My Politically Arranged Marriage

Cal’s POV

There are no ethics in politics, only obligations, as my father loved to remind me. We never did quite see eye to eye. He was determined to make me a younger version of himself, and I was determined to make sure that never happened.

“Are you insane?!” I shouted as I paced back and forth in my living room, still trying to process what he’d just said.

“Cal, please try to understand,” my father implored, trying to reason with me over the phone.

My heart pounded in my chest and I wondered how we got to this moment. I always knew my father was ruthless when it came to politics, but this was too far, even for him.

“Why don’t you come home for the weekend?” my father asked, still trying to play nice. “We can play a round of golf and I’ll explain everything.”

“No,” I answered coldly. A little colder than anticipated. “I have things to do.”

My father scoffed. “Things to do. Always things to do. Well, I have things to do, too. I’m sure a lot more important than your ‘things.’”

I grit my teeth. From the time I was nine years old, my father was determined to become the next President of the United States. He struck gold two years ago when he was asked to join the presidential campaign for Carl Mathers as his candidate for vice president. My father jumped at the opportunity and we’ve been riding this wave to the top ever since.

I stared out at the city as night fell. The sun was sitting just perfectly on the horizon, and the sky was lit a beautiful orange color. I looked at the tall buildings and bustling city below me while my father dragged on about my duty to America.

“This isn’t as bad as you think,” my father continued. “You get to marry a pretty girl and settle down. What’s so awful about that?”

“I don’t know anything about this woman!” I argued, making my way to the kitchen for a much deserved beer.

“That’s not my fault. If you paid attention to the news every once in a while, you’d know plenty about her.”

I shook my head as I scavenged every drawer in the kitchen for a bottle opener. I was furious. No. Furious didn’t begin to cover it. I was beyond my wits. My father had crossed a line.

“Look,” I began, trying to calm myself down. “I can’t just marry a stranger. I-it’s unethical.”

“And what would you know about ethics?” my father snapped. “Big talk from a kid who’s already had two DUI’s this year. How’s that going to look in the eyes of the ecological department, huh? Vice President’s wild son ruins philanthropy prospects.”

I bit back my words. He knew how much the ecological department actually meant to me and now, he’s using it to spite me.

“Are you seriously throwing that in my face?” I protested.

“Of course not,” my father mocked. “But they will if you don’t clean up your act.”

They. As in the media.

“You know I’m working on it,” I growled. “I’m really trying to build—”

“Oh, cut it out Cal!”my father boomed. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, but you’re making this impossible. I want you on the first flight back to Washington in the morning. We can discuss it more then. Good night.”

He hung up the phone before I could say more. I threw my phone against the wall. It shattered into what looked like a million pieces.

I paced the floor of the kitchen, trying my best to calm down. How could he possibly think this was his decision to make? He was out of his mind if he thought I was going to marry some random British woman.

I heard my computer ping from the other room. I walked down the hall to my private office and slid behind the desk. It was an email from my father’s assistant with a flight itinerary for tomorrow morning at seven. I growled.

I needed to cool off. I walked back down the hall to the living room. I reached for my coat on the hook and swiftly exited my apartment.

The cool evening air hit my skin just as soon as I took my first step outside. People scurried around me, eager to get to their destinations. I stood there for a minute, taking it all in. I nodded, grateful to be in the city that never slept.

I walked aimlessly for a while. I didn’t really have anywhere to go, and I couldn’t call anyone. The remains of my phone were still strewn across my kitchen floor. I stuffed my hands deep inside my jacket pockets as the air began to chill.

I decided to visit the electronics store on Fifth. I casually browsed the aisles for a while, studying each item. Then, I made my way over to the cellphones. They were locked behind a glass case. There was a button beside the case that read ‘press for assistance’.

I pressed it and waited for someone to find me. Shortly after, a kid came power-walking over to me. He quickly helped me get the phone I wanted and then passed me off the cashier at the front.

“Did you find everything okay?” she asked, pushing her curly hair out of her face.

“Yes. Thank you,” I replied in a friendly fashion.

“Great. Your total is nine hundred and thirty-three dollars.”

I nodded and pulled out my wallet. As much as I hated certain aspects of my life, it was nice never having to worry about money. I pulled out my black card and handed it to her. She made a face as if she’d never seen one before and quickly swiped it on the card reader.

She thanked me and handed me a bag with the box inside. I nodded and made my way back outside. It was dark now and the night time rush was beginning to slow. I headed in the direction of my condo, back to the life I had built for myself.

The next twelve hours seemed to fly by. By five the next morning, I was packing a bag. By six, I was being escorted by my driver to a private jet hanger just outside the city. By seven, we were in the air.

