Story Title: Inauguration Day

Summary: On January 20th, the Commander in Chief swears an oath to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. The day has a specific schedule, a historic order of events that end with a new President in the White House. This time, the name is Cullen.

Pairing: Edward & Bella

Rating: M

Word count: 14,088

Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong solely to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.

I woke up hard on the morning of January 20th, the day of the inauguration. It was my wife's fault, bringing me to life caressing the tops of my thighs, and I pretended to be asleep until she took hold of my cock.

"Good morning," I greeted her, thinking she'd startle, but she wrapped a leg around me, scorching my thigh with the heat of her enthusiasm. "Horny are we?" I chuckled when I noted she'd already removed her underwear.

"A little," she purred in that husky, just-woken voice I loved, running her nose along my jaw. Bella was always sexy first thing, especially when her ambition was obvious. "I have some tension to relieve."

"Hmmm, I can help you with that." I closed my eyes for a particularly hard squeeze and twist while she ground herself against me, and I reached for the buttons of her nightgown. It was one of several new items of sleepwear she'd purchased in preparation for our move, knowing people might enter our bedroom in the middle of the night. She referred to these soft nighties as "modest," but getting the buttons undone made what was underneath incredibly enticing. After two children and fifteen years of marriage, Bella was just as desirable as she was at seventeen.

Peeling back the fabric, I gazed at her breasts and watched as her chest rose and fell in anticipation. Keeping myself in check, I withstood the exquisite sensation of her pumping me and traced her nipples, savoring the experience of making love in this opulent suite. The incoming first family always stayed in the historic Blair House before the inauguration.

"Kiss me," she demanded, and I obeyed, taking a handful of breast for myself. Bella usually led me down a slow tease when we were truly alone, but what she needed now was fast and rough—a pre-dawn tension reliever.

Her hips rose off the bed when I slipped my fingers inside her, the slick heat almost irresistible to my ready-to-fuck cock. She watched her hand slide up my arm, lingering on the scar on my shoulder before our eyes met again.

"I love you more than ever." Pulling me down for another kiss, she moaned as I spread her liquid silk with my thumb and worked her inside and out. The speed and power of her orgasm surprised me, but she wasn't done with me yet, climbing on top and riding me with the nightgown falling off her shoulders, her tits bouncing in the palms of my hands.

It was a great way to start the day.

.

.

"Go and tell your mother they have fifteen minutes left," I said to my fourteen-year-old son who was still picking at the lavish breakfast they'd laid out for us. When he didn't react, I stood up. "Liam?"

"I'm still eating, Dad." The challenges were coming more frequently lately, ever since he'd grown past the height of my shoulders.

"No, you're overindulging, son. Please do what you're told." Liam rolled his eyes and huffed, snatching another piece of bacon, and all I could do was sigh as I watched him walk out.

"He's a fine boy, Edward," Renee stated, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. "Cut him some slack while he goes through this monumental change."

"When has it ever been any different?" I was worried how both of our children would adjust. We'd asked a lot from them over the years, moving to new homes, new schools and cities, having to go without one of their parents.

"You know this one is very different."

I smiled at the incredible woman who had become like a mother to me. "Yeah, I know. What would we do without you?"

She picked up a napkin from the table and wiped at her eyes. "It's been a privilege, Edward."

Two enormous arms surrounded her from behind. "Come on, love. Pull yourself together." Major General Charles Swan, USMC, Retired, grinned at me over his wife's shoulder. I still felt the urge to salute, and would never get used to seeing him out of uniform. He wore it proudly with all his medals and ribbons at military funerals, on Veteran's Day, and for every Memorial Day Parade, but today he was a civilian—just a doting dad.

He was so proud of his daughter, the girl who caught my attention on her very first day at West Point.

Bella fell under my command when they assigned me as her company leader, known to the fresh recruits as their "red sash cadet." It was our job to take them through the stations required to complete Reception Day. We had to yell at them to keep moving and stop fidgeting while getting on and off buses, lining up to have their hair buzzed off, and collecting all their gear.

The first test came when they had to rush and transfer everything to their issued bag with several voices screaming at them to hurry up and not to finish last. Bella was the first to stand, straight backed with eyes forward, ready for inspection. The platoon sergeant glanced at me sideways and winked.

They completed a set of drills where they learned the art of saluting, how to stand a certain way on an exact spot, how to walk and turn on a corner. By the evening, they would be marching with the whole school to farewell their families.

Putting these new skills into practice, they each had to memorize a sentence, walk up to one of the red sashes and stand on a line marked with tape, heels together, feet at forty-five degrees, and then salute. If they got that right, they were expected to recite the sentence perfectly. It was a simple task, but many of them found it unnerving standing so close to an older cadet and had to retrain before making another attempt. While I had made it clear I was not their enemy, it was essential that each of them pass the test before we could move on, and it was not my mission to make it easy.

The first of the two females in my company almost passed, missing the end of the sentence and spitting out, "Damn."

"Are you cursing a superior?" I asked, straight-faced and stern.

Her eyes widened. "No."

"No, sir?"

Aware her anxiety was causing more errors, she sighed. "No, sir. Sir, I'm sorry."

"Sorry is not acceptable, new cadet," I said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Recover by coming back with a new attitude next time."

I put her out of my mind and looked at the next victim, the girl who was first to pack her bag earlier. Calling her forward, I issued the same command I'd used for the others she followed. "Stand on my line and salute."

She strode up confidently and stopped, lowering her gaze to her feet. When I checked, the toes of her shoes were sitting right on the line. Then she raised her arm in a salute I couldn't fault. Her eyes were on my chin when I asked her to look at me to recite the sentence, and she delivered it precisely, if a little softer than I would have liked. Really, I could have passed her immediately, but part of today was about rattling them, making them aware they were transitioning from civilians to military personnel.

"Louder."

After a couple of blinks, she responded, "Yes, sir," then repeated it word for word, loudly, clearly, without a hint of hesitation.

I made sure I conveyed I was pleased with my eyebrows rather than actually smiling. "Good work, new cadet."

During that afternoon, she never spoke and did exactly what was expected of her. The fact that I hadn't had to admonish her once drew my interest, expecting her to slip up somewhere. By the end of the session, I felt sure she had either come from the Junior Reserves or must have grown up in a military family.

.

.

I didn't see her again until I was starving one night and swung by the dining hall early to see what we were having. She was setting tables, along with other new cadets, and as I approached, she recited the evening's menu.

"How is Beast?" It was the term everyone used for the first six weeks of basic training.

She blew out a breath and replied, "One day at a time, right?"

"Don't let it overwhelm you. You'll enjoy Camp Buckner, and marching back into school as a real cadet is exhilarating."

"If I live that long, sir."

I had to laugh, because it only seemed like yesterday I was here, just like her, thinking I'd never survive it.

"If you don't mind me asking, did you come here from a military background?"

"Yes, sir." She never looked up, moving on to the next table.

"Junior Reserves?"

"No, sir."

"Your family, then."

"Yes, sir."

At least I had my answer. "You seem more at ease in this environment than most of the other new cadets."

"No, sir, I'm not."

If she was scared of me, I hoped it wasn't through some thoughtless thing I'd done. I was determined to graduate as someone who could lead without fear.

"You can speak to me, you know. It's not against the rules."

Adjusting the fan of forks on the table, she responded, "As long as you speak to me first."

"I'm supposed to help you if I can."

Finally, she looked at me. "I've been looking at the sports list, and I've never played most of them before. How serious are the intercollegiate games?"

She was going to die when she saw this place on Saturdays. "Fairly serious, but there are plenty of other sports. Have a look at athletics."

"I already did," she replied with a sigh. "What the heck is handball?"

