"Mes félicitations très chère. Tu dois jubiler de pleasure."
Alexis congratulated Severine once again without camouflaging his spite.
"Ne vous en déplaise, and I have a country to run now."
"I guess we're done." The man shot and hoped to attain the bullseye.
Severine stepped up to him, though Alexis throned over her in height, "We're not done until I say so. We're in this until the legislative elections. What do you really think I was going to let you go. You owe me, Alexis. So just watch me and enjoy the ride," she touched up his collar, "be a good supportive husband you're supposed to be and try and keep your dick in your pants."
Severine's words brought Alexis back to his fathers, "be a man. Remain at her side. Pretend you want to patch things up. Our next challenge is the legislative. You'll get your revenge there; I have everything planned."
"How will you get that? She has the upper hand in this chess game, just as she always has," Alexis said, thinking back to when Severine beat his father at chess and feigned to be a debutante. "She's a chameleon. One would think she's porcelain, but she is Alba pietra marble, resisting wear and tear."
"Patience, fils. She isn't my first mentee. Severine is talented, but she isn't the most talented. The function will consume her. When all control will escape her, and paranoia will grip her throat, she'll let out her despotic monster."
Alexis didn't know if he could believe his father, who had a royal poker face. Pierre wanted to eat at all tables; thus, he walked around with his servitude as a fork and conspiracy as a knife. The senator dreamt of being the puppeteer of the political theater.
In the present, Alexis accepted his fate. He had his expiration date. Everything would end at the next legislative election. A clean divorce for irreconcilable differences, and he'd be free.
The man forgot the other price of his freedom. He had to abandon Cara for good; otherwise, Severine would kill him. Cara shifted from mistress to collateral victim of the macabre player's play.
A prompt knock on the door interrupted the couple's tête-à-tête, and the glares softened. "I'm so proud of you," Alexis said, taking Severine into his arms in front of Damien Horace, the campaign operating director and a man she had never seen. Severine stood stiff in Alexis' arms, but only the man who held her felt her body's resistance.
"Your speech was perfect. When did you change it?" Damian asked.
"On the stage as I spoke." Severine's two-page speech evoked her campaign promises and how she would keep her word. Somehow, it didn't feel right. Severine whiffed the trap that would have reminded her of her speech if she ever failed to achieve her plans. Also, she was too lost for words and out of breath at the fatal instant to develop the wordy thread.
"Madame la president avec tout mon respects ne prenez pas the telles risques."
"What risk did I take, Damian?"
"Your speeches are approved by the party, which has ready-made answers in case of protests or misinterpretation. Freestyling doesn't give slack time."
"Then prepare for all eventualities. It's what you paid for, Damian; my speech is free. I won't adapt my words to the party's or your liking, so adapt."
They spoke as though Alexis wasn't there. The husband stood like a plant pot and walked out of the room like a purse by his wife's side.
He who dreamt of being president becameㅡwhat was he?
ㅡThe first man.
In the U.S., the term first gentleman was used for a man married to a president just in case a woman became president, but France had none.
YOU ARE READING
LA PRESIDENTE
ChickLitSeverine wanted power, and now she's got it. Scandals plague her post-election, and Severine wonders if she'll survive her term. As if the tabloids weren't enough, she finds herself in the worst political situation of cohabitation at the National A...