We landed in D.C. an hour later and by nine, I was sitting in my father’s office, face to face with the man who was single-handedly ruining my life.

Accompanying him were his two assistants, who were nothing more than glorified brown-nosers, and my mother, whom I loved with all my heart. We all sat on the large sofas in the corner of his office. My father and his entourage sat across from me, symbolizing that it was me against them. My mother sat beside me, smoothing out my suit and smiling at me with pride.

“Sit up straight,” she whispered.

I obeyed and fixed my posture as my father looked at me with utter disdain.

My father then nodded at one of his assistants and they nodded back.

“Max will explain the situation,” my father said with a look of boredom on his face. Did signing my life away really bore him?

“Right,” Max began, nervously fixing his glasses that had slipped to the tip of his nose.

He pulled a remote from his pocket and clicked a button on it. A projector screen came whirring down from the ceiling. We all turned our attention to the screen as the pixels slowly brightened into focus.

“Two months ago, congress passed a bill,” Max started. “A bill that prohibited a monarchy from ever forming on American soil.”

“Christ, is that what this is all about?” I guessed, shaking my head. No one responded to my outburst.

“While the bill was passed in response to an uprising in southern states who were seeking to break off and form their own government, some of the language in the bill implied that monarchical leadership was fatuous and outdated in nature,” Max continued. “The law has created a rift in our ties to the British monarchy.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, cutting back in. “You want me to marry a stranger so you can make amends?”

The room fell silent. My father refused to break eye contact with me, and I held my stare just as long as he did. My mother shifted beside me, clearly uncomfortable.

“Continue,” my father noted, looking over to Max.

Max pressed a button on the remote. The screen displayed a picture of the British Prime Minister, Arthur Harris. In the photo, his wife stood beside him, and their three children circled them. They looked like a loving family.

“The Prime Minister has agreed to work out an arrangement,” Max went on. “One of us, and one of them.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, leaning forward.

“It means my son marries a British woman of high class and shows the people we are united and not divided,” my father croaked.

“How?” I asked, still not satisfied.

“You’d be marrying Lady Eleanor Harris,” Max blurted out.

My eyes grew wide. Eleanor Harris was the Prime Minister’s oldest daughter. I had seen her once before at a benefit I attended last fall. We didn’t get the opportunity to chat, but I would never forget her eyes. Piercing and blue, like they held all the burdens of her ancestors.

“Eleanor Harris?” I repeated slowly. “As in the Prime Minister’s daughter?”

“Yes,” my father replied. “That’s the deal. One of us for one of them.”

“She’s beautiful.” My mother smiled, clearly trying to encourage me. “Don’t you think so?”

“Max click to the next picture,” my father demanded.

Max quickly obeyed and clicked to the next slide. It was just a picture of Eleanor—an up close shot, displaying just how stunning she really was.

“Isn’t she a looker, son?” my father asked, eagerly. “Imagine settling down with a high class woman like that. She’s perfect for you.”

“Her smile’s nice.” I shrugged, imagining what she’d be like in person.

“There you go!” My father smiled, happy that I was coming around. “She’s a catch. I’m sure she’s got a line of suitors, but you’re at the top of the list!”

I admired her photo. She really was stunning. I’d be lucky to find anyone as close to perfection as her. She was a ten out of ten on the scale of attraction and I couldn’t argue that she was definitely my type. I pictured her wearing a wedding dress in my mind’s eye and panic set in again.

“This is insane!” I exclaimed, covering my eyes as I realized what I was considering. “I can’t marry a stranger. We’ve never even met before!”

“Son, think about your country,” my father added. “This isn’t about love, it’s about protecting your fellow man.”

“How?” I argued. “How does this protect anyone?”

“Cal.” My father had switched to his political voice. “The fact is, the American people are scared.”

“Scared of what?” I let my eyes roll in protest.

“Of a war,” he said plainly.

“War?” I answered, this time meeting him with a serious tone in return. “With Britain?”

“Yes.” he replied. “That bill has a lot of people second guessing our alliance. To put it plainly, we need to prove our loyalty hasn’t wavered. I’m afraid we don’t have a choice.”

“Cal, please listen to your father,” my mother pleaded.

I looked over to find her eyes welled up with tears. It was the first time I’d really looked at her since we’d sat down. I hadn’t noticed how much her face had aged since the last time I visited. The lines by her eyes had deepended and her blonde hair was graying in some places. It scared me to think that she was growing older. I felt guilty for not coming to see her more, or doing more to help her.

If I did this—agreed to this madness—it’d be for her. Not for my father or my country. For my mother.

“Alright,” I sighed, turning my attention back to my father. “How would this work?”