Levi’s eyes widen like this is some kind of surprise. “Whatever the reason,” he says. “It was wrong of me to suggest that they sent any kind of negative message about where your priorities were.”
“I know that,” I fire back. “I know you never actually believed any of that. It was all a strategy towin the election.” Does he think I’m that dense? I believed he loved me too, so maybe I am.
“Anyway.” Levi puts his other hand on my shoulder so he’s bracing me like I’m about to sub onto the field with five minutes left in the second half. “We can finally let all of that be in the past and look toward the future.” His expression goes blank and his gaze shifts to my lips.
I raise my eyebrows. Is this motherfucker about to kiss me? He leans in, but I put my hand up, his nose crashing into my palm. “No way,” I say. “Definitely not.”
Levi takes a step back, putting his hands up. “Not the vibe, got it.” He crosses his arms and stands up straight. “That wasn’t what I came here to do,” he says.
Now I’m officially confused. “Then what did you come here to do?”
“I need you, Isabella,” he says.
I consider hitting the side of his head, not as an act of violence but because he sounds like a computer that’s glitching. “Do not try to kiss me again,” I say.
“Not like that,” Levi says. He looks around like he called for backup but when no one comes, he turns back to me. “I need you to come work for me.”
My jaw unhinges and my mouth drops open so quickly, I wonder if it’s broken. “What?”
“Come work with me, Isabella,” he says, putting his hands into his jeans pockets and shrugging his shoulders as if to make himself smaller. “I think we’d be great together—professionally.”
I force myself to close my mouth and take a long breath inward. “You. . . what?”
Levi rubs his right temple. “My approval numbers haven’t gotten anywhere near your first-year high,” he says, and the hairs on my arms stand up. “I don’t get it. I made all the right PR moves. Went on the late-night shows, started dating an actress, I thought we followed your plan perfectly.”
“My. . . plan?” I ask, because he’s yet to mention anything about policy.
“You did the whole fame thing,” Levi says. “And it worked brilliantly. You were everywhere. How did you do that without looking like a slimeball?”
“Well, for starters, I wasn’t a slimeball,” I toss back. Levi drops his head down. “Levi, there was no strategy. The virality, the fame, that all happened organically, and then it was about capitalizing, about using it to maximize my effectiveness in Congress. To get good bills passed and bad bills struck down. At the end of the day, it was about always putting the job first.” My breath catches in my lungs. Even though I always knew that to be true, the world tried to convince me I had my priorities elsewhere. It feels good to say it out loud. Maybe I liked the attention, maybe I even loved it, but it wasn’t why I did what I did. It was part of the ultimate job I wanted.
The thing about dreaming of being a public figure is that you have to be able to handle it when your entire life is public—and know how to deal with it when the most shameful parts of your life are exposed.
“Well, whatever,” Levi says, any facade of professionalism that he came into this conversation with starting to crack. “I still think it’s a good idea.”He walks back up to me and grabs on to my hand with such a death grip, I don’t bother whipping it away. “We were good together, Isabella. Back when we were just two kids trying to make LA better. Those were the good days. We can have that again. On the national stage. Picture it.”
I think about what life was like before Congress, when I was working for a nonprofit by day and meeting with community members in church basements at night. Levi and I would knock on doors during the weekends and ask for signatures on petitions outside grocery stores. I wouldn’t say those were the good days, necessarily—they were grittier, harder, all sweat and protein bars and dealing with angry rich people who just want you out of their way—but there is a certain rose-colored sheen over those memories. Things were simpler then, and every personal win felt like an affirmation that I was on the right path. That all of it would be worth it when I was being sworn in on the Capitol steps.
It’s tempting, in a way, to work with Levi again. Despite how it ended, for years I loved it. For years, I loved him. I could be back. Not everyone gets to be president. Famously, very few do. My dream doesn’t have to stay the exact same forever. It can change, it can grow.
“Well,” Levi says. “What do you think?”
I look into his eyes—they’re deep, ocean blue. It would be easy to forget La Musa ever happened. A blip on an otherwise straightforward path. I could dive back in and never look back. I could work forLevi. I could set my pride aside and do it for the good of the people.
But there’s no fucking way I’m doing that.
“I think, Levi,” I say, “that you should go to hell.”
His face twists at my rejection. “Isabella, come on. I need you. America—America needs you.”
I roll my eyes. “Even my ego isn’t that big, Levi.”
“You ran away to that dinky little Italian town, and it was cute for a minute, but you had to come back. I needed you to come back,” he says.
“Wait a second,” I say, my brain putting the pieces together. Everything he’s said today has been a manipulation. He tried to kiss me because he thought I still loved him, and it’d be easier to persuade me to come work for him. He needed me to come back, to be on his side so his approval numbers would rise, and he knew breaking my anonymity would be a good way to do it. “It was you. You leaked my location.”
Levi doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t say anything.
“Oh my god. How?” I ask.
