Chapter Seven

Day Five

Elizabeth

Fingertips drew idle patterns up and down Elizabeth's side; the touch hummed through her skin and beckoned her from the embrace of sleep. The scent of sweat and sex lingered in the air, a heady mix in the hazy morning light. Her eyelids fluttered open.

Henry's gentle smile greeted her, his hair still tousled from the night before. "Happy birthday."

Elizabeth groaned. She rolled onto her back, away from his warmth. With her hand pressed to her forehead, she stared up at the ceiling. "God, I'm old."

Henry propped himself up on his elbow. He slipped his other hand beneath the hem of her t-shirt and rested his palm against her stomach. "You're not old." He brushed his thumb back and forth, back and forth, a lulling caress. Then he rolled on top of her and dipped down, a growl to his voice as his hot breath tickled her ear. "And there are some advantages to being the birthday girl."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. A slight smile played on her lips. "Oh really?" She ran her hands up his sides and then smoothed them over the back of his tee. "What do you have in mind?"

His eyes glinted, and he roamed kisses down her neck. "Cards," he said, his voice muffled as he paused to suckle at her pulse. Her breath hitched. "Cake." He descended over her chest and dusted kisses through the cotton of her shirt. "Candles." He teased up the hem and exposed her tummy button. Then he dipped his tongue inside, and her stomach shivered. His gaze flicked up to meet her eye—a dangerous look. "Presents."

A slight tremor quivered through her voice as she said, "What kind of presents?"

"Very special presents," he said. And as his wet kisses slipped lower and lower, she squirmed and laughed beneath him.

Knock, knock, knock. Henry stopped, and Elizabeth propped herself up on her elbows. He glanced up at her, eyes white, just as Stevie called through, "Is it safe to come in?"

"Just a minute," Elizabeth called back. There was nothing safe about the position their children would find them in were they to walk through that door right now. She reached down, cupped Henry's jaw and offered him a soft smile. "Later."

He nodded and crawled up her body. His lips found hers, a promise—Later. Then he settled back against the headboard and drew her against his chest.

"Come in," she said.

Stevie nudged the door open, and with a slightly stilted gait, she carried a tray of croissants and steaming mugs of coffee inside. She kept her gaze on the cups, her brow furrowed with concentration as she fought to stop them from spilling. "I come bearing coffee and carbs."

"My favourite," Elizabeth said, and her stomach rumbled in agreement. "Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome." Stevie balanced the tray on the bench at the end of the bed, and then she grinned at Elizabeth. "Happy birthday."

At the same time, Alison gambolled into the room, Jason trailing paces behind. "Happy birthday, Mom!" She flung her arms around Elizabeth and pressed a kiss to her cheek before Jason leant in for a hug and kiss too.

"Happy birthday," Jason said. When he pulled back, he eyed Elizabeth's mussy hair before his gaze fell to the disheveled sheets. He raised his eyebrows at her and Henry. "Seriously? Isn't that a bit clichéd?"

"There's a lot to say for clichés," Elizabeth said, and Henry pressed his lips to the curve between her shoulder and neck whilst he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.

Sat at the end of the bed, Stevie crunched her teeth into a croissant. She looked up at Jason. "Didn't you ever think about why your birthday's nine months after Mom's?"


"Good morning, ma'am." Blake met Elizabeth in the foyer of the State Department, unusual in itself, but then he offered her a wide smile—too wide—and her stomach dropped.

"Oh God." Elizabeth groaned, and her head fell back. "You've organised a surprise, haven't you?"

"Yes, ma'am." Blake's expression faltered and then fell. He hurried after her as the elevator doors opened and she strode inside. She hit the the button for the seventh floor, and he turned to her. His hands fidgeted in front of him. "It's nothing big, I promise…well maybe it's a little bigger than I planned…"

"How big?"

"Just the seventh floor," Blake said.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him.

He squirmed under her gaze. "There might be some banners…and singing…and maybe a few party horns…"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Well, there had better be cake."

"Of course, ma'am."

Elizabeth shook her head to herself and murmured, "At least I can eat my way through the embarrassment."

