Dutch and Gina: The Power of Love (22 page)

“Where were you when you held her, sir?”

“On the sofa.”

“Anywhere else?”

“There was a brief moment when she went to the bathroom to freshen up but ended up crying across the bed.”

“Your bed?”

“The bed, yes.”

“And you got in bed with her and held her?”

“Don’t twist my words around, Jansen,” Dutch admonished one of the reporters.

“I apologize, sir.
 
But are you saying that you at some point were in bed with her, holding her?
 
Is that correct, sir?”

“At some point, yes, she was crying and I held her.”

“In bed?”

“Yes, in bed.
 
We were in bed. I don’t know why you insist on making some federal case out of the fact that a long-time, close, personal friend of mine was in trouble, she came to me, and I held her.”

“Did you kiss her, sir?”

Don’t answer that
, Gina wanted to scream.
 
But she knew it was not going to happen.
 
Despite Manny’s wrongheaded advice, Dutch had made up his mind that he was going to tell the American people the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
 
And she knew she had to stand by that decision.
 
But she was an attorney.
 
She’d already warned him about the minefield he was certain to be walking into.

“I may have kissed her on the forehead or on the top of her head,” Dutch replied to the reporter’s question.

“You may have?
 
Well did you or did you not kiss her, Mr. President?
 
That’s not a hard question to answer.
 
You either did or you didn’t.”

“I answered it.
 
Next question?”

“Did she take off her clothes, sir?” yet another reporter asked.

“No,” Dutch replied.

“Then why was she photographed at the fundraiser wearing a white jumpsuit, but she was found in your hotel room wearing a black dress?
 
According to you, your press secretary took
 
her straight up to your room from the fundraiser.
 
So at some point she had to have taken off her clothes in your hotel room, sir.”

Dutch was flustered.
 
Gina could see it now.
 
He had forgotten that Allison had her take a bath and change clothes, he had forgotten all about that.
 
Now he had to backtrack and fill, which was always a horrible sign.

“Allison had a dress bought up to the suite for her to put on.”

“Why?
 
What was wrong with her pantsuit?”

“Nothing was wrong with it,” Dutch snapped.
 
“It was a question of Liz taking a bath and putting on something fresh.”

“But why, sir?
 
Everybody knows Liz Sinclair and she’s always been a maven of style.
 
Why would your press secretary feel it necessary to put her in a tub and put her on a brand new dress?”

“That has nothing to do with what we’re discussing here.
 
Liz was found dead in my hotel room.
 
It is a tragedy, I grieve for her parents and other family members, but I had nothing to do with her death.
 
That’s the bottom line.”

“But you do understand, sir, that the fact that your press secretary would have her take a bath and put on a brand new dress suggests that they were getting her prepped, sir.”

“Prepped?” Dutch asked incredulously.
 
“Prepped for what?”

“Prepped to spend a romantic night with the president.
 
Don’t you see that, sir?”

“Oh, that is absurd!”

“Have you slept in the same bed with Liz Sinclair before, sir?”

Gina’s mind was on the previous questions.
 
Dutch needed to go back and tell them how drunk Liz was, what state of mind she was in.
 
That was why Allison helped freshen her up.
 
It had nothing to do with any prepping her to sleep with Dutch.
 
Nothing at all.
 
But Dutch just let it slide.
 
And Gina didn’t quite understand why.
 

She understood how he wouldn’t want to tarnish Liz with lies, but this was the truth.
 
But as she stood there, and he was extremely slow to answer the last question, a question she was certain would easily be a no, her mood changed.
 
And the unquestionable truth that she thought was as obvious as him telling her what that truth was, suddenly became questionable to her.

She looked at Dutch.
 
Why hadn’t he answered yet?
 
It was a simple enough question.
 
Had you slept with Liz Sinclair before?
 
All he had to say was no.
 
That was all he had to say.
 
But he was hesitating still.
 

But when he did finally answer, Gina, and the entire press pool, was astonished.

“We’ve shared a bed before, yes,” Dutch said.
 

And a gasp filled the room as if it were a balloon bursting.

Gina, whose emotions could always be detected in her big, brown eyes, was unable to hide them now.
 
His words had staggered her, and the bloodthirsty press immediately picked up on it.

“Were you aware of that, Mrs. Harber?” one ingenious reporter quickly asked.
 
“Did you know that your husband had slept with Liz Sinclair in the past?”

