Chapter Ten

Elizabeth

"Elizabeth." Teresa smiled at her from the doorway, even more saccharine than usual. Cotton candy dipped in syrup.

"Madam Vice President, come in." Elizabeth gathered her files from her desk and motioned for Teresa to take a seat on the sofa. She spread the documents out on the coffee table. "I've heard back about our proposals for the safeguards regarding the international adoption programme."

"So I see," Teresa said, her eyebrows arched. She sat down on the edge of the cushion and peered over the array of paperwork. Then her gaze turned back to Elizabeth as Elizabeth sank into the seat beside her. "You look a little frazzled. Everything all right, I hope?"

Elizabeth's lips tugged into a tight smile. "I've a lot going on."

Teresa reached out as if to lay a hand on Elizabeth's arm, but she must have thought better of it, for her hand made a hasty retreat to the cushion between them. "Anything I can help with."

Elizabeth shook her head, and her smile faded. "Just personal stuff. Actually—" Best bite the bullet "—I'm resigning as Secretary of State."

"Oh no," Teresa said, a touch too quickly, a fraction too bright. "I'm sorry to hear that." This time her hand made it to Elizabeth's arm, providing a fleeting touch and no comfort. "I had been hoping that you would stay on. Though, I have to say, I've always admired that you put your family before your career." She shook her head to herself, and that sweet smile lingered like icing sugar on her lips. "Some women are so work-focussed that they completely neglect their home lives, until of course, everything falls apart."

Elizabeth nodded, her face passive. But inside, something was niggling. It was the same feeling she used to have at the CIA, when something wasn't quite right, but she couldn't put a finger on it. Others would say she was obsessing, looking too hard for something that wasn't there. But she'd never been wrong; it just took a little thought and some patience as her mind turned things over. She had said 'personal stuff', but she hadn't mentioned her family. Of course, it was a reasonable assumption that 'personal' meant 'family', but was it reasonable for someone whose mind wasn't geared towards family, someone who had never hesitated to point out their lack of family? And there was something about the phrase 'put your family before your career' too—it echoed her conversation with Henry, about putting him above everything else. I love my job, but no where near as much as I love you.

Elizabeth continued with the meeting, talking Teresa through the changes and stipulations that the participating countries had requested, but all the while her mind was turning, churning the facts and suspicions until they thickened, until there was enough there to grasp.

As soon as Teresa had gone, Elizabeth picked up the phone and dialled Henry's number. "Hey." She hesitated. Her pulse quickened, and a cool sweat spread over her skin. What if the phone was bugged? They had swept the house, but not her office. "Are you…um…free for dessert?"

"Hey, babe." Henry gave her a broad smile. She held one finger up to her lips, crossed the room and dragged him into the washroom. She pulled the door shut behind him and switched on the tap. The roar of the water filled the room. Henry frowned at her. "Why do I get the feeling this isn't about dessert?"

"This is totally crazy," Elizabeth said, and had there been room to move in there, she would have been pacing, "but I think it might be Teresa Hurst."

"What?" Henry's frown deepened, utter confusion. She might as well have told him that she was joining the circus.

"The pictures," Elizabeth said, and his frown eased a little, though not much. "She said something to me earlier on, and it was like she knew what I had said the other day on the porch, about you being more important to me than my career. It made me think…what if she's behind it. What if she's set this all up because she knew that you were the one person I'd quit for?"

Henry's lips pulled to one side. "Still sounding a little crazy," he said. He folded his arms across his chest. "Talk me through it."

"The night that the pictures were taken, you were going to be the only one in the house."

"Because she said you had to work late."

"And the only person on the door at home was that new DS agent," Elizabeth said, "the same one who was there when we spoke on the porch the other day." He could have failed to record Henry arriving or could have deleted the entry from the security log, and he could have easily reported their conversation to Teresa Hurst. That's why her reaction was so quick when Elizabeth said she was quitting; she already knew.

"And when I dropped my phone that time," Henry said, and something in his eyes brightened, a dawning of hideous realisation, "I'm pretty sure he was the one who brought it back to me. He could have installed the malware then." So someone could have listened in to their private calls, would have known their plans, and would have been able to interfere with the cellular data and GPS.

