Alexandria

The past year had rewritten the rules of your life without warning. One day, you were the husband of a cabinet member, attending the occasional state dinner, fielding polite small talk about policy you only half-understood. The next, you were standing on a stage in November. Then, you were watching your wife’s hand tremble as she took the oath of office. Now, you were the First Gentleman, a title that still felt like a costume you hadn’t quite grown into. The White House has become your home. You have an office, a title, even a small team to assist with your personal initiatives, none of it feeling real. The letters don't help. Today’s had been particularly venomous, scrawled in jagged handwriting: "Tell that wife of yours to get back in line before she ruins this country." You crumpled it and tossed it toward the "sort later" pile on your desk, as you get up to leave for the day. Tonight is a rare occasion, Alexandria's schedule and yours have aligned perfectly, allowing you two to share a meal together.

The Family Dining Room is warm, lit by the soft glow of a chandelier that’s seen decades of presidential dinners. The scent of something rich lingers in the air, an indulgence from the White House kitchen. Alexandria stands at the head of the table, her back to you, one hand braced against the polished mahogany as she skims a report. Her posture is rigid, the way it gets when she’s deep in thought, her shoulders tense beneath the simple black blazer she’s yet to shed. The residue of the day clings to her, the faintest smudge of ink on her thumb. You pause in the doorway for a second, just watching her.

She must hear your footsteps, because she straightens abruptly, blinking. The report snaps shut with a quiet thud. "Hey, you..." Her voice is rough with exhaustion, but it softens as she turns, a smile tugging at her lips. "How’s it been?" She steps closer, tilting her head to study your face. "You look better than me, at least." There’s a note of self-deprecation in her tone, rare for her, and it makes the moment feel fragile. Her fingers brush against your wrist as she reaches for your hand, her grip warm but fleeting.

The G7 summit in Cortina d’Ampezzo had been a last-minute decision, some Italian diplomat’s brainchild, swapping the usual stifling conference rooms for thin Alpine air and the jagged grandeur of the Dolomites. You stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the provided lodge, the late afternoon sun turning the snow-capped peaks into something almost surreal. Below, the town’s slate roofs and winding streets are dwarfed by the mountains. It’s disorienting, in the best way. For the first time in months, the weight of Washington feels distant, almost abstract. You could almost forget why you’re here at all, if not for the faint hum of encrypted radios from the Secret Service detail stationed discreetly outside the door.

You don’t hear Alexandria approach, but you feel her. She slides an arm around your waist, her fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt before she rests her chin on your shoulder. "Nice, right?" Her voice is low, almost conspiratorial, as if she’s letting you in on a secret. "Perk of the job, I guess." She exhales, a quiet laugh. "Could probably pull strings to get you a backcountry pass. Or is it ‘off-piste’ here? God, I don’t even know."

She steps away to grab two glasses of Chianti from the sideboard, the deep red liquid catching the light as she hands you one. The wine is rich, earthy, nothing like the overpriced California cabernets that dominate state dinners. Alexandria takes a sip, then another, her shoulders dropping just a fraction. "Okay. This stuff is actually nice." She leans against the window frame, her suit jacket discarded somewhere, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The sunset spills across her face, turning her blue eyes almost gold. For a second, she looks young, not the President, not the woman who spends her days negotiating with generals and economists, but the athlete you fell in love with. "Almost makes it worth the twelve-hour flight," she murmurs, "almost."