but she had avoided too many of these rallies and press conferences already. She couldn't ditch out on this one. The only mercy was that there were only so many of these left.
The campaign was finally starting to draw to a close – it wouldn't be too long, and they could put all of this behind them for another six years. Actually, this was the last campaign in which Chloe would have to be involved – by the time the next campaign season started, she would be twenty-three and out of university and out of the hotel. Or at least she could be out of the hotel if she decided to move. At one time, she had thought about renting an apartment with Sabrina… but now Sabrina was living with Max and the two of them were planning a small wedding before the baby was due – Chloe had already put it on her father's calendar. Still, she could at least move out on her own – that would give her a little more freedom. Although, her parents already gave her all the freedom in the world: her father because it was the easiest way to keep her happy, and her mother because she couldn't be bothered to care what Chloe did. Her stomach clenched.
Glancing down toward the other end of the line in her peripheral vision, she could see a hint of tension in Zoe's shoulders, standing a little too straight and looking out at the group of reporters at the front of the crowd, trying not to blink at the barrage of flashes going off in her face. Chloe suppressed a frown. Zoe would be just turning eighteen when the next campaign began – she would have to go through this whole ridiculous process at least one more time: all the reporters hounding her and trying to score inappropriate and embarrassing photos, all the invasive questions, all the lack of privacy. And she had never experienced anything like this before in her life; how would she survive? Chloe had felt a fool for revealing her identity in such a blasé manner when she had first found the miraculous, but looking back on it, would it really have made a difference if she hadn't revealed herself in that way? With all the reporters hounding her all the time, it would only have been a matter of time before some reporter caught a picture of her mid-transformation and revealed her identity to the world. Adrien was very high-profile, but even he had only had to deal with the media coming after him every few months when the latest ad campaign had been revealed; she had had to deal with it on an almost-daily basis for most of her life.
And Zoe had actually wanted this?
"… Thank you all so much for your support. Vive la Paris!" Chloe's father waved his hands to the crowd, smiling benignly, as the cameras flashed, nearly blinding Chloe.
"M. Mayor! M. Mayor!" A dozen voices cried out, waving toward her father, several of them jumping up and down to draw his attention.
Her father finally pointed to one of the reporters near the front. "Yes, M. Rodier?"
"Manuel Rodier, France 24. M. Mayor, last time you appeared before us, your daughter was not with you; today, you have two daughters on the stage with you, one of whom we knew nothing about prior to that previous rally. Would you care to comment?"
The smile seemed to freeze on Chloe's father's face. Chloe froze, glancing over at him in anticipation of his response. "All I can say is that… people can make mistakes. I have owned up to and accepted the consequences of my actions from such a long time ago – I am a far different person now than I was then. And I assure you, nothing in my personal life can or will affect my ability to carry out my duties for the people of Paris. Because you," he added, raising his eyes to the crowd, "are my chief concern." Turning away, he nodded to another reporter.
"Yes, Michel Cailloux, Le Parisien. My question is for your daughter," the reporter began. Chloe steeled herself, holding her breath. The reporter continued, "What has been your experience of getting to know your father, your family? We have of course seen the photographs of you with your half-sister and her friends yesterday; how does the reality compare to the expectation?"
Chloe's stomach clenched nervously. Next to Chloe, her mother shifted the slightest bit, her eyes darting toward Zoe.
"I, um, I've been grateful for the chance to meet them!" Zoe answered, too-cheerfully. "Chloe's friends are so amazing and nice! And after the last few months–"
"On that note," Cailloux interrupted, his lip curling, "where have you been? You're, what, fourteen? Fifteen? How are we only finding out about you now?"
Hesitantly, Zoe glanced to the side at their father. "I'm, um, I'm thirteen."
"So why did you only come forward now?" pressed another reporter. "Lucie Vandame, French Daily News," she added, almost as an afterthought.
"I–I lived with my mom," Zoe started, before another reporter cut in.
"So why the sudden appearance?" The man raised an eyebrow. "And where is your mother? We would like some corroboration of your story."
"She… died." Zoe looked away and swallowed. With a sniffle, she continued, "Almost six months ago."
A murmur of gasps ran through the crowd. One of the reporters coughed. "I'm sorry to hear that – if that's true. But if it's been so long, why would you only come forward now?"
Zoe started to open her mouth, but another reporter started speaking.
"Were you sent?" the man demanded. "What is your relationship with the Paris First campaign?"
"What is your opinion of your husband's 'love child' appeared out of nowhere?" another reporter called, pointing his digital voice recorder toward Chloe's mother, whose mouth set in a mask of mixed calmness and rage.
"Have you been put aside for the new daughter?" interjected yet another reporter, turning toward Chloe.
Chloe clamped her mouth shut, trying to let the words just bounce off of her. These weren't legitimate questions; they were just trying to get a rise out of them, hitting where it would hurt the most. But Zoe wasn't used to the way reporters operated. She cocked her head, her brows furrowed in confusion, looking back and forth, up and down the row of reporters. Chloe swallowed, trying not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. Jean-Claude had drilled Zoe most of the morning on how to respond to these kinds of questions… but clearly Zoe had forgotten everything he had told her.
Not that Chloe could really blame her.
Finally, their father stepped forward and placed his arm protectively around Zoe's shoulders. "That is enough questions for my daughter," he told the reporters, a hard look crossing his face. A couple of them stepped back awkwardly. "This rally is now over; you will receive answers to these questions as they become available. Hasn't my daughter been through enough already? Hasn't my family experienced enough in the last week without this? However," he barreled on, as three or four voices started shouting questions, "However, I will say one thing right now: if my opponent is responsible for my daughter coming home, then I would like to give him a hearty 'thank you' for introducing me to this wonderful, sweet girl and giving me the opportunity to know her and bring her into my family."