"And he was the agent on the door the night that Russell took your phone." The image of him jumping aside as Conrad and Russell stepped out onto the porch flitted through Elizabeth's mind.

"So he could have activated a self-destruct code before the FBI had a chance to analyse it," Henry said. Perhaps her self-deleting malware idea wasn't so out there after all. Henry paused. "But what about the photos?"

Elizabeth's gaze fell to the floor as she retreated into her thoughts. No piece of information was useless, it was just a case of finding the right way to utilise it. Her gaze snapped back up to Henry's. "Teresa told me that she has a nephew working out in Silicon Valley. He'd certainly have the contacts if not the expertise."

Henry nodded, but his jaw was clenched. "And what about the barman at the hotel?"

"They never checked him for bribes," Elizabeth said. Because they all thought she was crazy, but things were about to get a hell of a lot crazier. She took hold of Henry's hands and gripped them as tight as she would a lifebelt if she were thrown into stormy seas. "Henry, if you don't talk me down from this, I'm going to go to the president and accuse the vice president of all kinds of corruption." She winced. "Now would be a really, really good time to tell me that I'm out of my mind."

Henry squeezed her hands. "I think we need to speak to Conrad."

Elizabeth's chest tighten and sank all at once. "They're going to want proof."

Elizabeth was sat in the window of their study. Beyond the veil of the net curtains, the sky was darkening, a pervasive gloom hanging heavy over their home. She rubbed at her eyes, smudging her mascara and eyeliner. Then she wiped her palms down against her jeans, and rid them of the clammy sweat that had taken hold.

Henry stepped onto the path outside the house. Her stomach fluttered. It was time.

She jumped down from her perch and strode towards the front door. Henry's bag was waiting just inside the entrance. She picked it up, her whole body sagging with its weight, then she wrenched the door open. The DS agent—the new guy—who was stood just outside flinched, then he glanced back over his shoulder and nodded to her. "Ma'am."

Elizabeth gave him a grim look and stepped out onto the path. Henry smiled up at her, but as he studied her face, his expression faltered and drew into a worried frown. Then his gaze fell to the bag in her hand, and all trace of the smile was gone.

"Elizabeth?" Henry stopped on the path, no more than a metre between them. "What's going on?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath—the air was choked with exhaust fumes—and then she let it tremble out through her lips. "I can't…" She shook her head to herself and her gaze drifted away from his. "I can't do this anymore, Henry."

Henry's throat bobbed. "Wh…what do you mean?"

"I keep turning it over in my mind…the photos, the excuses, the witness…" She laughed at herself, a bitter chuckle. They had all said she was foolish for believing him, they had all known from the start where the investigation would lead. She massaged her temples. "I can't live like this, Henry. I can't live with this doubt gnawing away at me."

"But—" Henry's mouth opened and closed, a slight quiver in his bottom lip. "I don't understand."

She dropped the bag to the floor and pushed it towards him. "I'll have Blake let you know when you can collect the rest of your things."

"Collect my things?" Henry toed the bag aside and stepped towards her. "What are you talking about?" He reached for her hand.

But she recoiled and balled her fists in to her chest. "I want you to leave."

Henry froze. Tears glistened in his eyes. "But I didn't do anything. I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter anymore." Her own tears welled up and reduced the evening to a blur. She swiped them away with the back of her hand. "Can't you see? I don't trust you."

Tears rolled down Henry's cheeks. One, two, three. Then they fell too swiftly to count. His hands hung empty by his sides. "I love you, Elizabeth. Don't do this—" then he strode forward, and before she had time to react, he gripped her waist.

She tried to push him off. "Stop it, Henry."

But he clung to her. "I love you." And he stared down into her eyes, as though searching for a spark—any glimmer of love that he could nurture.

Elizabeth prised his fingers from her waist. "If you love me, if you truly love me, you'll go."

