HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 23: He'll Never Want You

"I'll be fine," I tell Cloudine.

She doesn't seem particularly concerned about leaving me alone with Ash. She knows I can handle myself. More than anything, she seems annoyed by the interruption.

"We'll talk later," Cloudine says as she stands. It's a clear threat. She doesn't acknowledge Ash, stepping around her and exiting the tent.

"How can I help you, Ash?" I ask, trying to be diplomatic, as my father taught me. I harbor no ill will toward Ash, and I don't believe I've done anything to provoke her anger. It seems pointless for us to be at odds.

"You can stay away from Sandro," Ash snaps.

Oh. So that's what this is about.

As far as I know, Sandro and Ash aren't dating. If they were, Sandro would have introduced her as more than just a "childhood friend." Perhaps Ash wants more, but either Sandro doesn't reciprocate, or Ash is too hesitant to pursue him properly.

I feel sympathy for her. My own feelings for Sandro are a constant turmoil, and I've only known him a few days. To have grown up with him while harboring a secret crush must be its own kind of torment.

But that doesn't justify us hating each other. Once I clarify things, Ash will see I'm not the enemy she thinks I am.

"He's nice to everyone, young and old," Ash says. "You shouldn't read too much into it."

I close my mouth, not liking the way her glare sharpened when she said the word "old."

She continues, while I'm still reeling from the insult. "You shouldn't think you have a chance with him. Even if you weren't married, though with how often your husband steps out on you, you might as well not be. Sandro is an actual congressman. Despite your father's status, you choose to work at a country club."

Her insults cut deeply. How does she know so much about Samuel? Yes, she's a journalist, so she might have her ear to the ground, but has he really been so careless with his affairs? And to criticize my job?

"I suppose a job here is better than being unemployed. Though—weren't you a housewife? Some older journalists mention your family, but they often leave out when they refer to you. 'She's just the housewife,' they'd say."

Her barbed words are almost unbearable. Does she really hate me this much just for being rescued by Sandro? Or is she simply this crude?

"Aside from your marriage, your lack of a career, and your failure to live up to your father's name, there's one glaring issue you can't fix, no matter how hard you try," Ash says.

I lift my chin, feeling defiant. "And what's that?"

Ash crosses her arms. "Your age," she sneers, and I struggle to keep from slapping the smug look off her face.

Ash has a perfect twenty-something body, fit and unblemished, with no gray hairs or wrinkles. I bet she can get out of bed on a cold morning without a creak in her joints. But just wait until she hits 30, when her body will change, her metabolism will slow, and wrinkles will appear.

But she doesn't have to wait for any of that. For me, it's already my reality.

"As a mature woman," Ash continues, "you should know better than to think you stand a chance with Sandro. You'd never be able to satisfy him."

He was well satisfied the night we were together, but I'll take that secret to my grave.

Maybe it's because I'm a bit older and have more experience with these things, but the more I listen to Ash's tirade, the more I see a scared, jealous young woman desperately clinging to something she fears losing.

At one point, I might have acted like this to keep Samuel, back before he proved his love for me was only a facade.

Ash takes a breath, preparing to continue.

God help me, I don't think I can endure more.

"Ash," I say sharply, cutting her off. She opens her mouth again, clearly annoyed, but I speak quickly, "I have no intention of pursuing Sandro, romantically or otherwise."

Ash stares at me, mouth agape. Then she asks, "You don't?"

"No." I shake my head for emphasis. "Sandro has only ever been a friend to me. And a recent one at that. His rescue today speaks to his character, but it doesn't reflect any feelings we might share."

Ash narrows her eyes. "He seemed protective of you. The way he held you..."

"He just wanted to make sure I didn't fall off the horse. As you can see, I'm injured," I say, gesturing to my bandages. "If I'd fallen, I'd be in worse shape."

"He is chivalrous... to a fault," Ash says.

"I shouldn't need to remind you that I'm married," I reply. "Despite the state of my marriage—which I ask you not to delve into too deeply—Samuel and I are still together. I wouldn't and couldn't move on with someone else until that changes."

"He's moved on."

I suspect Samuel has been unfaithful from the start, but I can't admit that to a journalist, even one who seems to know more than I'd expected. She might be guessing, but I can't confirm or deny anything.

"That's all I have to say," I tell Ash, hoping this will end the discussion.

She considers me for a moment, her expression thoughtful but silent. After a long pause, she finally says, "See that you don't change your mind. Sandro will never want you. I can guarantee it."

Ash turns on her heel and walks out of the medical tent.

I watch her, admiring her determination, even if it was directed against me. She's probably a good journalist with that kind of tenacity—always chasing a story and never giving up.

In a way, she might be the perfect match for Sandro. Her drive would push him forward, whereas I would only hold him back.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I don't understand the lingering hurt in my chest, even after the conversation is over.