"It's popular in Europe, played on a court like basketball, but with a smaller ball and soccer net. There's a lot of running, throwing, jumping and blocking."

"Oh." She seemed to brighten a little. "Well, I'll check it out. I was thinking I'd have to swim."

"My advice is to sign up for team sports. No one here is planning to graduate and go on to the Olympics. Sport at the Point is supposed to promote teamwork and be a fun way to keep fit."

"Is PT as bad as everyone keeps saying?"

"Yes." It wasn't right to mislead her. "It's brutal to start with, but it does get easier."

She groaned, not liking that answer. "Well, thank you." Extending her hand, she smiled. "I'm Bella, by the way."

"Swan," I corrected her, pointing to the name on my jacket. "Cullen."

.

.

A few weeks later, I was hurrying back to barracks close to curfew, after a weekend pass got me laid, and I was feeling quite satisfied with myself when I noticed Swan hauling two enormous bags of trash into a dumpster.

"I see you're still alive, Swan."

"Yes, sir." She dropped the lid and smiled. "Did you enjoy your weekend?"

I thought about my answer, knowing it would be a long time before she got her first leave pass.

"Yeah, it was okay." I kept walking, wondering if her question meant she'd noticed I hadn't been around.

The next night, she was in the dining hall again on table duty, and I realized I had no reason being in there early other than hoping I might catch her without a thousand people around. It was a little unsettling when it was forbidden for older cadets to date plebes, but no other female here had ever attracted me before.

She was definitely not scared of me now. The smile radiated over her face when she saw me.

"One week to go until camp?" I still knew nothing about her, but in an environment with everything in common, it wasn't hard to come up with small talk.

"Yes, sir."

When she kept setting out glasses quietly, I wondered if she was wary of my intentions, just as I was beginning to examine them myself.

"Do you have more questions for me?"

She glanced around, looking satisfied she'd completed her task, and then stared at me. "I do, actually." As I waited for the question, I watched her eyes taking a tour of my face, her lips registering a tiny smile. "What's your major, sir?"

I smiled back, encouraging any kind of conversation with her. "Defense and Strategic Studies."

She nodded. "And have you already chosen your specialty?"

"Uh … you're getting a little ahead of yourself there. You have years to contemplate your branch."

"You asked if I had more questions," she said with a frown.

I'd come across as rude, the last thing I'd intended, but I'd backed myself into a corner declaring that sorry was unacceptable, and now people were coming in. I hated the thought of walking away, having ruined the tiny gains we'd just made.

"Yes, I did, Swan, and I'm going into Military Intelligence." I hoped she'd stay long enough to forgive me or at least continue to talk, but her eyes flitted around the hungry cadets entering the hall as if she was nervous about openly fraternizing.

"Are we … allowed to eat together, sir?"

Oh, hell, she was brave enough to ask the question forming in my head—one I couldn't answer. I had two options: sit down with her and hope there were no consequences, or do what I was supposed to do—ask a superior and follow orders.

"Get your food and I'll be right back with the answer," I replied, seeing my platoon sergeant enter the hall.

"Cullen." He greeted my salute and my mouth dried up. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so, sir. I was just speaking with one of the plebes about her academic options, and she asked if we can continue the conversation over a meal."

He turned his head slightly and looked me up and down. "In the mess?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, trying not to sound hopeful. "I honestly didn't know the answer, so I came to you."

"You didn't pre-plan this?"

"No, sir. She just asked only a minute ago."

"May I inquire which one of the plebes you are having dinner with?"

Was that a yes? "Swan, sir. Bella Swan."

He snorted. "Isabella Swan. Very well, but I'm warning you, Cullen. You may talk but not touch, understand?"

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

I had to stop myself from skipping over to where she was waiting to be served. "Apparently, it's a yes if we're just talking. We're only banned from dating."

"We could have a very nice date here."

The statement took me by surprise. "With all these people around?"

"If this was a real date, I wouldn't notice anyone else."

Suddenly, all I saw were thick black lashes and warm brown eyes. When she turned them away to accept her meal, I grabbed whatever was available quickly, leading her to two seats facing each other at the end of a table, trying to ignore the seniors behind her waving at me and frowning. It was the first time I'd shared a meal on my own with a female in here.

As soon as she swallowed a mouthful, she picked up the conversation again. "I want to be a doctor, but they give out so few scholarships. Even if I got one, it's a year of service for every year of study. I'll be ancient by the time I get out."

I jumped on us having something else in common to share. "My father's a doctor."

"A military doctor?" she piped up, her raised eyebrows showing her curiosity.

"No, he's at Bellevue in New York. He practically lives there."

"So, you're from New York?"

I nodded. "Brooklyn, and you?"

"Originally? Seattle."

"Have you moved around a lot?"

"Yep." She sighed as if there were many.

"Is that hard?" I asked, wondering about my own future.

"It's hard to make friends, you know, the kind you have for a lifetime."

I saw it differently, but had yet to test the theory. "I think the friendships you make in the military are stronger. The shared experiences are more intense."

She looked at me, as if she was being careful with her response. "That could be true, but coming home, especially after deployment, is about switching off for a while, and a soldier can't expect the family to understand those kinds of experiences when they only occur within military life. Families may inhabit part of that world, but we're essentially civilian."

Her perspective was humbling because I'd never really thought deeply about the loved ones we'll leave behind. I could probably learn a lot from this girl.

"I still want to join a medical team, but I'm not sure how I'm going to do that now," she said.

"Then take the battery aptitude test as soon as you can. If you're suited to the work, you're more likely to excel and enjoy the job. Talk to your tutors about subjects."

Her eyes softened, as if she appreciated the help. "Well, thank you for the advice, and now I must go back and study."

"Of course," I said, knowing I still had hours ahead of me.

We parted the evening as friends, but I already knew I would have pursued her had she not been so young. Disobeying a direct order could get us dismissed and destroy both our careers, so friends we'd stay, even though she'd given me an inkling that there was the possibility of something more.

.

.

That first year, we adhered to the rules, and I had to endure young men coming to school balls as her date. Life had to go on, and I had to find girls to partner me as well. I'd always enjoyed the evening gowns, the laughter, the invitations to spend the night, but this year we were graduating, and it was like their last chance to snare an officer as a future husband, imagining a social life full of these kind of events.

I knew it wasn't fair comparing them to Bella, but I couldn't help picturing her as the one in my arms. While I accepted we had to stay friends, it was agony wishing her well and parting for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Spring Break, going back home and feeling sick about boys who could do more than just talk.

I had always questioned why there was so much scrutiny around us, why there was always a superior barking at us to move on if we stopped to speak to each other, until the day Colonel Swan came to speak to the seniors.

He called me over by name as I was leaving the lecture and I saluted, impressed he even knew who I was.

"Good luck in the game tomorrow," he said. "You're captaining?"

"Yes, sir, there's quite a rivalry between the Black Knights and navy."

"Oh, I know. I played here myself—class of 1930."

At first, I had to work out if he was joking, and then how to respond. I decided just to smile. "It would be great to have you here to cheer us on, sir."

"I'll be here. My daughter has told me a great deal about this year's team and how you're going to win. She's thinking about playing lacrosse herself next season."

Swan. Playing next season. Suddenly, I realized whose daughter they'd been protecting from me.

"Bella tells me you've been a great help to her this year."

Mustering every ounce of courage I had, I looked him straight in the eye. "It's my job, sir, and she has a lot of questions."

"Yes, she does." Slapping me on the back, he chuckled. "I imagine you have practice, so I won't hold you further."

"Thank you, sir." Saluting, I walked out of the hall and held my chest to stop my heart from exploding.

