First Lady (46 page)

Not that there hadn’t been hard times, too. The worst had come when they’d lost their beloved nanny Tamarah to a virulent case of pneumonia, but even that had eventually led to joy. His chest filled with pride as he gazed at his only son, eight-year-old Andre.

Most families were made when sperm met egg, but his had been put together less conventionally with blood that was red, blue, and black. If families had pedigrees, his could only be classified as American mutt.

He realized it was time to play his part, and he proudly lifted the tattered Jorik family Bible. Nealy’s hand was steady as it rested on top. Steady at the helm of the Ship of State.

The occasion was a solemn one, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face when she began to speak.

“
I, Cornelia Litchfield Case Jorik . . .
”

After all these years, he still couldn’t quite believe that she’d taken his name.

“
. . . do solemnly swear . . 
.”

He held his breath.

“
. . . that I will faithfully execute . . .
”

Damn right she would.

“
. . . the office of President of the United States . . .
”

The President of the United States. His wife was finally claiming the job she’d been born to hold.

The country was lucky to have her. In addition to intelligence, she possessed vision, experience, integrity, and a stunning lack of personal ego. Just as important, her time in Congress had demonstrated her rare ability to bring people together, even longtime political enemies. Somehow she managed to get the most out of everyone, maybe because no one had the courage to disappoint her. She’d also aquired a bone-deep serenity that came from learning how to live a public life and still be true to herself.

“
. . .and will to the best of my ability . . .
”

He’d given a lot of thought to his new position as the republic’s first First Husband, and he intended to do a kick-ass job. He was the man who’d set the precedent for all the others who followed, and he understood his priorities.

Along with Nealy’s welfare came the well-being of his five children. In a series of columns he’d written since the election, he’d made it clear to the American public that he and the new President were the parents of kids who were sometimes angels, sometimes brats, and frequently everything in between. The President was answerable to the American people, but her children weren’t, and anybody who had a problem with that could just vote for someone else next election, then take the consequences.

“
. . . preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.
”

He was awed to think of his wife as the defender of that most precious document. And if she ever forgot, even for a moment, what a responsibility that was, he’d be right there to remind her. It was about time a topflight journalist had an inside seat on history, and Citizen Mathias Jorik had decided there was no more noble role for the First Husband than that of the people’s watchdog.

The next few hours flew by until it was finally time for the Inaugural Parade. He and Nealy had decided to walk the route, and they started off hand in hand with the kids following. Before long, however, Andre and Charlotte got into a spat and had to be separated. Holly was too young to walk for long, and she wanted to be carried. Then Charlotte wanted up, too, so he passed Holly off to Lucy.

Andre was definitely captivating the crowd, but Mat wondered if he and Nealy had made him too aware of his place in history as the first African-American child of a United States President. They exchanged amused glances as their eight-year-old son once more raised his small brown fist to the crowd.

Lucy’s arms wore out, and Mat put Holly into the limousine that was following them, with Jason Williams and Toni DeLucca doing honorary guard duty. Then Charlotte wanted in, too. Andre stuck it out nearly to the end before deciding his raised fist would look even more imposing coming from the open window of the presidential limousine. Within minutes, his sisters commandeered the opposite window so they, too, could demonstrate their solidarity with the African-American community.

Finally it was just the four of them, the way it had been eight years ago. Nealy walked slightly ahead, having the time of her life as she waved to the crowd. Lucy came up on one side of him, Button on the other. He wrapped an arm around each of them, then smiled to himself as he remembered how desperately he’d fought having a family. Now he was the most visible family man in the free world.

His beautiful oldest daughter gave him a hug. “It’s been a long strange journey, hasn’t it, Dad?”

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Me either.” Button momentarily rested her head against his chest, and he said a little prayer of thanksgiving that his worse nightmare, having a family, had come true. Then he let his daughters go so he could take his place next to his wife.

The new Commander in Chief’s eyes sparkled as she gazed up at him. “And to think I once risked everything to get out of the White House.”

“It was the second best decision you ever made, after marrying me.”

She smiled. “Have I told you that I love you?”

“You sure have.” And then, right in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue, with the whole world looking on, he planted a long, lingering kiss on the lips of the President of the United States.

Susan Elizabeth Phillips is one of our biggest women's fiction stars soaring onto the New York Times bestseller list with Dream a Little Dream. She's the only four-time recipient of Romance Writer's of America's prestigious Favorite Book of the Year Award. Susan delights fans by touching hearts as well as funny bones with her wonderfully whimsical and modern fairy tales. A resident of the Chicago suburbs, she is also a wife and mother of two grown sons.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

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Mobipocket Reader edition v 1. April 2002 ISBN: 0-0607-7122-4

First Avon Book Printing: February 1999

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