Henry looked as though he had been punched in the stomach. In the background, cars sailed by, their engines whirring and dying away. Henry's jaw tightened, and he shook his head. "No. I'm not going, not until you see that you're making a mistake." He stepped towards her again, and the heat surged off his body and rushed over her. "I didn't do this." He gripped her arms, then ran his palms up and down, up and down, causing goose pimples to prickle beneath his touch. "I love you, Elizabeth." And that love shone through the hardness of his gaze. "I would never do this. I love you." Then one hand came up to tangle through her hair and pull her closer.

"Stop," she whispered, but he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She pushed him away again. His heart pounded beneath her palms. "I said: stop! Don't make a scene." The kids were inside, hopefully still sheltering in the den, and her security agents were all around them. With the way that they looked beyond her with their unseeing gazes, it was easy to forget that they took in everything.

"I'm your husband, Elizabeth." He held onto her shoulders. "Your husband." A word laden with meaning.

Elizabeth shrugged him off. Her gaze flitted down to the ground, before she steeled herself and met his eye. She swallowed, ridding her voice of the clag of emotion. "You're a liability."

He frowned at her. Realisation dawned. He shook his head. "You can't be serious. You can't…"

But she nodded. She could. She was. It all came down to this. "I'm divorcing you, Henry." As Henry stood staring at her, mouth open, frozen to the spot, she retreated into the house. She shot him a glance over her shoulder—"Goodbye, Henry."—then she shut the door.

Henry

Henry threw the bag into the backseat of the car. He made it only one street along before he had to pull over. Hot tears clouded his vision, and every breath shuddered through his chest. It was silly. He shook his head to himself. It wasn't real. He tried to force a chuckle, but it turned into a snivel. He bit down on his knuckle and closed his eyes. Can't you see? I don't trust you…I'm divorcing you, Henry. And the pressure surged in his chest until he couldn't hold it any more. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his whole body convulsed with the force of each sob. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth pushed open the door to the Situation Room. The lights were dimmed and the heating system whistled in the background. Conrad was sat at the head of the table, with Russell on his right. Ephraim Ware stood to the left of the screen, headset on, whilst the footage of her house still played in realtime. FBI Director Jon Smythe had taken the seat near the middle of the table, and was bouncing a pen against his notepad; the Director of the DSS, Mark Greyling, was sat at his side. And then there was Henry, leant back in the chair on Conrad's left, nearest the door. All heads turned to her as she entered. Henry swivelled his seat around.

Mark frowned at Elizabeth, his eyebrows dipping low, and then back to the screen. "How'd you…? Your motorcade is still outside your house."

Elizabeth smirked. So much for rigorous training. "What? You thought I wouldn't be able to give your agents the slip?"

Henry's gaze clung to her. His eyes were puffy and still damp from tears. A pang of guilt struck her. It was meant to look real, but perhaps it had been a little too real. He reached out for her, and as she slipped her fingers into his, he squeezed so tight it felt like he might never let go. She braced herself against the chair, then leant in and kissed him, letting it linger as she sucked gently on his lower lip. This was real. When she pulled away, she nuzzled her nose against his and whispered, "I love you. You hear me? I love you." And he nodded against her.

"That was quite the performance, Bess," Conrad said, and his gaze flitted between her and her husband. "Let's just hope it pays off."

"Has there been any activity yet?" Elizabeth asked. Henry pivoted back to the screen, and Elizabeth stood behind him. She slid her hands over his shoulders, down to his chest, and let them rest there, relishing his warmth.

"Not yet," said Ephraim. "We have eyes on your house." He tapped the laptop and the screen split to show Number One Observatory Circle. "And our agents are watching the Vice President too. We're still waiting for DS Agent Grant—" the new guy "—to finish his shift."

The final dregs of daylight faded into darkness, each second punctuated by the tap, tap, tap of Jon's pen against the notepad. He sent Elizabeth the occasional look, not even bothering to veil his disdain as she held tight to her husband.

Elizabeth's legs started to ache, and then turn numb, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Henry glanced up at her and offered her a taut smile. He looked worried too. Was his mind churning through the same thoughts? What if she was wrong? What if she had made a huge mistake? What if the real culprit was out there, ready to release the photos at any minute?