It was seven all at the end of the fourth quarter and everyone was in battle mode. The vicious attacks to intercept would bear bruises tonight. As a midfielder, I was always ready to pick up a stray ball and try to shoot myself, but this game had become so fast and physical, it has crossed over into controlled chaos. Lahote took a shot at the goal in the final minute, just missing the side of the net, and I chased after the ball with them all coming for me. Scooping it up, I spun around and flicked the ball to Newton who was powering up the field. He caught it, smashed it into the net, and we won.

As the crowd roared, half the team landed on me. Trying to stay upright, I looked into the stand and saw Bella jumping up and down. The Colonel had both hands in the air when she wrapped her arms around him.

.

.

As the school year came to a close, I had to face reality. Bella had enrolled for Combat Medic summer school and I only had the Officers Leadership Course left. I'd soon be starting my branch training in Arizona, and she'd still have three more years at West Point. While I was sure she'd grown fond of me, I'd never kissed her, put my arm around her, or held her hand.

Then she asked what I was doing between final exams and graduation, if I'd like to show her around my hometown. Well, we didn't see much of New York that week. If we weren't making out, we were screwing—

"Sir, can you spare me a few minutes?"

I looked up at the head of our secret service detail and had to free my mind of the x-rated memories. He looked the part this morning in his new black suit, all six feet four of him, and I smiled, knowing I'd had the luxury of choosing him.

"Yes, McCarty, sitting room?" I opened my arm for him to follow.

"Sir, are you both wearing your vests?"

"Yes, and it's surprisingly comfortable." I sat down and he looked like he was going to pace. "Sit down, Emmett."

He lowered himself to the edge of a chair. "I want you ready to leave in ten minutes. At nine hundred hours, we'll arrive at St. John's. The second detail will have already swept the church and cleaned the area of any suspicious persons, and all photographic equipment is getting a thorough check before it's allowed inside. You don't have to pose for photos, but there will be cameras on you every minute today, so just use the quiet time to relax and clear your head."

I nodded, imagining what effect all the intense scrutiny would have on our family dynamic.

"We'll have you at the White House before ten, and that's where I'll leave you to come back for your family."

"You'll let me out of the car first, and we'll come around to get her, right?"

"Every time."

"No one gets left behind." We said it in unison—the motto we'd used during the war.

"Not on my watch, sir."

"Do you think it's acceptable if we hold hands?" I asked.

"No, sir, I'll need both hands free to protect the First Family."

I tried not to smirk, but gave in and chuckled, reminding myself why I was entrusting this man with the lives of my family. He'd already taken a bullet for me and saved my life after a careless mistake we would never repeat.

My first tour of duty in Afghanistan had been short, mainly confined to the base at Bagram, implementing a secure communication system we'd developed back home. It gave the base direct contact with the soldiers, allowing real time intel into the database they used to identify changes in enemy behavior. While I went out on maneuvers to test the equipment, and saw the occasional casualty coming in, I never felt like my life was in danger.

Then 9/11 happened and everything changed. I was soon a captain on my way back to Bagram for a two-year tour. The base had already doubled in size, and barracks were going up everywhere. It now had a hospital with twenty-five beds.

It was our mission to gather ground intel while providing protection for Afghan civilians and casualties coming back to base for treatment or air evacuation to Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany. With three lieutenants and thirty enlisted men under my command, I took my responsibility seriously, making sure every soldier could recognize the dangers in the desert and towns.

I was very lucky to get Emmett McCarty as my Senior NCO, and I chose to keep him close by. We were both twenty-seven and from very different worlds, but he had a way with the men, able to turn orders into chunks of action everyone could clearly understand, so I used his experience. Three days a week, we joined the units in the field, and with two previous tours under his belt, he knew a plan would never run through to completion without having to make an adjustment along the way, and his ability to think on his feet was invaluable.

At the end of the year, I was burning out, unsure what we were achieving when it was never clear who the enemy was. Music from a new millennium played all day at the base, a disheartening soundtrack of love and loss and sex. The only thing keeping me going was two weeks off for Christmas and seeing my girl.

McCarty and I were sent to Kabul, on orders to ascertain how three informants under the army's protection ended up in a derelict house with their throats cut. The captain's report had been vague and full of discrepancies, and they asked us to take a look at the scene, then talk to him and go over his answers.

We found a leader suffering from a severe stress disorder, ranting about the lives of his men being more important than the scum they protected, and his soldiers were scared to death. It took us a while to convince them that lying would waste everyone's time and end up in a court-martial. Eventually, we found out they hadn't followed procedure, handing over cash to the owner of a small hotel and locking their charges in a room so they could have a quiet meal together without having to guard them. When they came back, the men were gone and the hotel owner was dead.

I understood the feeling of wanting it to stop so I could take a breath and be normal for an hour, and I hated Kabul, hated seeing the destruction, knowing there were a hundred eyes in the rubble always watching. How they thought they could rebuild with all the uncertainty and mistrust was baffling.

When we came back to base, Bella had left a message, saying she was being deployed to the Combat Service Hospital in Kandahar. I managed to get through to her and she sobbed her way through the call, telling me she didn't have a date yet, but that it would be soon, before Christmas. I told her I was going to find out if I could take my leave there, but she said her missions would keep her away for days at a time, and I needed a good break, relaxing with my family, not cooped up in a tent at an army hospital. I knew she was right, but I was bitterly disappointed.

Then one of our helicopters took a missile on route to Landstuhl, killing two wounded soldiers and an entire medevac team, and it felt like someone crossed a line. I couldn't take my leave and go home, buy gifts and enjoy any sort of Christmas when all I could think about was the way those poor families would be spending the holidays.

"It's a girl leader this time," McCarty stated, reading the list of personnel coming in to replace the fallen. "First Lieutenant Swan. Female."

"What's her first name?" I asked, wanting to rip the paper from his hands.

"Isabella."

I started laughing and suddenly, the woes of the world didn't matter, 'cause Santa was on his way with something for me.

From the day she touched down, we never made a secret of our feelings for one another, that we were sleeping together, that we'd die for each other. It was an awful way to finally get a posting together, but we were going to make the most of our time while we could, knowing there was always something coming to keep us apart.

.

.

We'd just delivered three critical soldiers to a waiting helicopter when McCarty realized Bella was at the controls. "She flies as well?"

"Yeah, one of the pilots is down with dysentery."

His mouth hung open as they lifted into the sky and headed north.

"How have I known you for a year and you never mentioned you had this woman?"

"She's not mine. She belongs to the USMC."

"But you're in love with her. Crazy, madly in love."

I had to nod. There was no denying it.

"You don't talk about her, don't miss her when she's gone?

It was a conversation I preferred not to start. "Do you know how many times a heart can break? I have to switch it off quickly and completely because I can't control when I'll see her again."

"Vacations?" he asked sarcastically, as if I'd never considered them.

"We have had vacations, and some have been cancelled."

"Man, I hate that. You count down and then have to suck it up and start over again."

"We had to cancel our wedding." I waited for enough silence to be sure he heard me right. "So it's better not to look too far forward."

"You do need a vacation, Captain," he said, counselling me. "Your edges were fraying before she turned up."

"I know."

"Maybe it will be easier to get leave together when you only have one battalion involved."

I sighed. "Or harder. They'd be down two officers, and the body count's still climbing."

"It's fucked up. That's for sure. What are we doing here when Bin Laden's long gone? Soldiers are dying, and for what?"

.

.

One afternoon in February, Bella arrived back at the base after her team lost a soldier en route to hospital. She was understandably depressed, and the sky was clear with little artillery noise, so I built a small fire in the pit so we could sit outside for the sunset. I surrounded us with a blanket, thinking it would comfort her, but she was terribly upset.

