Whitleigh was sitting at a table looking petrified and in front of her was Paloma, hands on her hips and her finger in Whitleigh’s face.
Shit.
“She’ssleeping with my husband!” Paloma sobbed. “They were caught having secret assignations at hotels!”
Whitleigh’s eyes were wide and panicked.
Come on, can’t you think on your feet?I thought scornfully.Say something!
There was nothing I abhorred more thanweakness, and you could see it all over Whitleigh. My wife was methodically breaking her into tiny little pieces.
Paloma was weeping gustily as the cameras all clicked greedily on the melodramatic spectacle.
Oh, my political enemies were going to dine on this!
For a moment I was absolutely furious.
How dare she! This was going to sink my ratings, make me look like an absolutedog.
But then Paloma’s eyes tipped to the nearest camera, her lids sleepy, languid, despite the shaking, babbling Whitleigh in front of her, a taunting little smirk on my wife’s lips.
She was jeopardizing my entire political career, with her wild pink-streaked hair, and she didn’t care. She didn’t give afuck.
For a moment I would have signed anything she gave me.
But there was something in her eyes. . .
Below the laughter, below the petty revenge I unfortunately deserved, below the suddenly heavy eyeliner.
A will of steel.
Something in the soul I forgot existed stirred.
She had played me at my own gameand she was winning.
I thoughtIwas a master of manipulation.Iran the whole goddamn state.
But she was beating the fuckingpissout of me.
She was nothing like I had imagined she was. Nothing like the woman I married.
But as my loins began to stir and my cock to stiffen until precum dripped from the tip, I knew I wanted her morethan ever. Anyone who could fool me this effectively was a motherfuckinggenius.
Paloma swooned dramatically as the cameras flashed, and one of her friends I didn’t recognize caught her.
They were a tall person with a white-blonde pixie cut and a sparkly suit, their face covered in sparkly glitter.
“The Governor’s wife! Her heart is broken!”
“I’m sorry,” Whitleigh begged as she broke like the weakling she was. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!”
“Well!” Paloma said, looking around. “Let’s just go down to the Governor’s office and see what he has to say for himself!”
And my blood rose with the challenge, feeling simultaneously feral with need and desperate enough to do anything.
“Get that sex therapist on the phone!” I barked at Mario. “Tell him he has 8.5 minutes to get down here or I’m going to pull his license!”
If Paloma wanted a scene, I’d give her a scene. I’d give her proof of my love and devotion.