“He didn’t sleep with her as you are suggesting,” Gina said, attempting with all she had to maintain her cool.
 
“He shared a bed with her.”

“It’s the same thing, ma’am.”

 
“I beg to differ.”

“But it is the same, ma’am.
 
Your virile husband just admitted to being in bed somewhere with a beautiful, sensual woman like Liz Sinclair, and you weren’t there.”

“Of course I wasn’t,” she said.
 
“He wasn’t married to me at the time.”

“But you were married to him when he slept with her the other night.”

Gina refused to be thrown.
 
“You weren’t asking me about the other night.
 
You were asking me about another time.
 
And during that time, when my husband shared a bed with Liz Sinclair, he wasn’t married to me at that time.”

“Are you sure about that, ma’am?” a reporter asked.

Gina wasn’t sure about a damn thing at this point.
 
“I’m certain about that,” she replied.

And her unwavering support of Dutch, and the firmness of her response, caused the reporters to move on.
 
They mainly began discussing Liz’s parents and their decision to sue the president for wrongful death.
 
Dutch wanted to announce his belief that Liz’s death wasn’t murder at all and the autopsy would bear him out, but he didn’t go there.
 
They would insist that the autopsy was rigged, if he went there.

Besides, as he answered their questions about the parents and more questions about the death, Gina was on his mind.
 
He could see the disappointment in her eyes, she was never able to hide her true emotions from him, and her pain was devastating him far more than any accusatory question some reporter was hurling.
 

And when he finally answered the last question, and they left the Brady Press Room, with Crader and Allison, Primrose and Peter following, he wanted to immediately address her.

“Gina,” he said as he reached out to take her hand in his.
 

But she pulled it away.
 
“I’m okay,” she said, a frown on her face.
 
“But I just need. . .” Tears began to well up in her eyes.
 
“I just need some space,” she managed to say and then she hurried, began running, away from him.

Dutch’s heart dropped.
 
He had hurt her.
 
The last thing he ever wanted to do, he had done.
 
He began to walk away, but he realized he had his senior staffers behind him.
 
He turned slightly toward them.
 

“Please excuse me,” he said in that cool, polite way of his, and then hurried after his wife.

TEN

He found Gina where he expected her to be: in the nursery with their young son.
 
She was seated in a rocking chair, holding tightly their sleeping child, her eyes tightly shut.
 
Dutch stood there, staring at mother and child, his heart aching.
 
But he couldn’t bring himself to disturb them.
 
He was the cause of so much of their pain, of the derision Gina had to suffer ever since she agreed to become the wife of a sitting president.
 
And it was paining him.
 
Because he knew he should have waited until his political life was over before inviting her into that life.
 
He should have given her more chances to change her mind.

And even right now, watching her, he wanted to go to her, to state his case, to make her never be disappointed in him again.
 
But that would be the height of selfishness.
 
Because she was right.
 
Right now, she needed her space.

It wasn’t until later that night, after meeting with his legal team, and then his political team, and then his national security team, was Dutch able to make it to the White House Residence and into their bed.

Gina was wide awake, although her eyes were closed.
 
She heard him when he came in.
 
She heard him when he showered.
 
She heard him when his weight pressed down and he got in bed behind her.
 
And when he put his arm around her, and moved closer against her, she could tell that he wasn’t lying flat down, but his elbow was on the pillow and his head was in his hand.
 
She also could tell, when he pressed against her, that he was completely naked.

“You asleep?” he asked her.
 
He knew her well enough to know that the last thing she could do, when her heart was troubled, was sleep.

“No,” she said quietly.

“Did you eat your dinner?”

“No.”

“Why not, Gina?”

Gina didn’t respond.
 
He knew why not.
 
He knew that she couldn’t eat either when she was in turmoil.
 

He exhaled.
 
“I don’t know where to begin,” he admitted, and Gina quickly turned around, to get him started.
 
She certainly knew where to begin.
 
But when she saw that anguished look in his stark green eyes, and she remembered that this was Dutch she was upset with, her resolve almost faltered.
 
But it didn’t.
 
She’d been waiting all evening to confront him.

“Our marriage is based on trust,” she began.
 
“Because of the fishbowl life we live here in DC, we have to trust each other because we can’t completely trust anybody else.
 
And when I was standing there, and hearing you say that you slept with Liz before that night, and you never even thought to mention it to me, shattered me, Dutch.
 
It made me start to think.
 
What else is he holding back from me?”