The Next Mrs Russo

I needed something else for that.

Shopping.

At least, I think that was my intent to begin with. I really do. Isn’t a little retail therapy the cure-all for nearly anything? And it was still just early enough that stores were still open.

So, slightly wobbly, I entered a trendy home furnishings store called the Reclaimed Home. Right up my alley, right?

Wrong.

My problems started on the third floor. There was a display of the kind of cutesy signs people buy to hang in their homes. Signs like, This Is Us.

And okay. I kind of lost it. Just a little.

I would never have a This Is Us sign, not with Thomas. And was there an I Am Enough sign? No. No, there was not. Apparently, according to the Reclaimed Home, you couldn’t possibly need a sign of any kind if you’re alone.

It was bullshit. Coupleist, familist bullshit.

And that calligraphy class I took in summer art camp was about to pay off because when I saw a pack of Sharpies just sitting on the counter, well, it felt like kismet.

Drunk kismet.

I took the Sharpies to every couple sign I could find. Because it wasn’t just This Is Us, I realized. There were others that said shit like Just the Two of Us and Together Forever and all of this bullshit. And I couldn’t deal with any of it. So I gave some makeovers that hadn’t been asked for.

This Is Us became This Is Me.

Just the Two of Us? How about Just Me?

Together Forever? I made it Together Never.

It’s Good to Be Home? Try It’s Good to Be a Ho.

And this one, well I’m not particularly proud…

Good Vibes Only became Good Vibrators Only.

The whole time, all I thought about was showing Thomas that he was wrong. That I was an artist. Even as a vandal, I’d bring my artsy-as-fuck taste. My handwriting was a work of art, dammit. I even added little drawings and sketches.

I destroyed their merchandise.

You’d be surprised just how much damage you can do before an employee realizes what you’re up to and calls the police. Far too much trust in the customer if you ask me, not that I’m trying to shift the blame.

I was still on the floor, scrawling away, when the police arrived and cuffed me.

So yes.

I am a criminal.

And a criminal can never be the girlfriend of a political figure. Especially not one with ambitions of the presidency.

* * *

Warren’s staring at me as the truth hangs between us. I keep waiting for him to leave. He has to know that this means we can’t be together. He has to accept it. Besides, what’s he missing out on, really? A good lay? Okay. A really great lay. An amazing lay.

But otherwise, I’m just a regular girl. He should just start dating models like James does.

“Audrey,” Warren begins after a long pause where it seems like he’s waiting for me to say something that will make sense to him. Sadly, that won’t be happening. “That”—he shakes his head, exhaling—“that’s the entirety of your dark past that you’re so worked up over?” He’s staring at me a bit incredulously.

Oh, God. Fine. Fine. If he needs to know everything…

“I used to cheat on spelling tests in the third grade.” I say the words as quickly as I can. “And once, in grade school when my family was on a road trip, I stole a pack of gum from a gas station. It’s plagued me to this day but I can’t remember where I stole it from so I can’t pay them back. But there’s probably a surveillance video somewhere. Just waiting to be dug up, so the press can humiliate you with a video of me shoplifting and—”

“Audrey,” Warren interrupts me midsentence. “For starters,” he continues, “an arrest is not a conviction. And secondly, those charges were dropped. How do you not know this? What kind of shoddy lawyer do you have?”

I blink at him. What the hell is he talking about?

“Hasn’t your lawyer told you that those charges were dropped? How has he not told you this?”

“Well, to be fair,” I hedge, “I never answer his calls or open my mail.”

“Audrey.” Warren says the word like he’s about to count to three and give me a spanking.

Yes, please.

Wait, I’m supposed to be focusing. Also—“How do you know the charges were dropped? How do you even know about the charges at all? I just told you about them five seconds ago.”

“Artie ran a background check on you like an hour after my mom set us up. I assumed you’d assume that. Again, my fault. I had no idea you were torturing yourself over this.”

Excuse me? What the actual fuck?

Oh, no. That means… that means Warren knew he was dating a criminal!

“He did? Then why didn’t you dump me weeks ago? I’m a political disaster. I’m totally inappropriate for you. I’ll ruin your career. You need a virgin without a criminal history. And possibly a law degree from an Ivy League. And a history of volunteering with the homeless or—”