"DS Agent Grant is on the move." Ephraim's voice brought her back to the room. One of her regular DS agents had taken Agent Grant's place, and Agent Grant was striding away from the house and along the street. The footage jolted as the FBI agents followed at a distance.

"He's probably just walking home," Jon said.

"Wait and see," Elizabeth said, though the thought niggled.

A couple of streets away, Agent Grant stopped to tie his shoelace, but as he knelt down, his hand snuck beneath the hedgerow that provided a barrier between the houses and the street beyond. He rooted through the earth for a moment.

Jon dropped his pen. "What's he doing?"

Mark leant against the desk, a grim look descending on his face.

Agent Grant pulled out a ziplock bag containing a phone. He glanced up and down the street before tapping a number into the keypad and lifting it to his ear. He bit his lip as he waited.

"Have we got ears on him?" Elizabeth asked. Her heart pounded, and beneath her palm, Henry's pulse had quickened too. This could be the call, the one that proved Henry's innocence.

"Our agents are too far away," Jon said.

"Well, why the hell didn't someone bug him?" Elizabeth's tone sharpened. Geez. It would have been easier if she ran the whole damn operation herself. Henry squeezed her hands, and the surge of anger softened.

Agent Grant placed the phone back into the bag and hid it beneath the hedge. He pulled a slim notebook from his inside jacket pocket and jotted something down. He tore off the sheet, and stashed both notebook and paper away. Then he was on the move again.

"Keep following him," Elizabeth said, "and get someone to retrieve that phone."

"He probably just called a burner—" Jon began.

"You'd be surprised how many people make stupid mistakes," Elizabeth said—like believing my husband would cheat on me—and she shot him a look. Jon scowled, but said nothing in return.

"We have activity at the Hurst residence," Ephraim said. As Agent Grant continued along the street on one half of the screen, the other half showed a young woman, bundled up in a black coat and thick woollen scarf leaving Teresa's house.

Elizabeth let go of Henry and stepped closer to the screen.

"Do we want to follow?" Ephraim looked to Conrad, but Elizabeth answered instead.

"No," she said. "Keep eyes on Agent Grant and see if we can get eyes on the VP." If the woman was going to attend a drop off, Agent Grant would lead them to her, but someone needed to keep watch on Teresa to see what move she would make next.

Ephraim spoke into the headset. "I want eyes on Hurst." And the cameras shook as the agents began to move through the shadows at the perimeter of the property.

Agent Grant continued to stroll along the street, like any normal person on the way home from work. Only he wasn't any normal person, he was a security agent entrusted to protect Elizabeth's life, but instead he was conspiring to tear it apart. Elizabeth's fist clenched atop the table, her fingernails digging into her palm.

The agent entered the park. The lights above him shone white on the screen. His pace slowed as a woman walked towards him—a woman in a dark coat and thick scarf. The agent walked past the woman, and as he did, their hands brushed—just the briefest of glances, but enough to pass a slip of paper between. Then the agent and the woman walked away in opposite directions, strangers passing in the night.

Elizabeth caught Jon's eye as he glanced at her. "Believe me now?" she said, and he buried his gaze back in the screen, his face pale, all trace of that smug smile long gone. She looked to Ephraim. "Don't intercept; let her give the note to Hurst." They needed to see Teresa with the note in her hand.

Ephraim nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well this is going to be a PR nightmare," Russell said. He rocked back in his chair, one hand tapping the armrest. "The Vice President conspiring against the Secretary of State in a row over endorsement for the presidency."

Elizabeth turned to him, her gaze sharp, anger roiling in her veins. "Given the alternative, I'll take a PR nightmare any day."

Russell's gaze darted to Henry. His drumming against the armrest turned to a patter. "I think we owe you an apology."

"You think?" Elizabeth tried to keep her tone level, but there was a bite to it.

Henry shook his head and held one hand up, as if it didn't matter; though of course trust mattered more than anything else. "You can buy me a drink later," he said, "once this is all over."

And God knew Elizabeth could use a drink too. Back on the screen, the woman passed through security and entered the Hurst residence. The camera switched to grainy image of the office at the back of the house. Moments later, the woman entered the study and handed the slip to Teresa. Teresa looked down at it and her brow furrowed into a frown. Her look said it all: so Elizabeth was still planning to run.

