Page 6 of Commander

Chapter Two

An hourafter leaving my office, I stepped out of my limo into a swarm of paparazzi lining the street outside of my designer friend Shawna Martinez’s DC showroom. My security team surrounded me, keeping the media a safe distance away. The normally twenty-minute drive was hindered by crowds at every turn. Someone from either the White House or Shawna’s staff had tipped off the news outlets that I’d be at the shop, and everyone wanted that last-minute picture of the bride-to-be and a possible peek at the wedding outfit.

No one knew that Shawna wasn’t the one designing my dress. In fact, I wasn’t wearing a dress at all. I planned to wear a traditional Indian wedding lengha. A three-piece ivory silk outfit embroidered with heavy silver beading as well as gold and intricate red stitching. I loved my heritage and wanted to add a piece of it to the very American-style wedding Ashur and I would have in less than three days’ time. I’d had a total of four outfits custom made for my short frame. Each ensemble made me feel gorgeous, a requirement for any woman about to walk down the aisle.

A small part of me was sad that I wouldn’t get the traditional Indian wedding I’d dreamed of since I was a kid with all the festivities and family and chaos. However, another part of me was glad—a modern wedding that was the polar opposite of what I wanted would keep me focused on the fact my marriage wasn’t anything more than a business agreement. I couldn’t afford to think otherwise, or I’d get tangled up in the emotions I’d locked away that long-ago summer.

A flash of camera lights snapped me out of my thoughts and made me growl inside.

“Ms. Zain, this way,” Casey said as we made our way into the building.

The second the doors closed, he gestured to the other agents to close the window shades of the shop.

A loud groan echoed through the glass.

Oh, the poor nosy papz would have to wait to get any more pictures. Maybe I should throw them a bone.

Not!

Tyler was right—gone were the days of midnight food runs or outings to dance clubs to meet up with friends on my days off from assignments. Now my life would be filled with meetings, charities, and galas.

I swallowed. Jesus. I wasn’t refined enough for this life. I was too opinionated, too bossy, and too liberal.

Why the fuck Ashur thought I’d make a great first lady was beyond me.

No matter what he’d pitched I knew better than to believe that without me he’d never win the election. I was probably more a liability than an asset.

My incident with the former president hadn’t been my first headline-making scandal. But it had been the most taxing. And the one that could have landed me in jail.

Ashur wanted something from me outside of sex that I hadn’t figured out yet, and I was the dumbass who’d agreed to marry him without all the facts. Whatever it was, it was too late to change my mind. Ashur and I were bound together for the rest of our lives.

And don’t forget, you need Ashur’s money to free Ameera.

At that moment, my phone rang. I paused in a hallway and reached into my purse. Taking a peek at the caller ID, I sighed. Of course, he’d call when I was thinking of him.

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“Hello, First Lady.” Ashur’s deep, raspy voice washed over me. “How is the fitting going?”

“It hasn’t started, and for the record, I’m not first lady yet,” I said a little too breathlessly.

What the fuck, Tara? How was I going to keep it businesslike when the sound of his voice made me think about things I should keep locked away?

“The ceremony is only a technicality. We’ve been legally wed for nearly two years now.”

“Most of the world doesn’t know this, including our families.” I tucked a stray hair behind my ear.

As part of our agreement, we’d legally wed a week after I’d agreed to marry Ashur. Marrying him meant there was no backing out, for him or me.

“I know and you know.” There was a tinge of possessiveness in his tone that made my heart beat a little faster.

“Ashur.”

“Ashu,” he countered.

I bit my lip and then responded. “You told me never to call you that, remember?”

He’d said those words out of hurt and anger, but the pain still lingered. It had been my pet name for him when we were young and stupid. Before the family interferences and the betrayals and the loss of my innocence and the view that the world wouldn’t let the bad guys win.

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