HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 9: Apology Unsatisfactory

At Senator Marcos praise of me, the crowd turns on Thea and her unnecessary outburst.

"A lady should know better than to speak so loudly, especially if she doesn't know what she's talking about," says one of the guests to his wife. The words are spoken at a normal volume, but with the hush of the crowd, they are audible to all those nearby.

"Kaylee may be the biological daughter of Peter, but she shows none of his wit or intelligence," the wife replies. "Good thing her father missed this event, or he would undoubtedly be embarrassed."

"Ashamed, more likely," adds a nearby guest holding a mostly-empty wineglass. "For his own flesh and blood to behave no better than some uneducated backwoods hillbilly."

The words land like blows on Kaylee, who pales.

With each word, Kaylee pales, tears welling in her eyes.

"Rafha may be the adopted one in the family, but she seems to be the one who inherited their father's poise and intellect," another adds.

Stricken, Kaylee gasps a sharp, wet breath, and then turns and runs.

Samuel shoots me a dagger-edged glare, though he makes no move to follow and comfort his date. He truly has no idea how to properly treat a woman—neither his wife nor his mistress.

As the whispers die down or turn to other topics, I once more thank Senator Marcos for his kind words.

"Thank you for recognizing the details," I tell him.

He smiles kindly. "Only a truly thoughtful person would make such an effort. This is something I will remember. As will my son." Senator Marcos motions to the nearby Miles, who, with his arms crossed, appears somewhat bored now.

"If you will excuse me," Senator Marcos says and joins another group for conversation.

I have questions for Sandro. Mainly, why he would choose to throw me under the bus like he did by accusing me of having offended him. If I truly did offend him, that is something I wish to rectify. Our night together was based on a misunderstanding. A simple apology should resolve things.

Before I can reach him, though, I am intercepted by an expensively dressed man and woman blocking my path. I recognize them as the Romualdez, old money, important donors to both of Marcos campaigns.

Unfortunately, people like this are not easily shaken. Because they've donated money, they feel entitled to everyone's time, even those who have little to nothing to do with their candidates.

"The event is wonderful, Rafha," Mr. Romualdez says. "Very charming and quaint."

Quaint is not a word I would personally use to de—Quaint is not a word I would personally use to describe $50,000 worth of decorations and food inside a highly elite country club, but then I'm not a billionaire like Mr.Romualdez .

"We are curious, however," Mrs. Romualdez adds, "what exactly did you do to offend our dear Sandro?"

I can't exactly say that I had a one-night stand with Sandro thinking he was a just a DJ , but, at the same time, I can't say nothing at all either.

Thinking back to Sandro annoyed expression as Kaylee cut into me, I wonder if maybe I read this situation all wrong. Maybe Sandro isn't truly offended at all. Maybe he was simply teasing me.

I'm taking a gamble, relying on that sudden idea. If I tell the lie that's quickly forming in my mind, and Sandro is truly offended, this could all blow up in my face.

Well, no one can say that I never take risks.

"The last time I met Representative Marcos, I tripped and fell straight into him. He helped me..."

"Of course, courteous as he is, he helped me. Unfortunately, in my embarrassment, I forgot to thank him properly and even stepped on his shoes with my high heels, damaging them."

Mrs. Romualdez places her hand over her heart. "How terrible!"

I nod in agreement, keeping my face serious and my posture demure. "I wanted to pay for repairs, but in my folly, I only offered $100."

Mr. George laughs slightly. He's clearly enjoying this conversation—and my misfortune. "Sandro would never wear shoes that cost less than $10,000 a pair."

"Even that amount seems conservative," Romualdez adds. To me, she says, "You poor dear. You truly had no idea, did you?"

"She meant well," Sandro says, suddenly very close to my side. It takes all my willpower not to startle, though my eyes go wide. Sandro smiles at my reaction. "Even if her offer was misguided."

He's playing along. Thank God.

I bow slightly in respect and apology. "I'm deeply sorry for the damage I caused, as well as my rudeness. I would be happy to replace your damaged shoes, no matter the cost."

Behind us, the orchestra begins to play some of Senator Marcos favorite big band songs. We've hired a crooner too, though the first song is more of a warm-up for the band. Singing and dancing will start soon.

"I accept your gift," Sandro says.

"How generous," Mrs. Romualdez adds.

Mr. Romualdez attention shifts elsewhere. "Darling, this is my favorite song." He holds out his arm for his wife, who immediately takes it. "If you both will excuse us."

I lift my head to nod. Sandro says, "Enjoy."

Then, once they are gone, Sandro's smile sharpens into a mischievous smirk. It's a look that I'm quickly learning to be nervous about.

"Thank you for accepting my apology," I say.

"I accepted your gift, not your apology. You can't possibly expect that replacing my shoes will be enough."

Oh, how foolish of me to think that a simple apology would be enough, just because he went along with my lie.

Sandro is a troublemaker through and through, and apparently a difficult, stubborn one at that.

What will he have me do next? Grovel on the ground? Kiss his feet?

But do I deserve any better? Even though Samuel cheated first, I stepped out on my husband. I, as an older woman, shared one night of pleasure with a younger man. I confused a House Representative with a DJ.

Maybe these are sins, maybe they are mistakes. Either way, I should have been more thoughtful and more careful.

Gathering the remaining shreds of my dignity, I—I pull myself upright, back straight, and ask, "What more do you want from me?"

Sandro's grin adds teeth. "When you put it like that..." A fire sparks in his eyes that sends shivers down my spine. Just like that, I am transported to a soft mattress. Wrapped in tangled sheets, I clawed at the pillow as Miles pressed inside me.

"There you are," says Samuel, approaching us. His voice breaks me from my fantasy as abruptly as if he had just splashed cold water over my head. "Forgive my intrusion, but I must speak with my wife—"

"Your wife just asked me what she could do to correct her slight against me." Sandro's smile dims as he looks at Samuel. "I have decided I'm feeling generous today and will only ask for one more thing."

Samuel face scrunches up in confusion and annoyance. "Why tell me? Unless her buffoonery also brings me down..." He shoots me another—Samuel shoots me a glare, even fiercer than the first. "I've warned you not to embarrass me."

Sandro's eyes narrow slightly at Garnar's words, but he otherwise seems to ignore them.

"Mr. Samuel, I wish to ask if I may be permitted to dance the first dance with your wife," Sandro says.

This time, despite my willpower, I do startle. Of all the things he could have wanted from me, I never would have expected that!

Samuel is surprised too, speechless.

Sandro slides his mischievous gaze to me. "That is, if she can refrain from stepping on my feet this time..."