"Sir." Elizabeth looked to Conrad, and he gave the nod. She turned to Ephraim. "Bring her in, and have someone collect up DS Agent Grant and that woman too."

"Yes, ma'am." Ephraim switched his microphone back on. "Secret Service agents are go."

The Secret Service agents stormed the house; the footage from their cameras shook across the screen. "Ma'am," one of them said to Teresa, "you need to come with us."

Teresa scrunched up the slip of paper and clenched it in the palm of her hand. Her face was pure shock. "What's happened?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, ma'am. This way, please."

The door to the Situation Room swung open and the glare from the corridor flooded in. The Secret Service agent ushered Teresa Hurst inside. Conrad and Russell were still sat at the head of the table, and Elizabeth had taken the seat next to Henry. All four of them swivelled to meet the vice president, and as the door shut, they sank back into the dim light.

"Sir," Teresa began, but then her gaze fell on Elizabeth. Her whole face tightened, as if she had just bitten into a slice of lemon.

Elizabeth stood up from her seat. She folded her arms across her chest. "We've been watching your little game, Teresa. I bet that note got you worried." Teresa's hand flinched towards her jacket pocket. If she'd had any sense, or any commitment to this foray into espionage, she would have swallowed the note as soon as she had the chance. "You thought I was going to divorce my husband and run for the presidency despite all your efforts."

"I…" Teresa floundered.

"Well, you picked the wrong person to play with."

Teresa spun to face Conrad.

"Look at me," Elizabeth said, and her voice slashed through the room. "Here's what's going to happen. First, you are going to hand over every last copy of those pictures—digital and print. Second, you are going to make a statement to the press saying that you are resigning from your position effective immediately—" Teresa opened her mouth to protest, but Elizabeth spoke louder, cutting her down "—I suggest that you cite personal reasons. Third, you are going to disappear." Elizabeth shrugged. "I really don't care where, but believe me when I say that if any of those images ever surface or if I hear any allegations against my husband ever again, I will come after you, and I will destroy you."

Fire pulsed through Elizabeth's veins, but it burned as hot as lightning as Teresa's lips twisted into that acidic smile. Teresa folded her hands in front of her, and rocked on her heels. "That's quite the threat, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth shook her head. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise. "Do not mess with me." Her voice growled through her. "You brought my family into this, and I won't hesitate take down yours." She narrowed her gaze on Teresa. "Your nephew, Thomas—" Teresa flinched and a flicker of fear lit her eyes before she could smother it "—he's the one who provided you with those images."

"He'd be facing a capital offence charge," Russell said as he pivoted back and forth in his chair.

Teresa's face paled. "What do you mean?"

"I did a little digging," Elizabeth said. She pushed a document across the table towards Teresa. "Turns out your nephew's company has managed to secure a number of lucrative contracts with the Russian government." She gave a soft snort. "I wonder how on earth he managed that."

"There's nothing illegal about that," Teresa said, though her face had flushed, and she pushed the paper away.

"That depends what services he was supplying," Russell said. "Just imagine if it turned out that one of these payments—" he bounced his fingers against sheet "—was for the production of false images in order to tip the balance in favour of a certain candidate in the next US election."

Teresa shook her head, her eyes wide. "But he didn't—"

"Treason, espionage," Russell said. He lingered on each word, as if they were delicacies in his mouth. "The Secretary is making you a very generous offer here, Teresa. I suggest you take it."

Teresa stared hard at Elizabeth, studying her, as if trying to figure out just what lengths she would go to—whether she would follow through with Russell's threat or not.

"Take the risk." Elizabeth dared her. "Call my bluff."

Teresa's expression sharpened. "You wouldn't," she said. "You of all people, with your fixation on morals."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. Seriously? She wanted to go there? "Then it's a good thing I have an ethics professor here to guide me." She turned to her husband. "Henry?"

Henry shrugged. "You're good, babe." He looked to Teresa, like a cat toying with a mouse. "After all, Nietzsche wrote 'There are no moral phenomena at all, only a moral interpretation of phenomena'."

