HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 8: This Event Is a Catastrophe

A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. I have no idea why Sandro is calling me out like this.

Could it be the check? Did I offend him so much that now he's taking it out on my husband? But surely he overheard Cloudine talking about how Samuel wants an open marriage. Does he think a happy wife would step out with someone she thought was a call boy?

Maybe he doesn't care about any of that.

He's the wild card. Unpredictable, unknowable.

Whatever comes next will be a surprise. I hold my breath, feeling very much like I'm teetering on the edge of a knife.

I may hate Samuel, but he needs his reputation to keep his job. And he needs that job to help take care of the girls. My own position wouldn't pay enough to maintain their current lifestyle.

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I want those girls to have the things they want. So that means I have to stand beside Samuel in this.

The feeling, I don't think, is mutual. Samuel glares at me with vicious disgust. He's blaming me for this. I suppose he has a right to.

I should have stayed home that night. I should have remained the good little housewife and let my wayward husband do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted.

Instead, I went to the bar. I met a man I thought was just a DJ. And we made love so hot and passionate, I felt like I came alive again, even if only for the course of one night.

I am cold again now. That man is betraying me, throwing me back into the cold, heartless lake that drowned me for ten years.

The eyes of everyone near enough to hear Sandro's words turn to me and gape.

"Didn't Rafha organize this event?" someone whispers.

"She seemed to do a good job," said another.

"She's always been very courteous to me," said a third.

"Her father is a good man," said a fourth.

Then, as if ascending from hell itself, Kaylee appears from the crowd and shouts, "Stop praising her. You think Rafha is incapable of doing anything wrong? Get over yourselves. This entire event is proof that she doesn't know anything!"

The crowd collectively gasps, then falls silent. But no one is more surprised to hear her raised voice than me.

Kaylee and I have never really gotten along, not since we were very young. But until my discovery of her affair with Samuel, I had no idea she hated me quite so much.

"Explain yourself," says someone in the crowd to Kaylee.

"Look around," Kaylee replies. "Mr. Marcos is a retiring senator, with a long, successful career be-"

"Does he truly deserve such shoddy decoration? Where is the luxury? Glass and platinum. Diamonds? I only see wilting flowers and drab colors. Daisies? Does anyone actually like daisies?"

The flowers are not wilting. They only arrived this morning. And the colors are soft pastels, which I researched and know are the Senator's favorites.

Senator Marcos is a down-to-earth kind of man. He never lived beyond his means. I tried to cater an event to his tastes, filled with flowers and natural displays.

"Golden sconces, can you imagine? That would be so much better than these beat-up old lanterns," Thea continues. "And the food. Who made this selection? Cold-cut sandwiches. So uninspired."

They are more than cold cuts thrown together. They are specially prepared sandwiches brought in from Senator Marcos favorite lunch restaurant.

I want to counter her words, but I'm not sure how without turning this into some kind of familial dispute. Samuel announced that Kaylee was my sister. To fight with her here would make everyone even more uncomfortable than her outburst is already making them.

Kaylee turns to me. "You don't belong here, Rafha. You should have stayed at home where Samuel left you."

As much as I don't want to, I'm starting to think that too.

I look at Sandro, not because I think he will defend me, but just because my eyes seem drawn that way. He's not looking at me, but at Thea. His face is entirely passive, though a storm is raging in his gaze.

I wish I knew him better so that I could understand what he's thinking, and so I could know why he's done this to me.

Is he so vindictive, so vengeful that he will stand there and condemn me to public humiliation?

If he is, though, he doesn't seem all that happy about it.

If he was enjoying this, wouldn't he smile at my misfortune?

I can't really read too much into this. It doesn't matter either way. What's done is done. I've been pushed, and now I'm taking the plunge.

"This entire event is a disgrace to Senator Marcos good name," Kaylee
says. "I could have done infinitely better. A trained baboon could have done better."

Senator Marcos and Mr. Carter step through the crowd. People step aside, making room for them to come through. When I see them, I hang my head even lower.

"Thea..." Garnar says weakly.

"No, Samuel. I'm tired of seeing Rafha ruin everything. It's time someone stood up and said something! This event is a disaster!"

"I disagree," says a calm, patient man.

I lift my head in time to see Senator Marcos step forward from the rest.

"I disagree wholeheartedly," he continues. "I was just telling Mr. Carter how thoughtful this event is, down to including my favorite sandwiches and my love of nature. Did you know, Miss Kaylee, that the daisy is my favorite flower?"

Thea goes pale. She glances at Sandro, like he's going to save her.

"Mine too," Sandro says.

Once more, pride surges through me. They recognized my effort. They see all the thought that I put into catering to them.

This party is for them. It should suit their needs, whatever those needs may be.

"I have fought hard to close diamond mines," Senator Marcos says. "Did you know that, Miss Kaylee? Diamond displays would be infinitely disrespectful." He clears his throat.

The senator says patiently, "Perhaps you should ask questions before speaking loudly."

Turning to the other guests, the senator laughs. "Though Lord knows I am used to such behavior on Capitol Hill."

The crowd laughs along with him, and as if he waved a magic wand, the awkwardness of the moment disappears.

"Mr. Carter," Senator Marcos says, "this event, in my humble opinion, is perfection. Good food. Good friends. And a grand end to a lifetime of servitude to my people. A drink, please."

One of the wait staff rushes to hand him a beverage. Once he's holding a tumbler of beer, he lifts it high.

"A cheer for Rockview Elite Country Club and their fine staff, including you, Mrs. Rafha Samson."

"Ohhh!" calls the crowd.

I lower my head, not in shame this time, but to hide my smile, my pride, and the tears welling in my eyes.

When the crowd settles, Senator Marcos approaches me on his own.

"Chin up, young lady," he says to me.

I smile wider, happy to be considered young, even by a much older man.

"You've done a fine job here today, and you should be very happy," he says.

"I am," I tell him.

Behind him, Sandro stands still where he has been since this all began. But now, his eyes are on me.