I smile and wave and shake hands.
I’m happy my parents are present to stand behind me and watch me take the oath in person while Stella holds the Bible and the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court swears me in. I know the only reason Stella’s not being a total bitch to me today is because I volunteered to let her do this, putting her temporarily in the international spotlight.
I wish it were Leo and Jordan holding the Bible for me. Or Leo, at the very least. It should be.
Maybe in four years, if I run for re-election and win, it will be.
If I’m brave enough to come out by then.
Regardless, life shouldn’t be this difficult, should it? How do other functioning adults do this?
Then again, over ninety million American voters apparently think I’m a functioning adult and cast their ballots for me. Over fifteen million more than voted for my opponent.
That’s nothing to sneeze at. Even conservative pundits grudgingly agree it was a decisive victory and constitutes a clear mandate from the population.
Today, despite the importance of everything happening around me, all I can think about is how I can’t wait to fall asleep inourbed tonight in our new bedroom in the White House. I want to be safely locked behind our bedroom door, alone with my men.
Except I still have to endure the balls tonight. Jordan told me it’d be bad form to back out of them at this late date, short of a national emergency requiring my attention. Many of the balls are cliquish, partisan affairs but they’re a tradition in DC. Meaning ditching all of them isn’t an option. So depending on how I feel I will suffer my way through visits to at least the first three balls before retreating to my new temporary home.
And depending on when Leo catches up with us.
I barely process everything. After what seems like a minuscule forever, I’m hugging Mom, Dad, and even Stella before heading back inside where Jordan falls into step next to me, on my right.
“Good job, Mister President,” he says, giving my right arm a quick squeeze that everyone else will assume is nothing more than him making sure the gloves he also handed me made it into my hand.
I hear Stella’s heels rapidly click behind me before her hand clamps onto my upper right arm, where she’s trying to step between me and Jordan and wedge us apart.
“I can’t believe my brother is POTUS! I can’t wait to get to the White House!”
Without even thinking I grab her wrist with my left hand, peel it off my arm, and force her to awkwardly stumble around behind me to my other side as Jordan closes the gap between us.
“You can ride with Mom and Dad,” I tell her before she even gets a chance to make what I know is her ask.
“Wait, what? I want to ride with you!”
Of course she does. I’m wearing my practiced politician smile and my hand tightens on her wrist, where my fingers are still clamped around it. “You’re riding with Mom and Dad,” I quietly say. “Or you can walk. Your choice.” We’re only walking the last few blocks of the parade route because the weather’s starting to turn ugly. I don’t want people standing out in it and getting drenched and I dang sure don’t want to be walking in it.
Stella’s years spent leeching off politicians and political bigwigs in this town has also taught her how to keep a game face in place. Her smile doesn’t slide an inch even as her jaw clenches. “You aresuchan asshole, Elliot.”
That’s when I hear Casey-Marie’s dangerously dark whisper from Stella’s other side. “Keep it up honey, and I can have the detail put you on the banned listrightnow.Tryme.”
Stella’s eyes widen but Casey-Marie wears a playful smile, like she just told a joke. I don’t know when my chief of staff joined us but I’m glad she did.
On my right, Jordan snorts and sounds like he’s about to piss himself trying not to laugh.
Stella twists her wrist free from my hand and drops behind me, presumably to find Mom and Dad.
Casey-Marie glances back. “Say the word, boss man. I’ll do it.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Downstairs I wait for Mom and Dad to catch up and hug them before helping them load into their SUV. Stella smiles, until the split second just before she climbs in after them. That’s when she gives me a death glare that might have sent me scurrying for cover a few years ago.
Instead, I smile and reach out like I’m going to playfully ruffle her carefully coiffed hair, making her let out a terrifiedmeepbefore she ducks inside the SUV.
I know I’m breaking protocols but when Ciro and his wife and kids head down the steps toward their SUV, I walk over and we both grin as we hug.
“You did it, sir,” he says.
