Secret Service

Two

Gwendolyn's eyes fluttered as the cold visaline solution sunk in, wiping away any signs of the tears she had just been crying. Of course, with everything she has endured over the past four days, at the very least she deserved these tears.

At least that is something her mother would say in attempts to console her. But her mother wasn't here, having passed away so long ago that she now only existed in memories.

She sniffled one last time before powdering her nose. Her driver, Jean Baptiste — always preferring Jean, was patient and courteous enough to avert his eyes as she went through her process of concealing her true emotions.

Jean had a kind face with Sahara colored skin. His kindness showed in his age as he had smile lines that would be actuated whenever he made any expression on his face.

He had been her driver since before her father's presidency, acting as one of the many nannies she grew up with.

Giving him a thankful smile, Gwendolyn nodded, letting him know she was ready. Without a second though, Jean exited the driver's seat and made his way over to her side, opening her door and preparing her umbrella for the rain.

It had rained every day since, as though the angels knew what harm the world could have when they were missing an angel on Earth.

Rain was something Gwen was used to, having spent two years of her studies in London, where she hardly saw the sun even once.

She still wore a pair of nude six-inch stilettos, matching perfectly with the beige a-line dress she had chosen to see her father in. Jean held the umbrella the entire way to the door before Gwendolyn was handed off to one of her father's men, awaiting her arrival.

"I thought you were going to sit in the car forever," Michael said cooly as he shut the doors firmly behind Gwendolyn, following behind her as she made her way expertly through the house.

The White House.

Something she could have only imagined as a child. Then growing up, she thought she would only ever see it in movies. Now, for the past seven years, it had been one of her homes.

Though, she had moved out as soon as she got the chance. Leaving the country, even.

"A lady can't have a moment to compose herself, Mr. Charles?" Gwendolyn asked playfully, though her smile didn't grow as broad as it normally may have.

Michael chuckled, now walking beside her. The halls were filled with people, many dressed in equally stuffy clothing. While this was supposed to be a house, it certainly wasn't a home.

Interns bumped into each other, holding coffees and papers. Senators murmured to themselves, often not many were there at once. There were assistants, secretaries, private servants, and secret agents everywhere.

Gwendolyn was sure that they all had something equally important going on, but she couldn't help the thought to feel pity for them all.

Michael finally stopped shocking Gwen into a stall, "He's in the Oval?" Gwen asked with a raised brow.

Contrary to popular belief, the president hardly used the Oval Office as an actual office, her father preferred the more reserved less... historic option.

Michael shrugged before knocking on the door. Her father's muffled voice could be heard from behind the doors.

"Come in." He said.

Gwendolyn opened the doors, eager to put on her best show of being the perfectly fine daughter, but her vigor was dulled by the figure sitting on the beige sofa in the room across from her father.