Olivia
My inauguration was a surreal event. I stood on the same stage where I had forfeited the election, the same stage where Ethan had caught me when I stumbled. This time, I was taking the oath of office. The irony was so thick I could taste it. My path to the presidency had been the most illogical, unpredictable, and emotionally chaotic journey of my life. I hadn't won by being the most qualified candidate; I had won by falling in love.
Ethan was in the front row, sitting between my beaming parents and a surprisingly emotional Mia. He wasn't looking at the stage. He was looking at me, his face alight with a pride so fierce and so genuine it made my heart ache. This victory was as much his as it was mine. We had both sacrificed our ambitions for each other, and somehow, in the messy, beautiful calculus of love, we had both won.
As I placed my hand on the university charter and recited the oath, I felt a profound sense of rightness. This was where I was meant to be. But my five-year plan, the one that had been my bible for so long, felt like a relic from another life. My future was no longer a straight, predictable line. It was a winding, unknown road, and the only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to walk it with Ethan.
After the ceremony, there was a reception. I was immediately swarmed by well-wishers, professors, and university administrators. I smiled, I shook hands, I said all the right things. But my eyes kept searching the crowd for him.
He found me by the refreshment table, rescuing me from a long-winded conversation with the Dean of Arts and Sciences. He handed me a glass of sparkling cider.
"Madam President," he said, his eyes dancing with amusement. "You look overwhelmed."
"I am," I confessed, taking a grateful sip. "I feel like I'm in a dream."
"You're not," he said, his voice dropping lower. "You earned this. Even if you took the scenic route to get here."
"We took the scenic route," I corrected, reaching out to straighten his tie. The simple, domestic gesture felt incredibly intimate in the crowded room. "So, what's next for you, Mr. Brooks? Now that you've thrown away a perfectly good political career."
"Oh, I don't know," he said with a casual shrug, but his eyes were serious. "I've been thinking. My dad and I… we're talking again. For real, this time. He wants me to take a more active role in the family foundation. The charitable side of the business. I think… I think I might actually be good at it."
I smiled. It was perfect. All the charm, all the charisma, all the genuine desire to connect with people that made him a brilliant campaigner—he could use it all for good. He wouldn't be just a playboy or a politician. He would be a philanthropist. A leader, in his own right.
"And what about us?" I asked, my voice a soft whisper.
"Well," he said, leaning in so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. "I was thinking I'm going to be very busy being the supportive First Gentleman of Westridge University. It's a demanding role. Lots of hand-shaking, lots of smiling. I'll probably need a lot of private coaching from the president."
"I'm sure that can be arranged," I murmured, my heart swelling with a happiness so intense it was almost painful.
Later that evening, long after the reception had ended, we found ourselves back in the botanical garden, at our bench. The air was cool, and the scent of roses was thick around us. It was where we had shared our first real kiss, the kiss that had broken all the rules.
"It's funny," I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. "I spent my entire life planning for a future that looked nothing like this."
"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, wrapping his arm around me.
"No," I said, looking up at him. "It's the best thing. You're the best thing."
He smiled, a soft, tender smile that was just for me. "You know, we never officially called off the bet."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? And who, exactly, do you think won?"
"Oh, I did, for sure," he said with a confident grin. "I got the girl. That was the real prize all along."
"You're infuriating," I said, but I was laughing.
"And you're the President," he said, his expression turning serious again. "And I am so incredibly proud of you, Olivia."
He leaned in and kissed me, a slow, sweet kiss that held all the promise of our unplanned, unexpected future. It wasn't a kiss of passion or of desperation. It was a kiss of peace. A kiss of homecoming.
My five-year plan was in tatters. My life was off-script, unpredictable, and gloriously, wonderfully messy. And as I sat in the moonlight, wrapped in the arms of the man I loved, I knew, with every fiber of my being, that I wouldn't have it any other way.