"You can't perform miracles."

"I shouldn't have to, Edward, and I don't understand why we're doing this. It's not what I signed up for."

I kissed her hair and rubbed her arm while she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"While you were away, I requested joint leave for April and I think we'll get it. How would you like to go to Paris and have a honeymoon, then wait until we're back home before we try to book the West Point Chapel again?"

She laughed through her tears and cupped my cheek. "Yes, I'd love to do that. I love you. Thank you."

.

.

As the bitter cold of winter retreated, time seemed to pass quickly, and we started counting down the days before our leave.

McCarty and I had reviewed Black's plan for the morning and were accompanying his unit to observe and critique. He was a good lieutenant, ready for promotion, and I already had the paperwork completed to recommend him. We weren't far from base, following them to a location where there had been a shooting the previous night.

We had been developing a relationship with an elderly man called Zarek, a sort of realtor in Bagram, and he was meeting us with keys so we could search the premises. Harmless and friendly, he put up with our attempts at Dari, the Afghani Persian language they speak here, accepting our fresh oranges and responding in his own form of English, always promoting his nephew's coffee lounge to the "Rich Americans."

We reached the address, but there was no Zarek to meet us. McCarty's radar pinged and he wanted to retreat, but Black asked us to wait for a minute in case the man was running late. When we discovered the door was unlocked, we readied our weapons and Black eased it open, finding Zarek inside.

Dropping our threatening stance, we were scanning the room when the sound of rapid fire filled the air with the smell of chaos as a spray of bullets hit my chest, shoulder, my arm, and knee, and I fell, unable to support myself any longer.

McCarty had put himself between the shooter and me, killing the man who had laid in wait behind the door. Zarek was dead and Black was down with blood pooling by his neck. McCarty was wounded as well, declaring that no one was getting left behind.

The next thing I remembered was lying in the helicopter with Bella in my ear. "I'm taking you to hospital, soldier. You have been wounded in combat and we've stabilized you. That means we're getting you out of here. You are not going to die."

It sounded like a regulation speech she gave to every injured soldier, and I tried to take her hand but my arm wouldn't work. "Bella?"

"I've given you something for the pain, Edward, so try to sleep, my love. I'll see you at the hospital."

"I'm ready, gentlemen." My wife was finally here, a vision in a ruby coat, its silver buttons honoring a time when she wore a military uniform, but this was no uniform. A designer had created the exact look she wanted and her new makeup artist had enhanced her beauty. This color she'd chosen, neither red nor blue, looked amazing with her brown hair in its perennial bun and earrings just like her silver buttons. Her only other jewelry was the diamond ring I gave her and her wedding band.

"Oh, Bella." I couldn't find words to adequately describe the moment or the emotions it drew.

She smiled and ran her hand over the back of my neck. "Emily, come and show daddy."

My daughter came in and twirled slowly, a mini version of my wife, twelve years old and growing rapidly before my eyes. She also wore a beautiful coat, but hers was dark green with oversized black buttons, the skirt fanning out from the waist to her black tights and ankle boots. She was going to break someone's heart one day, just like her mother.

"No jeans? Are you sure you're Emily Cullen?"

She came over and plonked herself in my lap. "Mom says we have to lift our game now."

"Bean!" Liam poked his big head in the door.

Emily leaned into my neck. "He's a horrible brother."

"Oh, I know! You're a pickle!" he continued.

She jumped down and ran from the room to attack him.

"Are we sure about this?" I asked, imagining the world's stage commenting on our children if they started this kind of behavior.

"Edward, they'll be fine. Dad will speak to them about protocol and occasion." Looking at her phone, she asked, "Shall we go?"

"Yes, ma'am," McCarty replied.

.

.

I felt her anxiety increase as we drove through the gates of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, our next home. The scale of the buildings was still overwhelming, even though we'd been here before in several capacities, usually in a cavalcade of shiny limousines, but today it was just us and our secret service cars. There would be many more with us when we came back.

McCarty turned around. "Use the restrooms in the White House before you leave, and when it's over, you don't get in a vehicle unless I'm there to escort you in."

"Got it," she replied and squeezed my hand.

When we pulled up, he opened my door. Covering me while I walked around to her side of the car, he waited until each corner of the vehicle had a secret service man in place, ready to protect us from incoming danger.

McCarty leaned in and spoke to her. "Ma'am, when you return, you'll be the Commander in Chief, and I want you to know it will be my honor to serve you."

She touched his bicep and replied, "No, soldier, it will be my honor to serve you."

Taking my hand, she lowered her feet to the ground, and smiled sweetly at the couple waiting to greet us. We ascended the stairs, and she addressed the acting President as "Sir." He was still her superior officer.

He replied with "Madam" and shook her hand before she moved on to the acting First Lady who greeted her warmly. I followed her lead in calling him "Sir" and shook his hand briefly. He made no small talk with either of us, but his wife was cordial, thanking us for the gift we'd sent during the week.

We stood with them while photographers captured the changing of the guard, and then we retreated into the haven of the White House.

Inside, in front of the press, they went out of their way to make us feel comfortable, filling us in on what to expect from the day ahead and wishing us great success. They were quite charming and relaxed talking about vacating a home that was never truly there's.

I had little to say to Victoria James on the way to the Capitol, my mind on the flags flapping on our car and throngs of people lining the avenue. She filled the time telling me how a hundred White House staff would remove their possessions from the second and third floors and bring in ours, right down to our toothbrushes put in place when we returned. I wondered how Bella was holding up in the other vehicle, having to accompany a man she despised.

Bella was thrilled that President Masen was attending the inauguration today. She had voted for him to become President, and he was the reason she made up her mind to run for the Senate as an Independent, seeing an honorable Republican leader rising above his party's doctrine to put the country first. His personal invitation to afternoon tea in the Oval Office when she became a senator only reinforced her belief that he was the right leader for the time in our history.

He'd worked hard at breaking down the partisan divisions within Congress, asking individuals to educate themselves and vote with their conscience, and just as they were writing important reform bills to rejuvenate the country, a stroke put him in hospital for a month, and he had almost recovered when another one struck.

Paralyzed for a time, he still needed assistance to walk and speech therapy. However, his mental capabilities had never been affected, and VP James took over in a temporary capacity, saying there was no need to invoke the sections of the 25th Amendment to remove a President who would soon be back.

Everyone wanted President Masen to return because the momentum he'd created had slowed to a halt. James did not have the strength or influence of the President, and Congress was splitting in two again, fighting over the best ways to move forward.

James had always promoted himself as Masen's biggest supporter, and now there were rumors he wanted the President out of the way, but had no wish for the Speaker of the House to become his second-in-charge.

No one really believed he had an agenda until he moved into the White House, announcing the First Family would reside at Camp David until the President's return to office. Bella soon began referring to him as "the parasite."

Arriving at the Capitol in a line of limousines, there were people everywhere, and I joined my wife, waiting together as the most famous people in the world paid their respects to us and greeted each other like good friends. They were being managed carefully into position because there was a very specific order to this procession, with names being announced as they came out into the frosty air.

Bella smiled and kissed her new VP and his partner when they approached us. He'd earned this just as much as she had, and we were going to enjoy the next four years having them on the team.

We were having dinner with the Swans, discussing the strengths and weaknesses of the candidates in the race for the next election. Bella was lamenting the fact that Senator Cheney was reluctant to run after she had watched his rise in popularity and knew he had philosophies aligned with hers.

Then the retired Major General asked why she wasn't running. As soon as our eyes met, I knew she had already considered the idea. We'd been indirectly talking about it for years.

"Where did you think your career was going, Bella? The military, war, running for local office, state, and now a Senator. What was supposed to be next?"

