A hard bump woke Elizabeth. Peering out the window, she was shocked to discover they had landed. The unfamiliar airport was characterized by low-slung red brick buildings and lots of people in military uniforms; presumably it was Andrews Air Force Base, where Air Force One traditionally landed.
The reporters around her were gathering their stuff, chatting softly. A few gave her curious glances, but she studiously avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. Hopefully nobody had noticed her panicked state upon entering the press area the previous night.
Sitting up, Elizabeth stretched, scrubbed her eyes with her hands, and checked the time. 8:32 a.m. She’d planned to fake sleep so nobody would question her; at some point it had become the real thing. However, every time she shifted position, she would wake enough to remember why she was hiding, and her stomach would tense into a hard knot. Fleeing his suite had been the right choice, but she had allowed anger to guide some of her words to him. I definitely could have handled that better.
Was it true that Will had planned to invite her on a date? Had she assumed he was making a pass when he was actually trying to romance her? Her initial impression of him was of an honorable—if tactless—man. Maybe that had been right. Maybe she had horribly misjudged him the previous night.
No. His actions toward George and Jane attested to his character. As did his snide comments about her family. Even if she had been wrong about his intentions, she hadn’t been wrong about their compatibility. Nothing would work between them.
She regretted her manner of rejecting him, but not the fact of it.
It was time to get off the damned airplane and meet Jane’s car. I hope he doesn’t try to talk to me again. What would she say? Just the thought made her whole body twitchy.
The door to the press area finally opened, and the reporters started filing out. However, before Elizabeth could follow suit, Fitz pushed his way into the compartment and pulled her into the front row of seats with him.
He waited until they were alone. “We need to talk.”
She shook her head wearily. “Fitz, I just want to go home. I don’t want to talk to him.”
Fitz blinked. “He’s already gone. The president always gets off first.”
Of course he did. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She stood. “Then I want to go.”
He grabbed her elbow, and she gave him a hard stare. “Are you keeping me here?”
Fitz released her arm like it had burned him. “Of course not; you’re not under arrest.” As Elizabeth edged toward the door, Fitz spoke faster. “But I do want to tell you about Wickham—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“But—”
She held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear anything about Will or George or anyone connected to the White House. I just want to go home.”
Fitz stared at her for a long moment and then nodded. “All right. But can you tell me one thing? Are you going to the media with this?”
Huh? Maybe she was more tired than she thought. Why would she involve the media in one of the most mortifying experiences of her life? She turned his question over again in her head, but it still didn’t make any sense. “The media?” she repeated.
Fitz shifted uneasily, lowering his voice even though they were alone. “Darcy said he kissed you.”
She cringed. “He told you about that?”
Fitz shrugged. “He didn’t have a choice. We need to know if you’ll approach the media with the tale.” She gaped at him. “You know”—he pitched his voice higher—“‘the president grabbed me and kissed me’—”
“It wasn’t like that!” she said indignantly. “I mean, I don’t want—I don’t like the—I don’t want to be his girlfriend, okay? But I didn’t mind the kiss.” Actually, she wouldn’t mind reenacting the kiss. Yeah, she would have fond memories of it—if not the rest of the farce.
“Uh…you’re smiling,” Fitz said, rubbing his chin.
“It was a good kiss,” she sighed. Fitz stared at her quizzically. “Can I go now?” she asked.
He sat up straighter in his seat. “Sure, but who are you planning to share this story with?”
Elizabeth stared at the ceiling as she considered. “Maybe Jane, but I can’t tell anyone else…definitely not the rest of my family. The president doesn’t need that much squealing in his life.”
“Good.” Tension leaked from Fitz’s body.
She ran both hands through her disheveled hair. All she wanted was a shower and a nap—far away from anything presidential. “I don’t want to hurt the president. I mean, I believe in what he stands for, and the last thing I want is to be at the center of some sex-fueled controversy—especially when nothing happened.”
Fitz grinned. “He’ll be relieved to hear that.”