The lift dinged for the seventh floor. The doors slid open to reveal the staff, and they met Elizabeth with a cry of "Happy birthday!" mingled with an undertone of "Surprise!".

"Hey," Elizabeth said, and she hugged each of her team in turn, "what's with the ties?"

Blake, Matt, Jay and Kat all wore matching pink ties. And a glance through the corridors showed that others sported them too.

"Solidarity, ma'am," Kat said.

"They're not quite skirts," Jay said, "but we hoped you'd appreciate the gesture."

"We wanted you to know that we stand by you, ma'am," Matt said. "Especially against Twitter trolls."

"And—" Kat's face brightened. "—we've had word from the White House. What with your husband hijacking the hashtag, Russell Jackson says that we can go ahead with the announcement about the British trade deal."

Elizabeth grinned. "Now, you see, that's the only birthday present I need."


9 PM

A chill clung to the night air and trapped the trace of smoke. Each breath weighed heavy and burned through Elizabeth's lungs. She hugged her coat around her, but even the thick wool was not enough to fend off the shiver that crawled up her arms. In the garden, the trees rustled with the secrets of the breeze, and the grass swayed and churned.

She lowered herself down onto the patio step, next to Will. He glanced at her and offered her the flicker of a smile. Then they settled into a familiar silence, a language all of its own.

"I was thinking, the other day," Will said, "about the cakes our mother made us bake."

Elizabeth snorted. "You get flashbacks about them too?"

Will shook his head to himself. "I'm not quite sure how they could be so burnt and flat yet still raw inside."

"Or how they were more eggshell than cake." Elizabeth leant forward and hugged her knees as she twisted round to face him. "Do you remember how we had to smother them—"

"In chocolate frosting—" Will nodded. "—just to make them edible."

They shared a grin, but their smiles soon withered and faded to grim, like the embers of a campfire dying and disappearing into the night. Elizabeth swallowed, and her gaze fell away.

Will let out a long breath. "God I miss them."

Elizabeth linked her arm through his and squeezed tight. "Me too."

The wind gusted and sent a shower of leaves skittering to the ground. They tumbled over the grass, swept along on the currents, their dance a testament to the unseen forces of the world.

"I couldn't save them," Will said, and his gaze followed the leaves too, "and you couldn't prove whatever it is that you needed to prove. Like it or not, they're the reason we do the things that we do."

Elizabeth dipped her chin, and her hair fell forward as she buried her gaze in her lap. She cleared her throat, but her voice still rasped. "Do you ever think what would have happened…"

"If they had survived?" Will asked, and she nodded. "Sometimes."

"I do," Elizabeth said. "And then I think about how I wouldn't change what I have now for the world, and how maybe, if I was ever given that choice—save them and set out on that path, or stick with my life now…" She shook her head to herself. The words were there, burning her tongue, but to speak them aloud would be a blasphemy all of its own.

"I know." His voice was so soft it was almost lost to the breeze. If only they could surrender those thoughts to the darkness too. "You know, one of the last things that they said to me was how they wished I was more like you." He gave a bitter chuckle, and Elizabeth turned her gaze to him. His eyes glistened, or perhaps just mirrored the sheen of her own. "We all have our faults, and no matter what else they said to you, they were proud of you."

Elizabeth looked away. She turned her face up to the stars, only the brightest visible above the haze of city lights. "Do you believe that they're out there somewhere and that they can see who we've become?"

A burst of laughter rippled out of the house and diffused into the pause. The sound was foreign, so light that it jarred against the weight that hung over the garden.

"I used to," Will said, "but now…I don't know…You?"

"I like to think so," Elizabeth said, "but sometimes, after all the things I've seen, it feels like nothing more than a fairytale, something to soften the bluntness of reality." She let out a sharp sigh. How comforting it must be to have faith in something bigger than that what we can perceive. She shook her head to herself and let the thought go. "I see them in the kids though, and in you and Annie. Maybe that's all I can hope for."

"Maybe it's enough." He rested his hand against her knee. "For what it's worth, I'm proud of you. I know it's not the same—"

Elizabeth met his gaze. "That's worth a lot, Will."

