THE BOY UNDER THE MASK: Barron Trump x Reader

Chapter Six: Objects in Motion Tend to Stay in Motion

As you and Barron approached the front of the restaurant, you were startled by the sudden noises from the street outside.

"What's going on out there?" You asked as you halted.

"I was afraid this might happen," He sighed. "I think they're paparazzi. When we step out the door, try to cover your face with your right hand, and hold onto me with your left. They're absolutely brutal." You swallowed nervously and nodded at his words. Latching your arm around his elbow, you prepared for the onslaught of cameras. He stepped out of the door, and your hand immediately flew protectively to your face.

The paparazzi practically threw themselves over the two of you, thrusting their cameras in your faces. You gripped onto Barron so tightly that you were afraid you might hurt him. You waded through the crowd, hand still glued to your face. You'd almost made it to Barron's limo when you felt a hand try to pull your bag off your shoulder.

"Hey!" You whirled around, taking your hand off of your face and quickly pulling the strap back up. You managed to catch a glimpse at the perpetrator's face, only to see a devious smile on his face. You realized you'd played right into his hands. You barely had time to think before a camera flash went off.

Shoot.

You and Barron shuffled into his limo, and he pulled the door shut behind you. You sat in shock.

"Pretty intense, isn't it?" He asked, taking a deep breath.

"Barron, I messed up," You whispered. "I messed up really, really bad."

"What? You did fine! Gripped my arm a little tight at times, but other than that you were great!"

"They saw my face," You said as you looked at him, terror in your eyes. "They tricked me into thinking my bag was being stolen just so they could get a quick photo."

"Oh shit," Barron responded. He leaned back in the leather seats, massaging his temples. "It's ok. We'll figure it out." You meekly nodded, and Barron gave the driver instructions to your home. He dropped you off, waving you goodbye at the front steps of your apartment building.

"We'll be in touch!" He cried as his limo drove off, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What's going to happen now?

You slowly climbed the stairs to your studio, reality not quite hitting you yet. You'd been seen out. Not only that, but you'd been seen out with Barron Trump of all people. You raked a hand through your h/c hair. As soon as you entered your apartment, you turned on the T.V. Sure enough, there you were-- your face on full display for the entire world to see. You glanced down at the headline and groaned.

Barron Trump: Out With A New Girl?

You sank into the couch, wondering what on earth you'd gotten yourself into. You sat wallowing for a few minutes before your phone rang. You didn't recognize the caller I.D., but you already had a feeling you knew who it was.

"Hello?" You asked, waiting for a response on the other side of the line.

"Hey, so remember when you told me you owed me earlier?" Barron asked, hesitancy in his voice.

"...Yeah?"

"Well, I'd like to call that favor in now. We need to preserve the image of the Presidency, and obviously having a playboy son doesn't help that-"

Oh, and having a racist, sexist, and homophobic President does?

"Ok..." You muttered reluctantly.

"As I'm sure you know, the media is totally buying the idea that our brunch was a date. To avoid scrutiny, we need to play into that. So, we need to be dating. Like, officially."