“But that's still not true” Billie Eilish
We remained in each other’s arms for a long time, both drowning in our own private turmoil, until I finally forced myself to break the contact.
The silence was heavy as she helped me back into my dress. It was a physical ache to close that bedroom door and leave her there, sitting on the edge of the bed and clutching her shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored.
I didn't say a word on the ride back. I couldn't.
Once home, I retreated to the living room armchair, a glass of whiskey in my hand to steady my nerves. We were alone, just me, Don, and his boyfriend, whose name remained a blur in my exhausted mind.
They eventually joined me; Donald moved with a weary grace, tossing his tie aside and unbuttoning his collar. His boyfriendexcused himself shortly after, citing exhaustion, leaving the two of us to navigate the wreckage of the day. They have a quiet, genuine affection for one another, a cute relationship that felt like a stark contrast to the jagged, complicated war I was fighting with Kelsey.
"Have you decided on the campaign’s primary focus?" I asked, kicking off my shoes and taking a slow, burning sip of whiskey. "Immigrants and the military," Donald replied, leaning back and watching me over the rim of his own glass. "What do you think? Does it play well enough for the base?"
I nodded in silent agreement. Donald was always the architect of rationality. When he chose this penthouse, he designed it as a masterclass in functional distance, two apartments woven into one triplex.
The mezzanine held our separate suites and private lounges; the lower floor was our shared stage of kitchens and libraries; and the top floor was a sprawling social space overlooking the Capitol gardens. It was a fortress built for two people who needed to be seen together but lived apart.
"The strategy is sound," I said, swirling the uísque in my glass. "Given my history with both demographics, it bridges the gap. Last time, you focused on the youth vote. Do you think you've lost them?"
"Not according to the data," Don replied, tossing his tie aside and sprawling across the armchair with a casual, crooked grace. "But if I capture the immigrants and the military, the activists will follow the momentum. It’s about building a landslide." He looked at me sideways, his gaze sharpening. "So, what happened with Kelsey? I thought you two were going to settle the debt today."
"She won't budge. She's convinced her absence is my only protection, and I hate her for being right." I felt the phantom heat of her touch against the cold reality of the room. "We have sex, we avoid the hard truths, and the silence afterward is deafening. It’s agonizing without her."
Donald rolled his eyes with a mocking affection. "What do you want me to say, Megs? Even you know it’s the prudent play. Let’s just get you through this nomination in record time so you can stop living like a martyr."
"I’ve been clearing the docket this month," I countered, raising my glass. "Handled a few issues that definitely made the Chief of Staff sit up and take notice."
Donald laughed, a genuine, warm sound. "Of course you did. Aligning your rulings with the administration’s agenda is the fastest way to that seat. I saw you have a massive hearing scheduled for this week. If you need a sounding board for the legal nuances, you know where I am."
"It’s a nightmare," I sighed. "I thought it would be a dry tax evasion case, but it’s evolved into a hydra: human trafficking, influence peddling, arms dealing. It’s everything the public loves to hate."
"That’s your masterstroke, Meg. A few viral lines from the bench about justice and accountability, and the Supreme Court is yours."
"Or it’s a quagmire. The network they’ve built is complicated."
Donald stood up, slapping his thighs as he prepared to retire for the night. He leaned down, pressing a steadying kiss to myforehead. "Try to get some sleep, Meg. I’m going to go enjoy my boyfriend."
I rolled my eyes and launched a pillow at him. He caught it in midair with a grin, leaving me alone with the view of the Capitol and the realization that the "full plate" of my next trial was nothing compared to the hunger Kelsey had left behind.
#54
“I dream of cracking locks throwing my life to the wolves, or the ocean rocks crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox. I'm seeing visions, am I bad? Or mad? Or wise?" Taylor Swift
Six months. That was the sentence. Six months since I had last felt the heat of her skin, and now I stood in a hall draped in white flowers and deep forest greens—a setting fit for a princess. And though she was the queen of my life, I knew this throne was made of glass.
Donald, fueled by too much champagne and the exhaustion of his own charade, had confessed that Megan let him plan the wedding of his dreams.
"Even the dress, Kels," he’d slurred, his eyes red from the weight of his own hidden life. "Because she looks beautiful in anything, but I wanted her to match the party."
He was right. Megan looked breathtaking. The classic silhouette of her gown outlined her body with a precision that felt like a personal attack on my sanity.
Since the engagement, I hadn't touched another soul. I wanted my woman, and there she was, locked in the arms of my best friend. Her husband.
"She’s not mine..." I heard her whisper as I neared them on the dance floor, hidden by the architecture of the ballroom. Donald was clearly prodding her, knowing I was within earshot.
"No? To me, you’re hers," Donald countered, spinning her as she flashed a practiced smile at a passing senator. "And she’s yours. Go to the dressing room. Now."
"You think she’ll just walk in and I’ll jump her?" I murmured to myself from behind a pillar, a muffled, cynical laugh escaping me.
