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“I’m sorry.” His tears had glistened. “I’m so sorry. ”
His betrayal ran so deep, she wanted to die, and at that moment, she’d hated him.
“I had to have a wife if I wanted to be President,” he said. “I’d always been so fond of you, and when your father started pushing us together, I—I—”
“You decided to use me,” she’d murmured. “You knew I’d fallen in love with you, and you used me.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“How could you do it?”
“I want to be President,” he said simply. “And there’d been some whispers.”
She hadn’t heard them. She’d never suspected a thing, not even before their marriage when he’d used the microscopic scrutiny they were receiving from the media as an excuse to postpone making love until they were married.
The morning after his confession she’d fled to Nantucket, where she’d sealed herself in the guest house of her father’s estate and tried to come to terms with what had happened. She’d made up her mind to get a quick divorce. Dennis deserved nothing better.
But every time she picked up the phone to call her attorney, she set it back down. Dennis had betrayed her, but he wasn’t evil. In every other way, he was the most decent man she knew. If she divorced him as he was launching his presidential campaign, she would ruin him. Was that what she wanted?
Part of her craved the revenge she deserved. But she’d never had an appetite for bloodlust, and her stomach rebelled each time she looked at the telephone.
It was Terry who’d finally talked her into continuing with the marriage. Terry, the funny, irreverent man she’d known as Dennis’s oldest friend, had barged into the guest house, poured her a drink, and looked her straight in the eye.
“Don’t divorce him, Nealy. Stick it out. You know there’s not another man running who’ll make as good a President.” His expression had been filled with urgency as he took her hands and squeezed them. “Please, Nealy. He never meant to hurt you. I think he convinced himself he could pull it off and you’d never know.”
“The lies people tell themselves.” She’d walked out on Terry and wandered the beach for hours, but he was still waiting when she returned.
“I’ll give him one term, and then I’m filing for divorce.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew that something was dying inside her, all her romantic dreams.
Terry, who did deadly imitations of their political opponents and loved to laugh, had started to cry. She realized he’d made a devil’s bargain of his own.
Afterward, Dennis did everything he could to show his gratitude. In all ways but the most essential, he was a wonderful husband. Although she could never entirely forgive him for his deceit, she didn’t want to become a victim of her own bitterness, and she forced herself to accept his friendship.
Her relationship with Terry was more complex. She held the place that was rightfully his, and some part of him resented her for it. At the same time, he was an honorable man, and he tried to compensate by becoming her tireless defender. It had been he, rather than her hardworking husband, who protected her from her father’s meddling. The night Dennis had died, she and Terry held each other, but even in the midst of her grief, she’d known his own ran deeper.
“How long did you stay married to him?”
“What?” She jumped as Mat’s voice penetrated her thoughts.
“Your gay husband. How long were you married?”
“A—a few years. And he wasn’t gay.”
“Come on, Nell. Why are you still trying to protect him?”
Because now she had his legacy to guard, and in some ways that was an even bigger responsibility than being his First Lady.
Mat set his Coke on the nightstand. “There’s a big hole in your story, you know. It’s a little hard to imagine why he’s trying so hard to find you.”
“It’s his family that wants to find me,” she managed. “They’re very conservative, and they’re determined to protect their image.”
He rose in a movement that was curiously graceful for such a large man. “Nell, I hope you’ve taken care of yourself. There are a lot bigger problems for women with gay husbands than a broken heart.”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant, and she wasn’t going to explain that there was no need to worry. “My husband was never promiscuous; he just loved someone else . . . another woman,” she repeated out of habit. “I’m not a fool, and I’m not a health risk to anyone. I was a blood donor less than a month ago. Can you say the same?”
“I’m not a fool, either,” he said quietly.
There was only one reason to have a discussion like this, and she felt too raw at the moment to face it. She set down her wineglass and stood. “I’m tired.”