"If I'm not re-elected, there are plenty of opportunities, sir."

"Why not you?" I asked, letting them know I'd support her. Hell, I would have died if not for her. "Your credentials and experience are impeccable."

She just snorted. "You've had too much to drink." I lifted my eyebrows to reinstate the question, but she shook her head. "The first woman President? You're crazy."

I laid down the challenge, as I'd done many times before. "Of course, you'd have to win the primaries first, and if Cheney isn't going to join the race, he might agree to be your running mate. Number One Observatory Circle is still a very nice address."

Rolling her eyes at me, she asked, "What about our kids, Edward?"

Renee finally said something. "I'll help you. We'll both help you. We're only ever going to have two grandchildren."

Bella looked at her father, who took a sip of his brandy and smiled.

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Three weeks and dozens of phone calls later, Bella had a reluctant running mate who agreed to meet us just to see if it was possible to move forward, and we drove to a town called Mount Vernon in Ohio for a long weekend together. Bella had found the perfect venue halfway between us—a pre-civil war barn, restored to become an Airbnb. The photo of Abraham Lincoln above the fireplace convinced her to book it. Secluded on thirty acres with a stream running alongside, I was looking forward to getting away and hearing what the two of them came up with, especially since I had access to all the data they could ever need.

We started with a meal and talked about our backgrounds, education, experience, and family situations. Ben and Angela Cheney were younger than us, and their story of falling in love and marrying was very different to ours. A fellow army vet, he'd entered the military through the Reserves and wanted to know what it was like going through West Point. During his deployment in Afghanistan, he'd been stationed in areas we knew, and we discussed the differences a dozen years had made to the war.

He was interested in what happened when I was injured, and Bella detailed the steps taken to bring me home, how my body armor and the quick reflexes of my NCO had saved my life but couldn't protect a knee shattered beyond repair. At least no one had died as a result of the incident—McCarty was already on the ground when she arrived back to Bagram, and Black returned from Landstuhl a few weeks later.

With the formalities out of the way, they settled in to isolate the issues they felt were most critical: climate change, gun control, poverty, health care, education, and immigration. I recorded their ideas on my laptop, plugged into the big TV.

They didn't always see the same ways to tackle problems, but they were both smart enough to listen to another point of view, and I smiled, watching them begin to negotiate.

Regarding climate change, they had both studied the arguments for and against, and agreed cutting fossil fuel emissions was a good thing whether the major effects hit the planet in twenty or two hundred years. He wanted the polluters to fund the conversion since they'd been aware and done nothing for years. She wanted to tax them out of existence and make clean power so much cheaper their businesses would eventually die.

He had a vision for new American motor vehicle companies selling electric cars to the rest of the world. She agreed, but wanted to incorporate a shift in society at the same time, where public transport was safe and reliable and might lead to families only needing one car, where vegan burgers tasted as good as red meat, quoting McDonalds Aloo Tikki veggie burger already on the menu.

"It's happening without our input," she said, but none of us had ever heard of the burger. I bet Liam told her he tried one, thinking he was cool.

When the gun control issue was on the table, I knew Bella would have plenty to say. Since she joined the Senate, she had been questioning the arguments against banning weapons we'd used in the war. We all wanted to stop the mass shootings, but he asked her how she would sell her proposal to Middle America. She sat back for now, but I knew she would fight to the death on this matter.

After a lot of discussion on ways to move money from the budget to other more deserving areas, Bella asked me to show them the staggering figures on how much we had spent on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the money the VA needed to rehabilitate and care for the wounded. I had data on the drug addictions, the suicides, mental illness, and the hidden costs to families bearing the brunt of caring for their disabled vet at home.

We looked at the numbers deployed, wounded and killed in both wars and compared it to other countries in the coalition. They revealed that the US was carrying the rest of the world.

It was Bella who eventually summarized what we'd seen. "We can't afford this, can we? The money, the lives, the ongoing care?" When everyone agreed, the defense budget suddenly joined the list of priorities.

Revisiting certain issues, she asked him to look at the problem from a different perspective. In her element, arguing tactically, she was devastating, and I fell in love with her all over again.

Bella talked all the way home, inspired and energized like she had been before every big step in her career. Whether he agreed to run with her or not, she'd made up her mind to enter the race, determined to talk to people on the street. With nothing to lose, she would focus on delivering her message, rather than winning, and see how Americans responded to her brand of change.

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When she hadn't heard from Cheney in a week, Bella called and asked if he'd made up his mind. He told her he had concerns about them running together. If he was a Democrat and she was Independent, he couldn't see how it could work. As an Independent President, she would struggle to get anything done without the votes of her party behind her, and if she wanted him to fight all the way to the top, one of them would have to compromise.

The conversation upset her so much, she didn't disclose she was thinking of running whether he joined her or not, and for a week, she brushed off my questions, saying she still had three more years to serve before seeking re-election in the Senate. It was probably wise to wait until the kids went to college, anyway, so it would be much easier in another four years.

"And what if James is elected?" I asked, sitting down on our bed. "Do you want a man like him as our President?"

"They won't elect him." She walked into the bathroom and started brushing her teeth.

I followed her and leaned against the door jam. "But half the country associates him with Masen."

She took the toothbrush from her mouth. "The polls show his approval is down."

"Who is going to beat him, then? They all have a weakness he attacks, and if he chooses to rise above the personal, he just keeps repeating that the country can't afford their harebrained schemes. Who is putting forward the plan to fund the changes we need in this country?"

She stared at me without a comeback. The grand plan was so overwhelming, it defied everyone's capacity. They had been fighting for years to expose corruption, the hold big companies had over the country, but they still weren't winning the war.

"Even your father says the Democrats are fighting like battalions while no one is leading the corps."

Rinsing, she shut off the faucet. "This is not the army."

"No, but it's a war he can win with propaganda. 'A vote for me is another term for the great President Masen.' He's a snake, Bella." Moisturizing her face, she looked in the mirror, pretending to ignore me. "You won't beat an opponent you can't anticipate, one you'll never truly understand."

"On that note, I'm going to bed, Edward," she announced, walking past me and pulling back the sheets.

"What's the plan after you lose a battle, soldier?"

She sighed and turned off her light, pulling the covers up around her. "Retreat, regroup, study the loss, find a new way to win."

"Yes," I said, taking my turn in the bathroom. I really wasn't trying to be negative. All I wanted was for her to think about a different strategy, because she often came up with unique solutions. I also knew that if she didn't run and James was elected, she would regret the decision not to join the fight.

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Getting a message to the President, Bella was granted an audience and drove up to Camp David to meet with him. Bravely intending to ask for his guidance, she came home calm and emboldened to continue on her own, possessing something she never expected. President Masen had given her his private cell number.

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She announced and hit the campaign trail on her own. After a month, and ten million dollars in donations, she was over the moon when Cheney agreed to join her as her running mate. The campaign team now required a slogan that encapsulated what made these two candidates different. They had both vowed to work closely with Congress to get important bills passed, and she desperately wanted to encourage the President's culture where individual members were brave enough to vote for the good of the country instead of toeing the party line.

Bella listened as the suggestions fell flat and died, coming up with "Team United States" on her own. Scrambling to find out if it was associated with any current body, they couldn't find a reason to veto it.

Sometimes, the four of us went on the campaign trail, but more often, it was just the pair of them. They found that two people with strong ideas could cover more topics than a candidate whose running mate sprouted the same. Between them, they covered the gamut of policies where many other candidates ran on a platform of one or two. NBC introduced a Friday night program dedicated to fact checking what all the candidates said during the week that became must-see TV for us.

