Darcy
“Ican’t wait to be home and out of this wet heat.” Hayden fans herself as we walk into the Waldorf Astoria in D. C. I only offer a grunt, my mind preoccupied by the sheer amount of homelessness and people hooked on drugs a few blocks over from this massive, expensive, luxurious place.
That’s one of the reasons I need to win this election. I’m going to do everything in my power to aid the homeless and reform the system. I’m not naïve enough to think I can change every city, but I am going to do what I can and try to persuade those who have more localized authority to follow my lead.
I want to save all the little children of the world from picking up drug needles disguised as pens and accidentally sticking themselves with them like my sister did.
“Look, Darcy. It’s Krissy Towers.”
My head snaps in the direction that Hayden nudges me, and I see the blonde-haired woman dressed like a Barbie slinking toward us.Hayden smiles and waves while I force my media mask into place. Hayden takes my hand and all is right in the world.
“Play nice,” Hayden whispers in my ear.
“Mr. Marshall, Mrs. Marshall, it’s so good to see you both. Last time we saw each other, you were telling the world you had found a woman. Little did we know it was your campaign manager. And the two of you arranged it.” Krissy extends her hand, and I give it a brief shake before replying.
“Yes, well, we had kept it on the down-low due to not knowing how people would receive us, but once we knew it would be forever,” I glance down at Hayden who is smiling up at me, “there was no reason to hide it. Political arrangements such as this happen all the time. Ours just happened to develop into so much more.”
Krissy grins, but unlike last time all those months ago, it isn’t forced and venomous. What is she after now?
“Since you two are here, do you have it in your schedule for a quick follow-up interview from March? Oh, the public would eat it up.” True excitement lights her eyes, and I have to admit that she’s right. It would be fantastic for my image, and with the election so close, it could be like a last-minute effort to persuade pop-culture fanatics to get out to vote for me.
But I also want to confess my love to my wife tonight.
And that’s more important to me.
Hayden, however, speaks before I can deliver a kind dismissal. “You need to do this.” She cuts her eyes to Krissy. “Give us an hour to prepare?”
Krissy nods. “Let’s meet in the meeting room down the hallway from the lobby in an hour.”
“Perfect,” Hayden says, then she turns to me. “Let’s go to our room first.”
I bid Krissy farewell and follow my wife to the elevator.
Once we are inside the elevator, I press my back against the cold wall and cover my face with my hands. “Hayden. Talking to a snake wasn’t on my to-do list tonight.”
Hayden steps up beside me and kisses me on the cheek. Nerve endings explode as her lips touch my skin. “This will be good. Maybe it will secure a good opinion of our marriage from those who still have qualms from Loveless's attacks. Plus, she’s written pretty decent things about us lately.”
“She might ask me about punching him earlier tonight.”
Hayden shrugs. “Just repeat our statement that we said at the ball before we left. You’ll be fine.” She leans in for a kiss, but the elevator dings and the doors open.
Hayden slips out of my embrace and stands close to my side as a few people enter the elevator, giving us looks—one younger guy is smirking, one older lady is scowling, and one kid giggles.
I release a breath and catch Hayden’s movements from my peripheral vision. She covers her mouth with her hands, her shoulders slightly moving up and down like she’s laughing.
We ride up in silence, stopping to let the others off, but the old lady remains with us until we get to the top floor.
Once we are inside our room, she begins styling me for the impromptu interview and peppering me with questions such as what is her favorite color, her favorite food, her favorite show, etc.
I shrug my black suit jacket on while she fiddles with my red tie. “Yellow, ramen, andMy Hero Academia. Why do I need to prove I know these things about you?”
“Because,” she exclaims, patting me on the chest. “This is a pop culture interview, and she will probably test our story. A married couple should know these things about each other.”
“Those were easy,” I reply, pulling her into a hug. “Try harder questions.”
She hums. “Okay, what is my greatest fear?”
I give it some thought and think about her past: She was left in a basket on the steps of a group home in New York City, was in and out of foster homes until she was old enough to age out, and while she was in the system, she ran with the wrong crowds at times.
