How to Steal a Heart

~ Chapter 17 ~

"You think that's appropriate?" 

That is the first thing my father has said to me in days. He was referring to the dress I put on for one of his press conferences. After the new year, my father's campaign has started to pick up. This is the time of year when we would start making public appearances. 

The conference was a small one. It wasn't going to be detrimental by any means. Nevertheless, as my father says:

'All press is good press.'

"Sorry," I apologize simply.

I was not in a combative mood. I was sitting in the back of the limo trying desperately to suppress my opinions. I may or may not be asked any questions and all of the answers to those hypothetical questions needed to be short, sweet, and vague. 

I took theatre in sixth grade, this was going to be a piece of cake.

This would be the last press conference before my father's wedding announcement on Valentine's day. 

"They want you to get out of the left side of the car and then the purple carpet shall lead you to your rooms," The drive states the instructions as the car comes to a halt. 

"Miss. Victoria, you should get out first." 

I nod and mutter a small 'Okay' shifting myself in front of the door. Through the tinted windows, I could see the press talk amongst each other. Positioning their cameras to get the best shot. They all have a hungry look in their eyes, every last one of them. I don't hold that against them though. 

Sometimes the greed for gossip can silence our sense of humanity

The door opens and I plaster a bright smile on my face. People behind the lines shoving microphones against guards and throwing out personal questions. I continue to wave and smile as I make my way down the carpet. 

A short woman greets us at the door, her tone in a frenzy:

"You'll be on in twenty minutes!"

<3

"What is the main goal you want to achieve if you were to be elected Mayor?" 

It's been a solid thirty minutes of my father answering the same questions just formatted differently. I want to say press conferences last an hour, but I honestly wouldn't know. Thirty minutes feel like a lifetime to me. 

"As soon as I get into office," My father revs, "I promise to get rid of the whole underground scene. The drag racing and the fights have simply poisoned our youth for years and I refuse to let it go on any longer." 

I swear I've heard him rehearse that line hundreds of times. At this point why do they even bother asking? It's literally the same answer every time they ask. 

The reporter sits down as many others raise their hands to be picked next. My father calls on a pretty woman and the deep breath my future stepmother takes is only audible to people sitting at the table. 

I bite my cheek.

"Your daughter goes to public school. How does it make you feel that she might come across one of the people associated with the drag racing?"

My heart picks up its beating pace and I cut my eyes to him.

"It scares me," He looks me directly in my eye, "My daughter is a strong young lady and I know she can withstand peer pressure, but it's the other children that I worry about. The ones that get easily sucked into these types of things."