Bella had no obvious weakness the opposition could attack, so James began referring to her as "Mrs. Cullen," belittling her status as a "baby senator" and portraying her as a mere wife and mother. Personally furious, she never responded, knowing not to engage him.

We travelled to California for radio and television appearances, and Ellen DeGeneres invited me on the show, as well. She had interviewed many other candidates already and explained she wanted something different from us. Avoiding the usual political questions, she would concentrate on how we met and married, and what it was actually like for me being wounded in Afghanistan. They asked us to provide a wedding photo.

The day came to go to the studio, and I was nervous, worried I'd say the wrong thing and have it blow up in our faces, but Bella told me to relax because whatever happened would be lighthearted and fun. We'd watched the show over the years, so I knew music would play when we heard her announce our names. They'd chosen Montell Jordan's "This Is How We Do It" for our entry, and the whole audience was into it, so it was easy to dance our way in, and we continued while they clapped along with the beat. After we received a very warm hug, we sat down and held hands.

"So, the last time you were here, you'd just become a senator," Ellen stated.

Bella nodded. "Three years ago."

"And what does this guy think about you running for the presidency."

"She's my favorite candidate," I replied, kissing my wife's hand.

Her pale blue eyes stayed on me. "You have two kids. How old are they now?"

"Liam's thirteen and Emily's eleven."

"You fell in love when you were at West Point together?"

I looked to my wife for the right answer, but she squeezed my hand as if she trusted me.

"Technically yes, but we weren't allowed to date, so we remained friends for a year."

The reaction from the audience made us look around, seeing a photo taken at my graduation when she was eighteen and I was twenty-one.

"You were so young. Did you ever think you'd met too early?"

"I didn't," Bella said earnestly. "Right away, I knew Edward was honorable, the kind of man my father told me to look for. He was pretty cute, too, but you can see he gets better with age."

She kissed my cheek and Ellen laughed. "You had better respond to that."

"Well, to me, she stood out from day one. Bella was more focused, more brave than the others. That first year at West Point is tough, and she thrived when many struggled or dropped out. I don't think I need to mention she's a good sort, do I?"

"Why did it take so long for you to get married?" Ellen asked.

Bella sighed. "We were always separated, on either side of the country, and as soon as we had a chance to plan a wedding, he was deployed."

"Was that when you had to call off your wedding?"

I answered, "No, that was a year later, between deployments. They cancelled my leave."

There was a collective groan from the audience, and Bella responded. "We finally got a posting together in Afghanistan and three months later, Edward became a casualty of the war."

Ellen stared at her reverently. "You brought him home?"

Bella looked away for a second, probably remembering, "Yes."

"What was that like?"

"In those days, there were no advanced surgical facilities on the base at Bagram, so the wounded were stabilized and then my team flew them to an army hospital in Germany. Coming back to the States with a cargo of casualties was fifteen hours of hell. We were in a flying hospital with soldiers close to death, missing their lower bodies, or their lungs burned so badly they could hardly breathe. Edward had multiple gunshot wounds and his knee was gone, but he was one of the lucky ones."

I had to say something. "We were grateful they let her take her leave early and accompany me home, but it was crushing when she had to return to Afghanistan and complete her deployment as soon as it ran out."

Bella added, "When I eventually came back, he was still taking painkillers and struggling to walk. It was Edward's father who discovered a class action where thousands of other people had experienced the same issues with his model of artificial knee. The guide they supplied to the surgeons cutting the bone didn't match exactly with the shape of the knee. It took three more surgeries to fix the problem, and ten years for him to receive a new knee that gave him back a life without pain."

Ellen cheered everyone up by showing the picture of our joy on the day we finally did marry at West Point with Bella in her beautiful dress and me in uniform.

I said, "I was a new man, with a great job as a senior intelligence specialist and two young children when I encouraged her to run for the Senate."

Ellen asked how Bella's move into public office affected the family, and I admitted we couldn't have done it without the help of her amazing mother, thanking Renee publicly.

Then she asked, "Did I hear that you shuffle together these days to stay fit?" God knows how she found out about this private thing that started with me warming up my new knee for weight therapy. "I think you should show us." Using my eyes, I pleaded with my wife to say no, but the audience went crazy, and she was soon slipping her shoes off.

"Really?" I asked her.

"Yeah, why not?" she responded, and before I had a chance to argue, C+C Music Factory's "Gonna Make You Sweat" was playing and I was getting ready to shuffle with my wife on national TV.

Actually, I did enjoy it. When we viewed what went to air, we seemed happy and comfortable, and I liked how Ellen portrayed us as human with a history and quirks others could relate to.

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Watching Bella rise in the polls, the media began touting her as the perfect package: smart, family focused with high principles, a returned vet. She had worked her way up the ranks, a quiet achiever and respected member of the Senate. They followed her around the country as she spoke to people in the street, talking to small groups and large, proving she wasn't afraid of the hard questions.

On abortion, she gave examples of the voices she heard when travelling the country, and the majority of women were telling her they wanted the freedom to make their own choice. At a higher level, she argued that a challenge to the current law would need to encompass life at every stage. If life before birth had to be protected, then so did the lives snuffed out by military weapons, pollution, and the inability to afford a hospital visit or life-saving drugs.

The concept kept expanding, becoming their underlying platform of tying many aspects together as a message the whole country could embrace, and they ran the "Team United States" campaign as a series of layers, revealing their plan for the future gradually. While she had all the details ready, she didn't want to get bogged down in them yet. Her goal was to have the people of America believe in her vision and trust her to honor her promises.

As the primaries approached, Bella became bolder. In Kansas, she revealed she would work with Congress to cease all funding for private schools, and go after the high income earners in society, the top one percent who still received enormous tax cuts, the giant companies paying zero federal tax.

Then she did something no one could have anticipated.

We all knew Texas was going to be battlefront when it came to gun laws. In her America, all states had to abide to protect the population, so she decided to face the enemy in a daring way.

Before we left Virginia on our road trip through the southern states, we visited Fort A.P. Hill for a little target practice for the cause. Since I had been stationed there previously, we had no problems keeping it under wraps.

The first rally was at the Sun Bowl Football Stadium at the University of Texas in El Paso. For weeks, she told anyone who would listen that the event would be shocking and not for the squeamish, warning that people under eighteen years would not be admitted. It was a brave move she knew could backfire, risking her speaking to a handful of those curious or game enough to come and see what it was all about. The aim was not to fill the stadium, but to present something they would take away and think about. She anticipated it would be shared on the internet, causing the discussion she wanted.

They spent the morning with local officials, getting updated on the current situation at the border.

Roughly 7,000 people trickled into the Sun Bowl in the afternoon, entertained by incredibly talented students from the college. The last act was a junior who played paint cans, upturned buckets, metal pots and bowls with a speed that entranced me. I could have watched him all day, but sunset was coming. Only he knew his queue to finish was the soft sound of gunfire, startling everyone until the huge screen showed another sunset in a different land, the call to Allah identifying it as somewhere in the Middle East.

The sound of machine gun fire increased and people covered their ears, but it was faint compared to the real thing. A minute later, the sunset on the screen faded away, replaced by the real soldier firing the weapon, and the audience cheered as they recognized the combat uniform of the U.S. Army. Gradually, the camera panned around behind the shooter and revealed a number of gory targets. The human shapes were not human, put together from animal organs.

A second soldier picked up a weapon and sprayed the target with bullets, and then the first shooter moved to a more homemade-looking modified weapon. I could see the crowd now looking at each other in confusion, but no one was leaving.

When the firing stopped, there was a minute of silence as the soldiers removed the magazines from each weapon. They each took off their helmets and glasses, revealing the two candidates appearing here tonight and the whole stadium whistled and applauded.

