The Traitor ✓ (Book Six)

Chapter Forty Six

We arrive at the hotel Maria picked out while we were in an Uber, telling the driver to just drop us off somewhere downtown. Marie tried to be humble, but there's one thing she clearly won't hesitate to spend money on:

five star hotels.

Because now, even before we've gone it- I can tel what it's going to be like. Compared to some of the surrounding buildings, it looks brand new. It screams luxury in a way that nothing else does, the point being made by a doorman standing by the doors and free bikes in front for the guests to use.

Neither of us know how to ride an un motered one, so it's not like it matters anyways.

When we enter, we're immediately greeted by a good ten people- like they were on standby waiting for somebody to walk through the door. They take our bags before we have a chance to protest or ask them for a room.

"Maria Hernandez-" The front desk attendee smiles. "You are such an inspiration I mean.... Crap I'm sorry for bothering you. I could-"

"It's fine, really." Maria stops her rambling. "And thank you."

"I could get you the penthouse suite." She continues.

"It's not taken?"

"Oh, no ma'm. We don't get very many guests because of how expensive it is here but.... Because of that we're able to stay open."

"I guess.... We'll have it then. How much?"

"Twenty four thousand Canadian dollars a night."

"Alright-" Maria starts pulling her wallet out like it's a muscle memory.

"Jesus Christ-" I choke. "Hold on a second, can we at least talk about this first?"

  I gently pull her aside, and she's genuinely confused. This is how I know, once again- we will never see eye to eye on money.

  "What?"

  "Is... twenty thousand dollars just.... Not a lot of money to you? I mean you could donate it or-"

  "I donate plenty of money-" She scoffs. "Besides, this card is connected to my dad's account- not mine. As stuck up as this sounds he literally will not notice it's gone."

  "Maria-"

  "Sleep on the floor if you want, I don't care." She angrily pushes past me. The when she's halfway between me and the front desk, she pauses. "I'll be sleeping in a bed worth the same amount as my entire room. Men- what is it why y'all thinking you have any control over your partners money? Don't answer that."

  I wasn't going to, I think to myself.

  But there is one thing sticking in my head: She called me her partner. That word is reserved for serious relationships only.... For people you wouldn't mind spending the rest of your life with.

  She hears herself at the same time I do. Her eyes widen.

  "You're gonna pretend you didn't hear that." She commands.

  "But-"

  "Just.... Give me a minute." She shakes her head as she walks away.

  This is wrong. The past two minutes have felt all sorts of wrong. I lean against an over-decorated support beam. Sure, when we planned this trip I protested, but it wasn't a fight.

What just happened.... I think it was one.

My parents fought just about every day.... But there was one good one.

On my eleventh birthday, they made it a point to ignore their own problems so I could have a decent one. I was woken up by the smell of pancakes and bacon( this was before veganism was the norm, before you had to ask for a carcass based option, and I was eleven so I didn't know any better) and my siblings were all at friends houses.

Sleepy eyed from going to bed at midnight, I walked to the kitchen and peeked around the corner before entering. They were laughing, happy for once.... Which made me happy.

I never had a birthday like that again.

I promised myself that day that I would stay with the mother of my children and pretend to be happy in front of them even if we weren't, because it wouldn't be the child's fault. My parents were an example of that.

How did the thought of my potential children come from a fight with Maria?

  From inside my pocket, my phone rings and I nearly jump- it's another unknown number.
I glance around the lobby. A few employees linger and Maria's still talking to the front desk lady.

  I slide behind the support beam and then walk down a hallway near it until I think I'm out of hearing range. If Lauren really meant what she said, she could have anybody that overhears killed.

  I pick up.

"Hello, Madam President."

  "James."

  "Let me explain-"

  "Was I not fucking clear?"

  "Yes..... yes you were." I gulp.

  "Then why is there a picture of a guy in Nova Scotia trending right now for 'looking exactly like the man behind the 2023 attack?' For fucks sake-"

  "Lauren don't start." I snap. "You threatened to kill my girlfriend simply for knowing. Now I am sorry about what happened to you, and I'm also beyond grateful for the pardon you gave me, but if you only did it so you could control my life, fuck you."

A hand flies over my mouth, though there's no one around to see. I just.... told the President of the United States to..... oh my god.

  "I'd be careful if I were you." She warns after a long pause. "I'll send the private jet for you in two days. When you get back to Costa Rica.... If you ever leave it again, I will kill you."

  She hangs up. My blood runs cold.

  The presidency has changed her more than I could ever imagine. I wonder if she was like this all along.... But just hid it better.

  Because while I was still working for her, her personality behind closed doors was the same as it was in public.

  I wonder when the last time she truly smiled was.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I'm sorry too."