The Nation's President Picked Me Up From Prison-Chapter 25: Elyn: Madam First Lady

I can’t shake the nervousness away. It feels like getting married for the first time all over again, like walking down the aisle is walking straight toward a cliff.

Like it’s a freaking death sentence.

I look ahead, my hands trembling slightly around the bouquet.

The garden has transformed into a beautiful wedding venue. I assume it was easy to decorate because the whole residence is always impeccably maintained.

Dahlia stands as my maid of honor. Someone is positioned close to the groom—his best man, I assume. I’ve never met him in person, but he’s a public figure so I’ve seen him on TV and all over the internet.

Azrael Lewinsky, the Crown Palace’s press secretary. Someone from a powerful media family who somehow chose to work for the president. Aside from the lawyer and the priest, Mr. Brandt didn’t bring anyone else. So Mr. Lewinsky must be more than just a press secretary.

The residence’s staff fill the guest seats, making the wedding look less forlorn.

Mr. Brandt told me that among the staff, only Stannis knows about our arrangement. Even Jean and my own security don’t know.

Which brings me to the point that... I have to act like a woman about to marry the man she loves, in front of all these people.

My wedding gown flows softly around my feet. It’s a simple A-line skirt that’s easy to walk in. The bodice is a tube top, and a sheer veil drapes over my head and shoulders.

When I’m close enough to the groom, that’s when I finally lift my gaze.

Mr. Brandt stands in a black suit, his hair neatly combed back, his pitch-black eyes fixed on me with that unnerving, unreadable stare.

He’s handsome, of course. He always is.

He’s manly in a dangerous way, not because of his height or his muscular build, or even the strength he clearly possesses, but because of the way he moves. Calm, yet edged with subtle dominance and quiet superiority. He doesn’t show violence, but his eyes do, like the cruel, cold kind you’d find beneath the calm surface of the ocean. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

My breathing hitches when I give him my hand.

His hand is larger than mine, warm and softer than it looks. His thumb presses lightly against my knuckles, and my heart skips a beat.

I wonder if he can feel how fast my pulse is racing like I’m someone about to be hanged. I’m still embarrassed about what happened earlier, and the last thing I want is to humiliate myself again.

The ceremony begins, and once we get through the vows, a sigh slips out of me.

I’m relieved I managed to memorize them at the last minute while Dahlia did my hair and makeup. She didn’t have much time, so she kept everything simple. Which is fine. I only wanted a soft glam anyway.

When the priest announces that the groom may kiss the bride, Mr. Brandt lowers his head without hesitation.

His hand slides to the side of my neck, his touch gentle, almost featherlight. I stiffen when his lips meet mine.

The kiss is brief, barely a touch, yet it still sends a bolt of shivers down my spine. Heat spreads across my neck and chest even after he pulls away.

We go through a short photoshoot afterward. That is, after all, what this wedding is really about: proof for the public that we truly had one.

We sign the papers and head to the mansion’s hall where the food is served.

The best man approaches us with a smile that looks a little too joyous.

"Hello, Madam First Lady," he greets, and I flush at the title. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

"I assume Mr. President hasn’t mentioned my name to you." He glances at Mr. Brandt with a smug smirk before turning back to me. "I’m Azrael Lewinsky. A friend of your husband."

"He’s my press secretary," Mr. Brandt corrects, his hand resting at the small of my back.

Mr. Lewinsky doesn’t seem bothered by it.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Lewinsky. Just call me Elyn, please."

"Sure. Call me Azi, then."

"I call him Lewinsky. Just call him that," Mr. Brandt butts in.

Mr. Lewinsky rolls his eyes. "Why are you being an asshole, Greg?"

My eyes widen. His voice is low and playful, but still, talking like that to the president feels like witnessing a crime.

When Mr. Lewinsky notices my reaction, he smiles. "Sorry for the foul language."

"He has a filthy mouth for a press secretary," Mr. Brandt says, echoing my thoughts.

"Let’s slice our cake now. We’ll probably need a picture for that," he adds, guiding me toward the long table of food.

Stannis stands ready with a camera hanging around his neck, snapping pictures as needed.

After that, there’s a bit of dancing. I’m still nervous, but to my surprise I find myself enjoying it, and the more time passes, the more comfortable I become.

"When do you plan to announce our marriage?" I ask Mr. Brandt as we sway to the soft music.

"I have plans for it. Lewinsky will handle most of the press work, and he’s very good at his job."

That sparks my curiosity.

"Does... he know?"

He nods, confirming my assumption. Mr. Lewinsky isn’t just an employee. Why else choose him as best man if he weren’t a friend?

"He won’t gain anything from exposing my lies," he assures me.

"Because he’s a loyal friend to you, right?" I smile. "Just like how Dahlia is to me."

"Not necessarily," he says, though the faint glint in his eyes tells me he thinks otherwise.

It makes me smile a little more. The great Gregory Brandt isn’t as emotionless as he pretends to be.

"Will I be staying in the Crown Palace too?"

"You should be."

"But you don’t always stay there, right? You come here often."

"Yes, but I spend most of my time there. And if the people know you’re the First Lady, it’s expected you stay in the Crown Palace often."

I wrinkle my nose.

"Now that it’s happening for real, I’m realizing being the First Lady is much more complicated than I thought."

He gives me a look I can’t decipher. It’s not disappointment. Not annoyance. Something else.

"You no longer want to be my wife, then?" he asks, his tone turning cold.

"Can I back out?" I grin.

His eyes flick to my mouth, then lift back to mine. His expression darkens.

"No, you can’t."