The Prime Minister's Wife - Edited

Chapter 1: Initial Meeting

I breathe in and out, trying to get my emotions under control. Why am I so nervous? I have been to many, many meetings as the wife of a Prime Minister.

Perhaps it is because this will be our first meeting with the President of the United States. My husband, Oliver, seemed extremely nonchalant of the matter, as if it was just another normal day. I had always admired that about him, how calm and collected he always remained.

Oliver's looks lived up to his name, he has olive skin and black wavy hair. His eyes the color of hazelnut - almost like autumn, much like the color of the leaves changing from green to brown, floating slowly to the ground as the season eagerly moves to winter.

I look at Oliver and suppress my thoughts of anxiety about this meeting. Though we are just discussing various smaller treaties, I still can't relax. Perhaps it is because I have always found him to be intimidating, the President of course. All of North America has been talking about this man the minute he was voted into office. Even though we reside in Canada, we hear his name non-stop -Joel Lowe. He is the president, the youngest person to ever take such a position. But that was not the reason he was always talked about, no, not the fact that he was so young, but because he was incredibly attractive. He knew it, too.

It was all my girlfriends had ever talked about when we got together, it was all I heard from the staff members at our Harrington Lake Estate. Anytime the TV was on and he had made an appearance, the females all huddled together, giggling with excitement. I had always held my breath and ignored them.

I get up from my four-poster bed just as I hear a knock on my bedroom door. Oliver stalks over to the door and greets one of my designers who are just dropping off a red Chanel dress for me to wear, and black Louboutins to go with. Even after a year of getting this special treatment, I still will never be used to being handed such incredibly lavish clothes, shoes, and jewelry. I grew up in a small townhouse in Ontario. My mother always struggled bringing money in, and my father was a drunk. Back then, I was lucky if I had any piece of clothing without holes in them.

Things for Oliver were much different. Oliver grew up wealthy, very wealthy. Maybe that's why we got along, he helped mend the empty hole in my heart that my father had left. He wanted to make sure I was better off than I ever had been living at home. All of our money had always went towards fueling his alcohol addiction. There had been days where I hadn't eaten anything, and if I was lucky enough, my mom could scrounge together a few dollars for us to buy a loaf of bread. Up until I was old enough to get a job, I would always go to school with dirty, worn-out clothes, and shoes that never quite fit me correctly. Now, Oliver makes sure that I always had food in my belly and clothes on my back.

Oliver thanks my designer and quietly shuts the door. He hands me over my clothes with a lazy smile and a wink. I quickly put on my red Chanel dress and shoes. I sit down at my vanity and glance in the mirror, the Hollywood-style lights around it were illuminating my face, making me look vibrant. I looked more composed than I felt. I carefully brush my strawberry blonde hair, making sure not to ruin my voluminous curls that had been created by hot rollers, which were taken out not too long ago. I finish off my hair with a red headband and I make sure there's enough volume in the back for a classic look.

I open my makeup drawers looking for one item in particular, my go-to red lipstick by Revlon. A red that matches my dress and the accompanying red headband. I take out my eyeliner and begin making a wing with no hesitation. I've been doing this for years, practice really does make perfect. Then I apply mascara and false lashes, and do my best to fill in the spots of my eyebrows that appeared patchy. I put foundation on my pale skin and finish the rest of my makeup. 

My mole on my cheek instantly bothers me, as it does all the time. I've been complimented on it so many times, people constantly referring to it as a "beauty mark," but is it really? I guess that's what makes me stand out amongst others, though I tend to want to be in the back, behind everyone else, in their shadows. I hated standing out. I hated everyone eyeing me up, though this is the burden I must carry since choosing to marry Oliver, I knew what I had signed up for.