Smoothing her hair, Bella asked the camera, "Wanna come see what we just did?"

A resounding "yes" came from the audience.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yes!" Louder this time.

The camera followed behind them walking fifty yards to the targets.

"This was a cow's liver, folks," she said. The camera moved in close, and now there were sounds of discomfort. "Even at this distance, you can see how it's been shredded." They let this sink in and moved to each of the targets, naming the internal organs and the weapon used to destroy them.

"With a wound from a single bullet, a surgeon can sew the edges together, but here, it's not clear what's left. Make no mistake. An injury like this is always fatal, and it was the reason too many soldiers didn't make it onto my helicopter to go to hospital. Sadly, they ended their deployment in a body bag."

As footage of recent mass shootings played in the background, tonight's Bella stepped into the light on stage. "How can anyone argue there's a place for these lethal weapons in our society? Please, I beg you to reach into your hearts and think of the innocents who've already lost their lives and agree with me that we must end the carnage now."

The crowd was divided as expected. Some applauded and others were in shock. However, no one booed her, and that was a positive start.

"Everyone told me that tackling the gun problem in this country was too complicated, too bound up in our fundamental liberty. We assert the right to defend ourselves, but the data shows that less than one percent of gun owners have ever used a firearm in defense. The nation's sporting groups demand their member's rights to hunt and feed their families, now and for future generations, but feeding a family does not warrant using a weapon capable of wiping out an entire herd. Then it becomes slaughter.

"Our citizens argue they only use their semi-automatic guns to blow off steam at the shooting range, but I say your right to take a military style weapon home with you is not greater than my right to have my children return home from school or college safely.

"When I'm President, we will sign a bill to ban any weapon with the capability—on its own or through modification—to shoot more than one bullet from the pull of a trigger. Returning these weapons for destruction will easily be done at your local gun dealer. The fines for being caught with one will be significant.

"For single shot weapons, every gun owner will need to be licensed, and a background check into criminal and psychological behavior will be required to qualify. Then each firearm must be registered yearly, just like our motor vehicles. All guns will now require inspection to make sure they meet safety standards in their upkeep, and owners will need to declare how they store their weapons safely. Sales at gun shows are still welcome, but the transfer of ownership falls under the same law and must be done through a licensed dealer.

"Obviously, this scheme will provide ongoing revenue for the states and new jobs right across the country."

She was also brave with her opinions on global warming.

"I wish I could say we live in a world on the precipice of climate change but it's already happened, and we must do everything we can to catch up and meet the challenge head on.

"The signs are everywhere, so why would we continue to deny the problem is real? We have to cut back on the gases and heat we are adding to the atmosphere, because this increased heat is not only melting our ice caps and glaciers, it's adding energy to our weather systems, making them more powerful and destructive. If you want to argue it's going to cost too much to convert to renewable power, then I want you to consider how much we pay to rebuild after each devastation.

"At the same time, I want to look at progress in general and how it affects our lives. Electric cars will still choke our cities with traffic, wasting hours every day. Just imagine a world where it's preferable to catch a train or bus because they're fast and clean and reliable, maybe even social, a world where people can enjoy riding a bicycle to work. Money would flow into the government as fares instead powering private vehicles.

"However, Americans love their cars, and we're going to reopen American Motors and build the world's biggest car assembly and gasoline to electric conversion plants."

Right through the rallies in the south, they used the video at different times during the event. Copies from people's phones were all over the internet, so we uploaded the film to our social media pages, and that's when the comments really took off. The savage reality was now educating a bigger audience.

Bella always finished a rally with her ideas on reuniting the population, encouraging everyone to stop using labels like minorities, black, brown, and white, and start thinking of ourselves as American. We all needed to feel proud of our contribution to society, and to bring back this simple dignity, she asked everyone to take a couple of seconds every day to smile and thank the boy who packed our groceries, the driver as we got off the bus, the men and women who kept us safe in an airport. She urged people to post a review for good service, to tell the manager the server was efficient and friendly, and to thank the nurse for the joke that took our mind off why we were in hospital. She asked them to give up their seat for the elderly or infirm and feel good when someone smiled in approval. It was the little things, the sweet interactions we took home with us that lifted us up and made us feel part of something good.

They might have promoted her rallies as something to be feared, but the people who attended left with many different concepts to digest.

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As her figures soared, they began attacking her again, but she never responded. She was getting ready to battle one-on-one during the debates, or use her information against her opponent if she didn't win.

During the primaries, the differences between candidates became the central issue when the policies were basically aligned. Bella gave an inspiring speech on the error of believing the United States was better than everywhere else. Bigger and richer was not better when we had the highest GDP in the world but barely made the top fifteen for quality of life. Thomas Jefferson wrote into our constitution, "that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness." She said we'd taken the wrong path in striving for the tallest buildings, the biggest companies, and the strongest stock market, while forgetting to take care of our most valuable asset—our people.

She told her story of coming to Washington, full of passion to fight for her constituents, and she called on all members of Congress and the Senate to abandon the squabbles and vote as individuals from this day forward, putting what was best for our country before party politics. It was something that struck at the core of what everyone really wanted, and I believe it pushed her over the line.

The night she won the primary, we threw a party to thank everyone for their efforts and motivate the team for the battle about to begin. We were drunk when we came back to the hotel and celebrated with sex. In the early hours of the morning, we seriously talked about my leaving my job to become the First Gentleman. She wanted to plan for when she won.

The Democrats rallied around her to ensure she beat James and suddenly, we had an army on our side, appealing to their own base to garner more votes, and Bella could keep to her message without having to attack her opponent. She had an unfair advantage in appearing weak by failing to retaliate.

He had no idea she was preparing to strike.

The whole campaign team watched previous Presidential debates together, and Bella became agitated, walking back and forth behind us.

"He still hasn't answered the question! Shut him down and move on!" she yelled as she paced the room, watching a candidate monopolize the debate, expounding on issues that had nothing to do with the question.

Bella asked the question, "Can we enforce time limits like we do in the Senate?" Randall, her campaign manager, shrugged. "What if I ask him first to agree to the rules of the debate?"

He sat down, glancing at me for mercy. "You can try, but how do you police it?"

"I'll find a way. Now let's see the next debate."

I took the time to stretch, because it was going to be another long night.

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Bella practiced constantly for the debates, determined not to get drawn into arguments with James. I had no idea if she could do it, but she started the exact way she intended. Only I saw her slip her phone onto the lectern. She was going to watch the time and assert her right to a fair hearing.

She won the toss and looked at me when the question came up about overturning the laws on abortion.

With her two minutes on the clock, she said to him, "Sir, I would ask you for a common courtesy in sticking to our two minute answers tonight. This debate is very important to me."

It was obvious he didn't like it, because he grasped the podium and rolled his eyes across the ceiling. I guess he decided he couldn't outright deny her because he answered, "Of course. Go on."

Smiling, she thanked him and started.

"I've experienced the joy of finding out I was pregnant with the man I love. I've felt the first stirrings of life inside me, and known the miracle of childbirth, but I've spoken to women across America about all kinds of different experiences. They've told me what it's like when a man tells a woman to get rid of the problem, when she's been raped or abandoned, or found out there's something wrong or a life-threatening reason she has to terminate. Some told me they couldn't bring a child into a world of poverty, domestic violence and fear, but everyone would choose to have their baby if their circumstances were different.

"Because this has become a big issue again, I considered every opinion, and decided to uphold the freedom of individuals to discourage their own daughters from terminating, but criminalizing a woman who is already going through a devastating emotional decision is unjust. Let's not forget the women who've died at illegal abortion clinics, never hearing the alternatives they might have chosen. I support access to safe and legal abortion as a constitutional right—"

"So, you support cold blooded murder?"

