Against Protocol (Protocol Series Book 1) by Eden Butler

Author:Eden Butler [Butler, Eden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eden Butler
Published: 2018-09-22T16:00:00+00:00

THREE

Lia

Lincoln slept with Leta Miller, the daughter of the Secretary of Defense, the night of my thirtieth birthday. It wasn’t a secret for long because my husband wasn’t known for his subtility and on that night, Martha Wilkens, a veteran former First Lady nearing her seventies, pulled me aside to inform me that my husband’s wayward cock was “the nature of the job.”

“To fuck around in the West Wing?” I’d asked, getting only a shrug and Martha’s bored laugh in return. I’d decided right then to stop caring about my husband and the things he did when I wasn’t looking. Ben Miller discovered his precious twenty-four-year-old daughter and the president, and Lincoln sported a cut lip for two weeks after Miller clocked him. He left his resignation on Lincoln’s desk the next morning.

Miller spent the next few months raising campaign contributions and got just a few electoral votes shy of besting Lincoln in his second run for president. Based on the ads Miller ran and his attitude and insults during the debates, I guessed he’d never forgiven Lincoln for bedding his daughter.

Three hours after Miller clocked my husband, I stopped telling myself Cruz wasn’t important to me; that I didn’t still want him. That had led to disaster.

The townhouse Roni had chosen for me was luxurious, but then, I knew it would be. Lincoln had been wealthy when he died. I’d been well off before my marriage, thanks to my father’s old New Orleans big wigging. As Lincoln’s wife, I got his trust. I’d be provided for no matter where in the world I went. No matter who I became once my life was my own again. If that day ever came.

There was a fireplace in my bedroom and one in the guest bedroom downstairs. Another bedroom was situated at the front of the townhouse downstairs and a large kitchen and living area functioned as a dining room next to the sunroom near the back courtyard. Roni had decorated the place in a style she knew I’d like. She’d hired my favorite D.C. designer and had chosen the palettes and textures I’d preferred before the White House had become our home.

It was the fire in my bedroom that I stared at as Cruz and the other agents stood post outside the building. There was no noise. No activity that held my attention but the liquid dance of the red flames against the blue gas as I stood in front of the fireplace, a sweating glass of whisky loosely held in my hand. The bottle was nearly empty.

Sleep would not come, but then it hadn’t for me since the night of Linc’s assassination. He’d been a bad husband. He’d been a womanizer who didn’t deserve me. But no one should die the way he did—bloody, scared, and trying to hold onto a life that had been too brief.

“Lia...” he gasped, reaching for me, eyes wide, terrified as his shirt darkened with blood. “Lia...you’re hurt.” And he touched my shoulder, head tilted like he cared.

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