Will nodded, and his lips softened into a smile. It was the things that they never said that they needed to hear the most.

Elizabeth swallowed, but her throat caught. "I was thinking about going back to visit them, maybe take the kids. If you want to come…"

"I'd like that," Will said, and his eyes shone. He eased up to standing and offered her his hand. "Now perhaps we ought to join all the normal people inside. After all, you only turn fifty once."

"You see—" Elizabeth patted his arm. "—I was thinking maybe I could eke it out for a few years. No one needs to know, right?" But she let him drag her inside.


2021

Elizabeth

The clipped grass of the cemetery stood stiff beneath the arching boughs of leafless trees. The late afternoon mist had already descended, and it wove in and out of the tombstones. Elizabeth knelt down at the edge of her parents' graves. She placed the white lilies—her mother's favourites—on the ground and then rested her hand against her father's headstone.

If you want to reach for the stars, reach for them. If you want to compete with men, do it. Hell, if you want to be the first female president, go for it. What I want you to know is that I'll be here to support you, always, and I'll be here when things get tough—because they will. And I'll be here, waiting for the day when you achieve all these things that I never thought possible, and when you come back to tell me that you've proved me wrong.

"Maybe you were right to worry," Elizabeth whispered, "and life is certainly more complicated than I ever imagined, but I wish you could've seen today, I wish you could've been there with me, and maybe it doesn't even matter now, but I wanted you to know that I did it—" She swallowed, the words empty on her tongue. "—I proved you wrong."

The breeze brushed over her and lifted the delicate fragrance of the lilies into the air. She breathed it in, filling her lungs with the scent of flowers and soil, the dampness of the mist, the bitter chill. She shivered. She looked over her shoulder, seeking her husband's warmth, and Henry stepped forward and offered her his hand. They stood together, facing the graves, Henry behind her, his arms snug around her waist. His breath fanned hot against her ear as he murmured, "Madam President."

Elizabeth chuckled, and the soft sound faded into the afternoon. "It's going to take a while to get used to that."

"I reckon you've got a good eight years." He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then rested his chin atop her shoulder. "Did you tell them?"

She nodded. Her heart sank. "It doesn't hurt any less though."

"Maybe not now, maybe not ever. But maybe that's okay."

Elizabeth twisted round in his arms, and resting her palms against his chest, she met his eye.

"Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional." His hands slipped beneath her coat, and his fingers fluttered against the small of her back. "Maybe you'll always carry this pain with you—maybe it's a fundamental part of who you've become—but so long as you use it, you can transform it, you can—"

"Make it beautiful?" Elizabeth's breath escaped and fogged in the air.

Henry nodded. The corners of his lips turned upwards, and his eyes held a playful glint. "Or powerful, or inspirational, or a force for change…" She arched her eyebrows at him. "You can make it whatever you want it to be. The world's yours, babe—Madam President." He grinned and leant in to peck her lips.

She patted his chest. "I guess now I've got a lot more people to prove wrong."

"And millions rooting for you." He took hold of her hands, and clutched them to his heart. "I'm rooting for you. And I promise to stand by you and to hold your hand when things get tough."

In the background, robins chittered as they bobbed in the highest branches of the frost-dusted trees. She rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles. "We can do this, can't we?"

"Of course we can." He offered her a smile so warm that it melted the worries, like snows yielding to the first true sunshine of spring. Then he lifted her wrist so he could glance at her watch. "Though if we don't get a move on, we'll be late for the ball, and I promised Ali I'd have you back in time for styling."

Elizabeth groaned.

"Come on, babe; it'll be fun." He wrapped his arm around her waist, and held her close as he guided her back to Marine One. "We'll get dressed up, have our first dance—" He dipped down so that his lips brushed the shell of her ear. His voice tingled through her. "—have a little afterparty of our own…" She laughed, and he stopped and pulled her round to face him. And his smirk and the twinkle in his eye spoke the words before he had the chance to say them. "I'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The End


Thank you for reading! I hope that you enjoyed this story. As I mentioned at the beginning, I'm publishing another two stories today as well, so check them out. If you have a moment to leave a review, it would be very much appreciated.