Page 88 of Blind Prophet

“Oxygen.”

The answer is painfully honest. I suffocated in his world until I reached a do-or-die juncture.

“Hmm.” His response vibrates from his chest through my spine. “The attention?”

“It wasn’t just that. You expected me to give up everything. For my days to circle yours, for my purpose to be you, and I know…you deserve a woman who will give up everything to be with you. But I wasn’t strong enough.” I’m not strong enough now. Or am I misspeaking? Is it stronger to endure an unhealthy relationship, or stronger to enact change for a better situation?

“I’d argue the opposite.”

Of course, he would.

His fingers glide along my arm, dip into the water, and cup my breast. I love the ease with which he touches my body. I’ve missed the intimacy between us.

That’s not correct. I’ve missed intimacy, period.

“You were a beacon of strength. Instead of falling in line with my father’s expectations, you walked away. It’s something I’ve never done.”

That catches my attention. “Are you not leading the life you want?”

Of course, he is.

“Look at everything you’ve done. You envisioned Zenith and created it. You’re chairman of the board of Bedrock, a position your father dangled like a carrot. People are floating your name as a presidential contender.”

“I don’t have the patience for politics.”

I turn against him, my smile wide and teasing. “What exactly do you call chief of staff?”

“A limited engagement that would allow me to reset the course of the current administration and ensure defense priorities align with Zenith. Plus, it’s access to the heads of state from around the world.” He weaves his fingers through mine and submerges our linked fingers below the waterline. “That’s all it would be. It’s not a lifelong dream of mine.”

“Contracts?” He’s referring to coveted Department of Defense contracts. “You mentioned earlier about government contracts and conflicts of interest. What exactly would something like that be worth?”

“Over ten years, we’re talking over a trillion dollars.”

“And no one would care about that size of a conflict of interest?”

“Anyone in government possesses personal interest.”

“You mean corruption?”

He lifts our joined hands and playfully nips at my nail.That’s not an answer.

“Am I to take it that selling you on joining me as first lady would be a challenge?”

“I thought you just said you don’t want to be president?” I twist so I can observe his facial expressions and read the truth.

“I don’t.” He sighs. “Is it bad that I’m grateful for my father’s dementia? If he were as sharp as he was in the past, this farce would balloon out of control. He’d already be fundraising, and a strategist would’ve been hired. There’s no doubt I’d be in the primary. Can’t say I’d win, but?—”

“Americans love you. You’re well-spoken, photogenic, and pedigreed.”

“You make me sound like a prize dog.” His lips purse, and his eyes narrow. He squeezes my legs between his, the movement sending a wave of water cascading over the edge. “No, I wouldn’t be a serious candidate unless I promised the right things to the right leaders.”

“The oligarchs?”

“Let’s skip the bashing. But if my father were of sound mind, he’d be making those deals. I’d probably have a full-time campaign advisor camped out in a DC hotel.”

“Why didn’t your father ever run for president?”

“Eight wives? Documented pattern of adultery. For most of his life, he assumed he’d be too scandal-prone. Left politics to his brother. By the time he realized Americans no longer cared about sex scandals, he considered himself too old and he’d pissed off too many. Plus, he’d gone too long without a boss.”

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