Elizabeth turned back to Teresa. She echoed Henry's shrug. If the ethics professor said it was okay… "So, what's it gonna be?" she said. "Are you going to take the deal or not?"

Teresa's lips disappeared into a tight pout, teeth gritted, nostrils flared. She looked like a pressure cooker about to explode. With her fists clenched at her side, she opened her mouth. But in that second, Elizabeth picked up the photograph that been lying face down on the table. She looked at it for a moment, and then handed it to Teresa.

Teresa's mouth faltered. Her face softened. Thomas. Ten years old. Ice cream in hand, camera slung around his neck.

"Precious, aren't they?" Elizabeth said.

And at the end of it all, it didn't matter what Elizabeth would do, so much as what Teresa believed she might do. What was truth, when it was all just a game of optics?

Teresa blinked. She swallowed. And then she nodded. She had lost.

"Good choice," Russell said. He called for the Secret Service agent who had been waiting outside the door. The agent stepped inside, and without hesitation, he escorted Teresa away.

No sooner had the door shut than Elizabeth let out a deep breath and sank down onto the arm of Henry's chair, at once both drained from the fall in adrenaline and flooded with the rush of relief. Henry found her hand and intertwined their fingers, and had they not been in the Situation Room, in front of Russell and the president, she would have crawled into his lap and buried herself in his neck. Finally, she could breathe.

"I'm sorry for doubting you, Henry," Conrad said. "You're a good man. You shouldn't have had to go through this."

"I'm just glad it's over," Henry said, and he squeezed Elizabeth's hand. Though of course they still had to explain everything to the kids, and it would take a while for things to go back to how they were before. Elizabeth stiffened a little at the thought, but Henry brushed his thumb over her knuckles, and the tension eased.

"Well," Russell said, and he rested his hands against the desk, "at least it puts Teresa Hurst out of the picture."

Elizabeth sent him a wry smile. "You find the positive in everything, don't you, Russell?"

Russell shrugged. "What can I say? Eliminating competition is good for my soul." His phone buzzed against the desk. He snatched it up and glanced at the screen. "Plus, it's always satisfying when someone gets their just deserts."

Henry's grip on Elizabeth's hand tightened, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Sorry, was that deserts or desserts?" A burst of laughter escaped Elizabeth, and Henry's eyes gleamed with a lightness that she hadn't seen in so long. It radiated through her and buoyed her with its warmth.

Russell peered up from his phone. He frowned at them. "What?"

Elizabeth bit down on her lip. "Nothing. Inside joke." And she suppressed a squeal as Henry tickled her ribs.

Conrad stood up from his seat and stretched out his legs. "How about that drink?"

Elizabeth glanced down to Henry. He held her gaze, a soft smile lifting his lips as he said, "Maybe another day. Tonight I just want to spend some time with my wife."

Elizabeth and Henry ambled through the corridors of the White House. Henry's arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her close against his side. At that time of night, it was quiet, peaceful almost, as though all the dramas that passed through those halls every day were nothing more than waking remnants of a dream.

They had almost reached the exit, when the director of the FBI stepped out of an alcove and into their path. Elizabeth buried a groan in Henry's shoulder. "What now?" Then she faced Jon with a taut smile. "What can I do for you, Jon?"

"I…uh…I just wanted to apologise," Jon said. He scratched at the back of his neck, and as he tilted his head forward, the frames of his glasses slipped down his nose. "Some of my comments….they were out of line…"

Elizabeth snorted. Really, Jon? "It's not me that you should be apologising to," she said.

Jon's gaze drifted to Henry. He looked as though he'd rather stand naked in front of Congress than admit that he was wrong. But, after a pause, he held out his hand. "I'm sorry."

Henry took his hand and shook it. "Apology accepted." But rather than letting go, he kept hold and stared Jon down. "Other men might cheat on their wives, but you're forgetting who I'm married to." His grip loosened enough for Jon to escape his grasp, and as Jon shook out his hand, Henry looked at Elizabeth with a smile that made her heart flutter. "I'd have to be crazy to even think about cheating on her."