I held my breath, watching James draw her in.

"I'm still well within my two minutes, sir. I also ask that you show your respect and allow me to finish."

She stared at him, knowing he'd agreed to her ground rules. "For most women, it's common to be tested during the pregnancy to make sure the baby is normal. If she does have the tests, then she's become one of millions of women who have considered what they would do if the results showed something devastating. No one wants a half-life for their child. Thank you, my time is up."

She listened while he gave a speech about the sanctity of life, focusing on late term abortions and his decision to stop funding abortion clinics, interrupting as soon as his time was up.

"If you say each person is unique from day one, that every child is a sacred gift from God who should be given the opportunity to reach their potential, how can you continue to support sending young men and women into war zones to be slaughtered? Why do we still have mass shootings? When does the right to life run out? At what age is life no longer sacred?"

He never answered her questions, and she knew he wouldn't. He just repeated the same thing he'd said a minute before until they managed to move him on.

He attacked her on education, saying the current bodies were performing so poorly they didn't warrant the new investment she proposed. If elected, he would employ new people to run the best education system in the world. She waited patiently while he continued without articulating a single insight into his actual plan.

As soon as he took a breath, she pounced on the time limit. "May I respond?" she asked, and the moderator told him he could follow up after her two minutes.

"I will cut the budget for private education. As the child of a military officer, I attended many different kinds of schools and found that teachers are the reason one is better than another. What I'm proposing is to put the money into our teachers and professors, giving them more involvement in the decision making process, promoting the best into mentoring roles. Bureaucrats who've only ever attended private schools have no place being in charge."

He couldn't help himself baiting her. "And yet you attended a fancy private college."

She snorted at his ignorance. "West Point is a public school, sir. You don't buy your way in. To be accepted, you have to pass extensive physical tests, prove your academic and leadership achievements and demonstrate you are fully committed to serve your country as a leader. In return for your education, you serve as an officer for a minimum of five years."

"At least you get to work off your free education," he smiled at the audience.

The look she gave him could kill. "That's an appalling thing to say. You should apologize to me, and to everyone who was wounded or died working off their free education."

Of course, he didn't apologize, but she had prepared herself for him to scoff and make light of her opinions. I admired how controlled she was under what must have been enormous stress.

It wasn't until the second debate that she was able to address the budget, and he spoke first, saying he was focused on creating jobs, wealth and prosperity.

When she looked at her phone, I was sure she was going to mention his time was up, but she just let him continue, scrolling the screen. It looked like she was checking her emails, and I covered my mouth so no one would see me trying not to laugh. It went on for five minutes before she looked up and cleared her throat.

"Sir, I think your time has elapsed."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" he asked.

"It's a term of respect. When I'm President, sir, I'll expect you to call me Madam."

"Never gonna happen," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"May I speak now?" she asked the moderator who allowed her to continue. "Who is becoming wealthy and prosperous, because it's not the people I've spoken to? Your party continues with the corporate tax cuts as a way to stimulate the economy, so I'll leave it to the Acting President to explain precisely how we are ensuring the extra money is being used to grow our economy and not lining the pockets of CEOs and shareholders."

He started to interrupt again, and she raised her finger like she did when Liam was arguing. "I'm not finished. You also keep the tax breaks designed to assist with expansion and research and development, but you're including super companies like Amazon and Netflix when they are raking in massive profits. Why is there no cap to exclude them?

"The other thing I find inexplicable is we're still offering the tax cut to the top one percent of income earners. As a group, they earn two trillion in adjusted gross income, so shall I tell you how much that particular tax cut is costing us in revenue? It's over fifty billion dollars. Every year. For the wealthiest Americans who don't need it. When we have a deficit that's approaching a trillion dollars."

His lips twisted as he smoothed his tie.

"Sir, you can respond now. There are several questions there that I believe are important to the debate."

I thought it was game, set and match at that point. He couldn't argue against the devil in those details, but she went on to annihilate him on their spending for the military budget, his broken promises to adequately care for the health of the people who had trusted the President, and his failure to effectively secure the nation's borders.

The final question was a short summary of what made them the better candidate, and she started, "I've been training as a leader since I was seventeen, so I know a good commander does not profess to know everything. When I make an announcement, you can be sure I've consulted with many people who know more than I.

"I see a future where diplomacy and technology are our most powerful weapons, so I will never sign an order to send thousands of troops into combat on foreign soil. I want us to stop calling ourselves a superpower and strive to become a superpeople. We become mighty with the help of strong allies, not when we distance ourselves from our friends.

"This country deserves a President who will never label people based on their skin color, religion, sexuality, or gender, a woman who recognizes there's strength in compassion. Most importantly, we need someone we can trust, who won't abandon a promise made on the campaign trail."

The turnout for the election was 64%, higher than when Kennedy beat Nixon in 1960.

She won by 60.7%, the third highest on record. The Electoral College was 85%, leaving no argument as to who had rightly won.

.

.

They ushered us forward through corridors of marble columns and crystal chandeliers, and it didn't escape either of us that this was a big step for the country. For the first time in history, the President's partner was male.

Facing the flights of stairs in front of me, I took hold of the brass railing. This knee still didn't like a long descent. Then we inched along slowly, waiting for the doors to close behind the First and Second Ladies, and then looked at each other, knowing our turn was coming up. As soon as the doors opened, I motioned for Angela to go forward as they announced our names, and nothing could have prepared me for the sea of mankind filling the National Mall, or the stirring sounds of the military band.

I waved to my family, so pleased to see my sister and her husband next to my parents. Between her career as a pediatrician and three kids under six, we hardly saw them these days, but Alice always found the time to call and show her support for Bella, and I loved her for it.

Shaking the hands of men who'd made history, I found my seat, next to the green coat of my daughter, who squeezed my hand.

"It's just a ceremony where she pledges an oath, like before?"

"That's right, and then there's the parade and a big ball tonight."

"I'm so proud she's my mother," she stated confidently.

I smiled and replied, "And I'm proud she's my wife."

Sighing, I looked out at the mass of people, and her grip on my hand loosened. This kid, who had the same focus and temperament as her mother, was going to be a force one day. We'd known it for some time, and this experience would give her such an exceptional education, I wondered if any of us could envision what she would become.

My son, standing next to me, was clearly nervous. "How you doing?" I asked, and he expelled a big breath of air. Putting an arm around him, I said, "Just relax and enjoy it."

With a rattle of drums and a fanfare of brass, everyone stood for the announcement, "Ladies and gentlemen, the President Elect of the United States, Isabella Marie Cullen," and I stared at my wife, grinning from the top of the stairs for her deafening welcome.

Just as I was questioning why she didn't have an escort, my son charged up the stairs and offered his arm. She kissed his cheek and my throat constricted. If someone ever asked me what the highlight of the day was, then this was it.

As they reached the bottom step, Liam dutifully backed away, and I hugged him to me while she greeted powerful politicians and ex-Presidents, many of whom were already her friends. With all the back-talking and know-it-all attitude Liam gave us, I had no doubt he would be a fine young man.

Brave. Like his mother.

While we listened to the short speech explaining the inauguration, I kept my arms around my two children and reflected on the incredible life we'd carved out for ourselves. I couldn't imagine where I might have been on this day if I'd never met Bella.

As the moment arrived, I moved close to her, ready to hold the Bible while she took the oath, and she gazed at me with the same warm brown eyes that captured my heart all those years ago. Today, she was truly stunning in her triumph.

"Thank you," she whispered and smiled. When I studied her expression, curiously, she added. "For everything."

I would have kissed her had there not been a million people in front of us.

"Madam, you are very welcome."