Affairs of State (Daughters of Power: The Capital #6)(16)
Author: Jennifer Lewis

But Simon’s face was like stone. “I’ll have a talk with them.” He frowned. “I’m sorry they made you feel uncomfortable.”

“I was fine, really. It was fun. I’ve never been to a polo match before and I loved watching you play.”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’ll sort them out.”

“There’s no need, really!” Her voice sounded too loud. Would they tell him what they’d told her? That he’d lose Whist Castle and his charity if he dared not to toe the royal party line? “I need to get dressed and throw my stuff back in my bag. And do you have the number for a taxi?”

“A taxi!” He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. “There’s no way anyone but me is driving you to that airport. And it’ll be a miracle if I don’t make you deliberately miss your plane.”

“Then my partner, Scarlet, will kill me. She’s been holding down the fort by herself all week.”

“She can’t kill you if she can’t find you.” He raised a brow and mischief twinkled in his eyes again.

“She can send out a hit man. They’re good at tracking people. They can probably trace my cell phone.”

“They’d have to get past the palace guards.” He kissed her face and cheeks and lips. She shivered, hot pleasure rising inside her. “It can be handy living in a fortress.”

“I see that.” Her hands roamed over the muscle of his back. “I think I could get used to it.” It was so easy to talk to him and tease him. He never made her feel like he was a prince and she was a commoner. With him she felt they were on the same team and could take on the world together.

The alarm sounded again. She pushed him back, very reluctantly, and leaped out of bed. “Duty calls.”

“Being in the army I know all about that, so I suppose I’ll have to go along with it.”

They dressed and had a quick breakfast, then Simon drove her to Heathrow. They kissed in the car where no one could see, but he insisted on walking her into the terminal. She saw a photographer’s flash out of the corner of her eye as they said a chaste goodbye.

Move along, she wanted to say. There’s nothing to see here. She felt numb as she checked her bag and moved through customs. Would he really come to D.C. to see her? Or would the queen and Uncle Derek make him give her up and turn his attention back to his royal duties?

Somehow she had to go from the most intense and wonderful romance of her life to…nothing. Maybe she’d never see him again except on the pages of a glossy magazine. She sank into her airplane seat feeling hollow and deflated.

Until she checked her phone and discovered that she was about to finally meet her famous father.

Eight

A brief text from Liam Crowe, the head of ANS, told her the taping was scheduled for Tuesday, only two days away, and everyone at the network was scrambling to pull it together. Ariella had barely arrived home and unpacked before Francesca, Liam’s wife, came over to help her prep for the taping.

“It seems shallow to ask, but what do you think I should wear?” They both sat at her kitchen table, sipping herbal tea. Her nerves were firing like bullets. “I usually wear black but I’ve heard that doesn’t look good on video. It disappears or something. I don’t want it to vanish and leave me stark nak*d on national television.”

Francesca’s bold laugh filled the room. “It looks a bit flat, that’s all. But colors do usually work better. Let’s go look at your wardrobe.”

They walked into the bedroom. Ariella opened her closet door sheepishly. The apartment was old, from an era when people had maybe five to ten outfits. Her collection of clothes looked ready to burst out and start running.

“How do you find anything in here?”

“My first boss used to have a sign on her desk that read, ‘This is not a mess on my desk, it’s a wilderness of free association.’ I took it as inspiration.”

“It’s a wilderness, all right.” Still, Francesca dove boldly in and pulled out a knee-length red sheath. “Red portrays confidence.”

“That I don’t feel. I think I should go low-key.”

“You? You’re practically a princess. How about this royal blue?” She held up a matching top and skirt in an intense shade.

“I am sooo not practically a princess. Believe me. I was way out of my league with his family.”

“You met the queen?” Francesca grabbed her arm.

She nodded. “We made small talk. It was scary.” Ariella reached in for a quiet gray jacket and skirt. “How about this?”

“Way too mousy.” Francesca shoved it back. “I can’t believe you met the queen. I love her. She’s so old-fashioned.”

“Exactly. The kind of person who’s horrified by the prospect of her grandson dating an Amerrrrican.” She managed to roll her Rs. Then sighed. “He’s sweet but it’s one of those things with no future.”

“I’ll have to read your tea leaves when we’re done picking your outfit.”

“Does that work when you’re using a tea bag?”

“It does require more creativity, but I have plenty of that.”

“Let’s just stay focused on getting me through this taping in one piece. How about this lilac number?”

Francesca surveyed the dress. “Perfect. Fresh and young, yet sophisticated and worldly.”

“I’m glad that’s settled. Will I get to meet the pres— I mean, my father, before the taping starts?”

Francesca hesitated. “Liam and I did talk about that. He wants you to meet for the first time on air, for maximum dramatic impact. I told him this isn’t a primetime special—well, it is—but it’s your real life. If you don’t like the idea of meeting him under the studio lights, I’ll beg and plead until he gives in.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind meeting him on camera. In a way it might help as I’ll have to keep a lid on my emotions.”

“Oh, don’t do that. It’s bad for ratings.” Francesca winked.

“Liam would rather have me blubbering and calling him Daddy?”

“Absolutely.”

She blew out a breath. “Yikes. That’s not really me. I’m known for being calm under pressure. I’m afraid I won’t give good TV.”

“You just be yourself, and we’ll let Liam worry about the ratings.”

