Page 4 of Ruthless Prince
I nodded and pressed my lips into a thin line. “Yeah, he was. Poorguy.”
“At least your mother knows what she’s doing. Makes me shudder to think what might’ve happened if another VP had been in office when Rutherford died. Imagine a Miller presidency,” Dad went on, referring to the man who’d once been rumored to be Rutherford’s chosen running mate in the 2016 election, before he picked my motherinstead.
I looked over at her again. “Yeah. She’s doing a good job. Everyone seems to love her. Even the Democrats likeher.”
Since Rutherford’s untimely death from a massive heart attack, my mother had taken to the presidency like a duck to water. While her predecessor had been very popular, she was now polling just as well. She would serve out the remainder of Rutherford’s term—around two and a half years—and when the next election came, she’d likely win by a landslide unless another equally-popular Republican candidate showedup.
The other side didn’t stand a chance. Before Rutherford showed up on the scene in 2016, the Democratic Party had been in control of the country for four concurrent terms. A huge scandal involving tax evasion and prostitutes had erupted during the 2016 primaries, however, miring the party in shame and dishonor for years to come. It was unfortunate that a few rogue senators could destroy an entire party’s credibility so easily, and for so long, but that was politics. It would be a long time before voters trusted the Democratsagain.
“You must be proud of her,” I went on, turning my gaze back to myfather.
His brows drew together, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “Of course. Very proud,” hemuttered.
I put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay, Dad? You seem kind ofupset.”
His face brightened, and he cleared his throat. “I’m fine. I think the lobster is just disagreeing with my stomach,” he said. “I better make a trip to the men’s room. Why don’t you go and talk to your friends? Or ‘besties’. Whatever you kids are calling it thesedays.”
The smile on his face seemed forced, but I returned it anyway. “Sure. See youlater.”
I watched him hurry away, worrying my lower lip between my teeth. Dad had been behaving strangely lately. He seemed upset or nervous about something. At first I put it down to stress over suddenly being catapulted into the public eye as the country’s ‘first husband’, but whenever I asked him about it, he claimed he was fine and happy with his newposition.
It was odd. We’d always been close, so it didn’t make sense that he’d suddenly started hiding his worries from me. I guess he didn’t want to unload too much on me, though. He knew I had a lot of my own stress to deal with, because being the president’s daughter wasn’t exactly a cakewalk. Half the time I felt like I was on the verge of having a heart attack out of sheernervousness.
Blowing out a deep breath, I crossed the room, stiletto heels clicking on the parquet flooring as I approached Marissa Leahy, Kate Astor, and Simone Westwood. They were the ‘besties’ my father had referred to earlier, although calling them that was a bit of astretch.
We were mostly friends due to proximity. We were all daughters of prominent government figures, we all attended the same exclusive private school when we were kids, and we all lived in the same picture-perfect world of upper-class D.C. politics. The three girls could be extremely catty and cruel, though, as I’d discovered when I heard them trashing me a few months ago when they thought I wouldn’thear.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have much else in the way of female friendship, especially now that my mom was thepresident.
It was hard enough to try and make new friends at college when she was VP, but now it was impossible. I had an army of intimidating Secret Service agents shadowing me whenever I was on campus, and most people avoided me or looked at me like I had twoheads.
It was a lonely existence, but I didn’t bother telling people that anymore. I’d tried in the past, but all I got were eye-rolls and comments about how lucky I was.You’re famous,they’d say.The media calls you Princess Willow. Other girls would kill to beyou!
Marissa fawned all over me as soon as I stepped up to the group. “Willow! You look amazing. Love thatgown!”
Ever since I became first daughter, she’d been a lot nicer to me. No surprisesthere.
I smiled. “Thanks. You all look greattoo.”
“Have you met any British hotties tonight?” Kate asked, craning her neck as she looked around. “I haven’t seen any talentyet.”
I shrugged. “I haven’t really beenlooking.”
“Ugh, you’re such a prude,” she said with a pout. Then she let out a tinkling laugh. “Justkidding!”
“Oh, Willow, I saw something that reminded me of you earlier today,” Simone said, blue eyes sparkling. Out of the three girls, she was the only one I even remotely trusted. She’d stuck up for me in a vague way when the others were bitching about me behind my back, even though she was usually a total follower, so I had to respect her forthat.
“Yeah?” I tilted my head to theside.
“I saw a girl riding the most adorable vintage Vespa. Remember that blue one you used to have back in high school?” she said. “It was like that, but it was palepink.”
“Soundscute.”
“What happened to yours, anyway?” she asked, brows knitting. “You used to be obsessed with thatthing.”
That was true. When my mother was still the Governor of Maryland, I had a bit of an obsession with motorcycles. I begged my parents to let me get one when I turned sixteen, but the answer was always a firm ‘no way’. My mother had serious political aspirations, and having a teenage daughter roaming the streets on a high-powered bike was a definite no-no. It simply wasn’t dignifiedbehavior.
However, my father eventually wore her down and made a compromise, and on my sixteenth birthday, I received a pale blue vintage Vespa. My mother thought that the Italian scooter looked elegant and classy enough to fit the image she was trying to cultivate, and in the end, if I was old enough to drive, she knew she couldn’t really stop me. As long as I agreed to have a GPS tracking device attached to the scooter, I was allowed to take it out for shortrides.
