The Nation's President Picked Me Up From Prison-Chapter 22: Greg: Wedding Rings

"What do you think about this? Is this okay for your wedding?"

Lewinsky shoves his phone in my face, showing a photo of a tailored suit, just after I’ve wrapped my morning meetings. It’s been a hectic day—expected, after what happened last night.

"Who says you’re invited?" I ask, taking my seat at the table where my lunch is waiting.

"As if there’s another person on this planet who can be your best man." He rolls his eyes and walks toward the full-length mirror in the corner, holding his phone up like he’s virtually trying the suits on himself.

"That stunt last night is really getting a lot of attention. As your press secretary, I don’t even know what to say," he adds.

I pick up my phone after taking a bite of food and send a message to Stannis.

[How is everything there?]

He responds quickly.

[Going smoothly, sir.]

Good.

"Whose idea was that, anyway?" Lewinsky keeps talking, his most reliable skill—which is exactly why he’s my press secretary.

"I thought you were busy. Why are you here trying on suits through photos?"

He tilts his head at me. "Can’t you guess, you smug bastard?"

If Rowan were here, he would’ve already reprimanded him for his filthy mouth. Rowan has zero tolerance for Lewinsky’s brand of enthusiasm.

"Because of the mess you made last night, my office was bombarded with calls from every media outlet asking why the hell you were with a celebrity," he continues. "I couldn’t even take a snack break. A snack break, Greg. Do you know how serious things have to be before I willingly miss food? So how exactly do you expect me to go out and try these suits in person?"

"I appreciate the effort," I say flatly, "but you don’t need to attend my wedding if it’s that much of a hassle."

"Oh, I’ll be there." He snaps the words like I’ve offended him. "I’m worried you’ll look too pitiful standing as a groom without a best man."

"The rules of weddings can be bent."

"There are certain traditions one must uphold, Mr. President," he counters, lifting a brow like he’s lecturing a schoolchild. "You can cut the guest list down to a shoebox, but you still need someone to stand beside you or else you’ll look like the saddest groom."

I give him a flat stare.

He finally puts down his phone and walks toward me. He sits across from me, plucks a grape from the fruit platter, and tosses it into his mouth.

"We’re getting new leads on the Red Org. Have you seen the files yet?" he asks.

"Well, isn’t that great."

"It is great," he presses, leaning forward. "Because I think they’re being led by someone from the government. What do you think?" He looks almost thrilled by the idea.

Lewinsky loves drama more than any reporter he deals with.

I lift my gaze from my meal. "Not a far-fetched idea. Politicians always have something dirty up their sleeves."

"Hm. You’re right. One of your cabinet members, maybe?" He smirks. "Haven’t you noticed how State looks like he’s suffering chronic constipation every time he sees you? And with how he replaces his mistress every month, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s leading Red Org."

I shake my head. "Part of it, maybe. But the head? I doubt he’s got the brains."

Rowan arrives just as I’m finishing my meal.

"Mr. President, your call with foreign leaders is in ten minutes."

He sets the laptop on my table as the plates are cleared.

I’m left alone in my office when the call begins. Just the usual discussions about proposed joint projects, tourism, and environmental concerns.

While people talk, my phone lights up on the table. It’s always on silent during meetings.

I see that it’s a message from Elyn.

What could she possibly need from me right now?

I don’t read messages during calls unless they’re from my chief of staff or chief of security. But this is about the wedding, most likely, so I open it.

[Do you have rings ready? If you don’t have, I have these.]

A photo follows her message. Simple wedding rings.

I type back:

[I have rings. Did you buy those?]

Why would she think I wouldn’t have rings prepared? Does she assume I’d ignore something as basic as that because this is a contract marriage? I frown at the screen.

Her reply comes quickly.

[No. I own these. I bought them for Logan and me three years ago, but we didn’t use them.]

My eyes narrow.

She bought wedding rings for another man, and now she wants me to use them? I almost scoff.

Something bitter rises on my tongue, maybe the salmon, or whatever it was from my lunch.

So she did like him. Why else buy rings for a marriage she didn’t want? Arranged or not, the fact that she went along with it says enough.

[I don’t like them.]

I send the message and turn off my phone, returning to the meeting with my mind elsewhere.

* * *

It’s already three in the afternoon by the time I’m done with my appointments outside Crown Palace.

I had several things moved to free my schedule. I need to be at Brandt Mansion by four for the wedding.

As agreed, the ceremony won’t be covered by the press. We’ll take photos and videos for the announcement later. It will be held in the mansion’s garden, attended only by my lawyer, Lewinsky, Elyn’s assistant, and the household staff and security as witnesses.

While the car heads toward Brandt Mansion, I call Rowan.

"Any updates from the legal team? How’s the lawsuit progressing?"

It’s the lawsuit for Kayla Henderson, the woman who harassed Elyn last night. I assigned someone from my legal team to handle it and told them to keep things as contained as possible.

Chaos is useful only when I’m the one unleashing it.

"Ms. Henderson wants a settlement. She’s willing to offer compensation, sir." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Of course she does. They always want leniency when they realize who they’ve crossed.

"I don’t want a settlement or compensation."

There’s a pause, just a beat, but Rowan’s smart enough not to question it.

"Copy that, Mr. President."

I’m not fond of forgiving people. I uphold my rules, and give punishment. That’s the justice I know. Mercy is overrated and almost always exploited.

After hanging up, another call comes in shortly.

"Mr. President, if you’re in the middle of something, I apologize. There’s just a bit of a situation here at the residence—"

"What situation?"

"Miss Elyn is missing."