* * *

Ariella’s usually calm demeanor was trembling. Her hands kept shaking as she tried to apply her mascara. Her lips quivered as she smoothed on her lipstick. Even her hair seemed jumpy. In seventeen minutes—not that she was counting—she’d be sitting on a sound stage with the man who shared half her DNA. She wasn’t that nervous about the television cameras, or even the audience of millions that would supposedly be tuning in. She was nervous about what she’d see when she looked into Ted Morrow’s face.

Would his expression encourage her to build a relationship that could shape the rest of her life? Or would he be wearing that mask of genial competence that had helped him clinch the election? She knew that mask. She wore it herself a lot. In fact, she planned on wearing it tonight.

She hoped that this meeting might be the start of a relationship between them, but she was keeping her hopes in check since he didn’t know her well enough to trust her. He might not want to get close to anyone new. He was in a position of power and influence that made him strangely vulnerable. He probably didn’t want to share intimacies and feelings with a stranger who might turn around and repeat them to the press, or even to her friends. Still, she knew she’d be disappointed if she didn’t feel even a little bit closer to him after tonight.

“We’re on in five!” The perky production assistant stuck her head around the corner. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She stood up on shaky legs and smoothed out the skirt of her lavender dress.

“You can come sit in the green room. The president is chatting with Liam so you won’t meet him until we’re on air.”

“It’s going to be totally live?” There’d been some back and forth about whether it would be taped and then edited, but the ANS producer had reassured her that if it was live she was actually more in control of the final output than if it ended up in the hands of directors and editors. Apparently live was also better for ratings.

“Yup. No delay. No one expects either of you to start cursing or doing anything else that needs to be tweaked before it goes out.” The PA squeezed her arm. “You’ll be great. Just remember not to talk too fast and try not to look at the cameras.”

“Okay.” She said it to reassure herself as much as the PA. What if she froze and couldn’t speak? What if she passed out in a dead faint? Whatever happened would be seen live by millions of curious onlookers.

She followed the PA into the green room, which wasn’t green at all but mostly gray and had two sofas and some chairs. A jug of water, glasses and a basket of muffins. She certainly didn’t have any appetite. She sat on one of the sofas and smiled weakly.

The PA looked at a sheet of paper in her hand. “Barbara Carey will be going in first to introduce you, then the president will come in.” Celebrity journalist Barbara Carey was known for her ability to make all her interviewees cry. They’d probably picked her just for that reason. No matter what happened, Ariella was sure she wouldn’t cry. All she had to do was stay calm, be polite and survive the half-hour ordeal.

A light went on near the door marked Studio C. “Has the show started?”

“Yup, they’re taping. Get ready.” She ushered Ariella over to the door, and opened it quietly. The lights blinded her as she stepped onto a big sound stage with cameras on all sides. Barbara Carey was sitting in a set that looked a bit like a living room, with soft chairs and a potted plant. There was an empty chair on either side of her. In a few seconds she’d be sitting in one of those looking at her father.

Her heart clenched and unclenched and she tried to keep her breathing steady.

Barbara Carey’s voice filled the air. “…a young woman who’s been plucked out of obscurity and thrust onto the world stage by the startling revelation that her father is none other than the president of the United States. Ariella Winthrop.” The PA had maneuvered her just outside the scene, so she plunged forward. Barbara stood and she shook her hand, then she sat in the seat indicated. Where was the president? She fought the urge to look around to see if he was standing offstage somewhere.

“Did you have any idea at all that your father was Ted Morrow?” Up close Ariella could see that Barbara Carey was wearing a tremendous amount of makeup, including long false eyelashes.

“Not until I read it in the papers like everyone else.”

“Had your parents told you that you were adopted?” She leaned in, sincerity shining in her famous blue eyes.

“Oh, yes, I always knew that I was adopted. They told me my mother was unmarried and too young to provide for me and that she gave me up so that I could have a better life.” Her thoughts strayed to Eleanor, so nervous and desperate to hide from the limelight. She’d rather die than be here on this stage.

“And did you ever hope to meet your birth parents?”

“I didn’t.” She frowned. People probably thought it shallow, but it was the truth. “I considered my adoptive parents to be my mother and father.”

“But they died in a tragic accident. Surely you must have wondered about the man and woman that gave you life?”

“Maybe I didn’t let myself wonder. I didn’t want to try to replace my mother and father in any way.” This was turning out to be more of an interview than she expected, and making her nervous. She wished they’d hurry up and bring Ted Morrow out. She probably wasn’t giving them the emotional yearning they were hoping for. “But I’m glad of the opportunity to meet my father.”

No one knew she’d already met her mother. She’d sworn to keep it a secret, and she’d stand by her promise.

“And you shall.” Barbara Carey stood. “Let me introduce you to your father, President Ted Morrow.”

A hush fell over the room as she rose to her feet, peering into the darkness just beyond the studio lights. The familiar face of the president emerged, tall, handsome, smiling. He looked at her and their eyes met. Her breath stuck in her lungs as he thrust out his hand and she took it. His handshake was firm and warm and she hoped it would go on forever. His eyes were so kind, and as she looked into them she saw them brimming with emotion. “Hello, Ariella. I’m very happy to meet you.” His voice was low and gruff.

Her heart beat faster and faster and her breathing grew shallow. “I’m very pleased to meet you, too.” The polite words did nothing to express the deep well of emotion suddenly rushing inside her.