President Darcy

“Yeah, I know.” Darcy waved his hand impatiently. “But I could just as easily do that in the Oval Office, and then we wouldn’t need to cordon off half the Tidal Basin—”

“Actually, sir,” corrected O’Leary, “it’s all of the Tidal Basin.”

“Is one interview worth causing traffic snarls all over the District?” Darcy asked Fitz as the limo

lurched into motion. Darcy fussed with his tie, which had ended up being too long.

Fitz was unapologetic. “Hilliard likes the optics. Talking about spring and global warming in front of a tree burgeoning with cherry blossoms…it’s a striking visual. And the bill needs help.” As he spoke, Fitz batted away Darcy’s hand and deftly undid the knot before retying the tie. Hilliard had insisted on a tie with cherry blossoms on it. Darcy had fussed, although he was forced to concede that it coordinated well with his blue shirt.

“I’m talking about how global warming has hurt the cherry blossoms. Shouldn’t we do the interview in front of a dying cherry tree?” Darcy asked in an acid tone.

Fitz’s brows drew together. “Jeez. I know you aren’t exactly a morning person, but what the hell is your problem?”

Darcy pressed his lips together, averting his gaze to the car window and the sights of D.C. passing by. No way would he reveal the truth about his long, sleepless night. After resisting the urge for months, he had finally surrendered to his desire to Google the latest news about Elizabeth. Not surprisingly, he regretted it.

The first hit had been from a celebrity gossip site: a picture of Elizabeth meeting in some out-of-the-way D.C. coffee shop with an attractive blond guy who’d been identified as Zach Coughlin, an up-and-coming young producer at—coincidentally enough—ZNN. The accompanying caption had speculated that Elizabeth Bennet had finally recovered from her frightful experience with the president’s manipulative ways and was now brave enough to start dating once more.

Darcy hadn’t even known she was in D.C. But Zach Coughlin knew. Damn him.

The next site was even more explicit in describing how fortunate Elizabeth was to escape Darcy’s clutches. Accustomed as he was to aspersions on his character, the implication that he had driven Elizabeth into some other guy’s arms had set Darcy seething all night. I knew this would happen. She’s a great catch. It was a stupid hope that she would wait until the end of my term—or two terms. Still, six months didn’t seem nearly long enough for her to get over a relationship… Well, it wasn’t really a relationship, was it? More like an aborted relationship wanna-be.

“Darcy?” Fitz watched him closely, his forehead creased with worry. Shit, how bad do I look?

“I’m fine.” Darcy yanked at the tie. Fitz had tied the knot too tight, and the damn thing was choking him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Fitz settled back in his seat, fiddling nervously with his cufflink, but at least he fell silent.

Before long, the limo pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the Jefferson Memorial. The lot was mostly empty except for police vehicles, a ZNN news van, and a few random cars that probably belonged to Hilliard’s staff.

As he waited for the Secret Service agent to open the door, Darcy took a moment to recall his talking points about global warming. If he nailed it in one take, he could return to the White House that much sooner. “I hope this doesn’t take too long,” he grumbled to Fitz.

“I think you’ll find it worth your while,” Fitz said with a smile. What the hell did that mean? Before Darcy could ask, the door opened and he stepped out into the parking lot. Secret Service agents surrounded him as he strolled toward the Memorial.

By now Darcy was accustomed to security swarming around him. D.C. police officers had confined onlookers behind barricades on either side of the Memorial, and the crowds cheered when they saw him. The reaction usually lightened his heart, but today it settled over him like a heavy weight. Everyone expected so much from him. Inevitably he would let some of them down. And some days he just wished they’d leave him alone so he could nap.

Mustering a smile, he waved to the onlookers while the agents hustled him around the Jefferson Memorial and toward the Tidal Basin. The Basin was actually a kind of cove formed by a branch of the Potomac River, but it resembled nothing so much as a manmade lake. Every spring, for a brief period, the cherry trees around the Tidal Basin burst forth in a profusion of blossoms. It was a beautiful sight, which brought massive tourist dollars—and traffic—to D.C. every year.

As Darcy’s group marched around the Memorial to the plaza on the other side, the Tidal Basin, in all its glory, burst into view. Even Darcy’s spirits lifted at the sight. Nobody could have remained unaffected. The sun was barely up, bathing the whole scene in a warm golden light. The water was placid, with hardly a ripple marring its surface. Every tree around the water’s edge was in bloom, a truly breathtaking sight.

Cherry blossoms were a common theme for Washington D.C. souvenirs, but those images always showed the blossoms as pink. They were in fact almost white, with just the palest hint of pink. It was a delicate, almost ethereal, color. Hilliard was right that it would make for good optics.

The press secretary hurried up to Darcy’s side. “Good morning, Mr. President. Deena Driscoll will be interviewing you.” Good. Darcy nodded. A seasoned reporter on science topics, Deena wasn’t likely to spring any unexpected questions on him. He’d grown quite weary of replying “no comment” when asked about Elizabeth.

Hilliard continued, “We picked a spot where you’ll be framed by the blossoms with the Tidal Basin in the background. Deena will ask the questions we agreed on. It should take about five minutes…” He trailed off, squinting at the Memorial.

“Unless we need another take,” Darcy said.

Hilliard licked his lips nervously. “Of course, of course.” The nerves didn’t make any sense; they were old hands at interviews like this. Well, whatever. The whole thing would soon be over. He sighed. “Fine. Let’s do it.” He didn’t miss the worried glance Hilliard exchanged with Fitz, but he was too weary to care about the reason.

Deena Driscoll, a petite African American woman with a bright smile, stood in front of a tree boasting a profusion of cherry blossoms. Her light pink business suit would blend well with Darcy’s tie. Hilliard would be pleased.

Aside from the excited chatter of the crowds, the area was unusually quiet. Normally, traffic zipped along the Independence Avenue bridge, which bisected the far end of the Basin, but today the bridge was deserted. The relative peace was a side effect of the Secret Service’s commitment to presidential safety, and Darcy appreciated it.

Here, too, onlookers crowded up against the security barricades on both sides of the plaza. Early morning visitors to the blossoms were certainly getting more than they had expected. Darcy waved to the people on both sides, receiving enthusiastic roars and waves in response.

Darcy took his place next to Deena, who shook his hand as she thanked him for coming. A production assistant hurried up and attached a small mike to Darcy’s lapel. The morning was warming up, and Darcy was sweating inside his suit. It’ll soon be over. I can’t wait to get back to the Beast and take off my coat. It was difficult to smile when his only impulses were to fidget and scowl.

The producer, a young blond guy who looked vaguely familiar, counted down, and the camera’s green light blinked on, indicating that it was recording. Somehow the police officers managed to quiet the onlookers. Deena positioned her handheld microphone just below her chin. “Mr. President, thank you for joining us on this beautiful spring day.” Her smile was wide and genuine, a nice change from many reporters’ faux newscaster grins. It figures she’d be a morning person.