Will and the kids were crammed onto the couch in the living room. Elizabeth sat opposite them in one of the armchairs, whilst Henry perched on the third step of the stairs. Everyone looked at her expectantly, waiting in silence for whatever it was she was about to say.

Elizabeth leant forward and clutched her hands atop her knees. "What I'm about to tell you is classified," she said, and the words seemed to resonate through the house. Everyone leant in, breaths stilled as they hung on her every word. "Technically, I shouldn't be telling you any of this at all, but I think it's important because I want you to know that I trust you, and I want you to be able to trust me, and more importantly, trust your father."

She told them about the plot that they had uncovered from the forging of the photos, to the DS agent who admitted placing self-destructing malware on Henry's phone, to the bribery of the barman at the hotel, even about Teresa Hurst.

"So it was all a set up?" Alison said, her brow ridged with a mix of horror and disbelief.

"But why would she go to such extreme lengths?" Jason said. "I mean, that's kinda psycho."

"The plan was to stop me from running for president," Elizabeth said. She gave a small shrug. "And it almost worked."

Silence prickled through the room. The kids looked to one another and to Will, then Stevie turned to Elizabeth. "Wait," she said. She raised her eyebrows, eyes wide. "You're going to run?"

Elizabeth flashed them a smile and nodded. Their faces lit up—surprise, realisation, perhaps even delight. "But if we're going to do this," she said, raising her voice over their clamour, "we have stick together—" she found Henry's eyes, full of love and pride "—we have to trust one another. You hear me? And Will—" but before she could even remind her brother of his pledge—I'll be the first to apologise—he stood up from the couch.

"Henry." Will crossed the short distance to the stairs, hand outstretched. "I'm sorry for not believing you."

"And," Elizabeth prompted.

"…and for all the things I've said." He glanced to Elizabeth. "I just wanted to protect her." And in her mind, the fifteen-year-old Will whispered, I was trying to defend your honour.

"I know." Henry took his hand and pulled him down into a hug. He clapped Will's back. "And I'm glad that she's got you to look out for her. But maybe next time—"

"Next time?" Elizabeth cut in, and she shook her head. "Oh no. We're not doing this again." She waved the kids up from the couch, where they were still sat in an awkward lull—stuck in the place between two truths. "Now go hug your father."

"Babe, don't force them," Henry said. He looked to the kids. "If you need time—" but the kids had already jumped up, and they swamped him in their arms. Henry clung to them, and as tears welled in the corner of his eyes, Elizabeth's eyes pricked with her own. When the girls pulled away, Henry held Jason close and ruffled his hair. He shot Will a look. "See, sometimes it is a zebra."

And though Elizabeth had no idea what they were talking about, her chest swelled at the sight of her family together. Everything was how it should be; their family, together.

"So the fire pit came in handy after all." Henry's voice cut through the chill, as warm as the flames that burned in front of her. His arms wrapped around Elizabeth's waist and pulled her back against his chest. On the fire, the pictures melted, their edges crisping, until they faded into ashes and their smoke filled the air. Henry placed a kiss to her cheek and then rested his chin against her shoulder. "Thank you for standing by me."

"Thank you for never giving me reason to doubt you before." She turned around in his arms and placed her palms flat against his chest. She stared at the collar of his shirt. "I did think…" but she shook the thought from her head. Those were dark moments, not worth dwelling on.

"That's normal," Henry said. He shrugged. "I'm surprised you believed me at all."

She looked up into his eyes. "Of course I believed you." She slid her hands up to his neck, one resting at the juncture with his shoulder, the other toying with the hair at his nape. "Though you do realise that I'm never leaving you home alone again. For your own safety, of course."

The corners of Henry's eyes crinkled. "I can live with that." His fingers fluttered against the small of her back. "You had me scared for a while, back when we were on the porch…It felt real."

"It's just tradecraft," Elizabeth said. But the hurt lingered; that had been real. "You're my husband, Henry. Forever." She pushed herself up onto tiptoe, his arms tightening around her, and she whispered against his lips, "I love you." And, perhaps more importantly. "I trust you."

The End

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