Confessions of a First Daughter Read online

  Meanwhile, Hannah gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You rock, President Morgan,” she said.

  “Frankly, I was skeptical,” Mom interjected. “But you two proved me wrong.” She smiled. “Hmm, after I finish briefing Humberto, I’ll have to inform both your Secret Service detail and mine, of course.”

  “Tell Max?” My enthusiasm for the plan came to a screeching halt. For some reason, the thought of Max seeing me in my mom’s getup sent the heebie-jeebies through me. I could already hear him telling me the plan would never work.

  “Do we have to?” I asked. “Maybe we should do another test run first.”

  “Good idea, sweetie.” Mom beamed at me again like I was a rocket scientist. “I know what we can do. I’m supposed to host a reception for Prince Richard of Great Britain tonight. Why don’t you stand in for me for a few minutes, just to test this out? If you can pull it off, we’ll know for certain you can impersonate me successfully.”

  Hannah gasped. I mean, literally, audibly gasped. Which was weird, because normally Hannah was too cool to geek out over anything. “Prince Richard, the Prince Richard, is coming here? Tonight?”

  “With his cute British accent,” I teased. “And wavy black hair. One of Celebricity.com’s one hundred and one most handsome hotties. That Prince Richard.”

  “Whoa, Morgan.” Hannah picked up a copy of Congressional Quarterly and started fanning herself. “I hope you don’t burst into flames standing next to him. Remember, you’re supposed to be married to your dad.”

  “Now that’s just gross, Hannah. You’re letting the prince’s hottitude fry your mind.”

  Mom started cracking up. “Oh, to be eighteen again,” she laughed. “I hope you can keep it together because if you can pull off this event, then maybe, just maybe, this crazy plan will work.”

  “Relax, Mom.” My words were braver than I felt. “I can pull it off.”

  “I hope so, sweetie.” Mom sobered up. “Because a lot of lives are on the line.”

  “I know.”

  Mom and I shared a look of understanding. We were Abbott women. We were strong. And together we could handle whatever the world chose to throw at us.

  But what I couldn’t handle was telling Max that I was impersonating my mother. I don’t know why his opinion of me mattered so much, but it did.

  In the end Mom was the one to tell him and she said he took the news like a professional. Sure, how else could he act? She was the commander in chief, after all. But I had no doubt that inside he was feeling the full force of another Tornado strike.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Luckily, the reception was to be a low-key affair at the prince’s request. Just a few diplomats from the British embassy and the prince’s entourage.

  Hannah had to be home before dinner to attend an ACLU forum with her parents, so Mom picked out my clothes this time, insisting I wear her yellow St. John pantsuit for the reception. The one that made her—and now me—look like a stick of butter. I vowed then and there to toss any yellow items of clothing and dye my hair green when this was all over.

  “It’s conservative and appropriate for this occasion,” Mom said while pinning an ugly jeweled lizard brooch, a gift from the queen, on the yellow lapel. She wore her robe so she’d be ready to quickly slip on the hideous pantsuit when I returned. “Don’t forget to mention our initiative to raise international emissions standards to Prince Richard.”

  I giggled. “Sounds like you want me to talk about fart suppression…maybe a ban on chili consumption in public places—”

  “Would you be serious, Morgan?”

  “Sorry.” I cracked inappropriate jokes when I was nervous. Which, despite my big words of confidence, I was. Super nervous.

  Mom’s intercom system chirped.

  “That means the guests are arriving,” Mom said. She smoothed her hair. Then she smoothed mine. “I’ll be watching everything from the security monitor. You’re to spend fifteen minutes circulating and shaking hands. Then excuse yourself and have Special Agent Parker escort you back to the family wing. Humberto will cover while you and I swap back.”

  “Mom, we’ve gone over the plan a hundred times already!”

  “I know. I know.” She gave me an encouraging smile, which wobbled a little. “Showtime, sweetie. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I took a deep breath before I opened her bedroom door. “Here goes.”

  I straightened my spine and hit the hallway leading out of the residence with my mother’s trademark quick step. To my surprise, staff members either nodded at me or stood aside. Parker, the lead agent on Mom’s Secret Service detail, waited for me at the elevator that would take me from the third-floor residence to the second floor where the reception was to be held. He didn’t even bat an eye.

  So far, so good. The plan was going off without a hitch.

  Already, guests were filing into the Yellow Oval Room, which is where Mom liked to hold private receptions for important dignitaries. Now I got it. Yellow pantsuit to match the yellow Louis XVI decor.

  Good thing Mom was a gifted politician. Because her fashion sense needed help.

  Humberto approached. Nervously, I smoothed the front of the suit.

  “Feeling better, President Abbott?” he inquired ironically.

  I’ll say this for Humberto. Mom chose him well, because earlier today he met the news that I was impersonating my mother so she could broker a secret peace deal between two warring African juntas with barely a ripple of emotion. Either he thought it was a good idea or Humberto was really good at hiding an internal freak-out.

  Smart money on the latter.

  I cleared my throat. “Where’s the prince?”

  “On the balcony. He’s impressed with the view.”

  Of course. The view from the Truman Balcony happened to be the best in Washington, D.C. In the setting sun, the Washington Monument glowed pink and gold, while lights from jets landing at Reagan International Airport twinkled like stars in the twilit sky. A pond with a lighted fountain added a splash of color on the swath of green lawn rolling toward Capitol Hill.

  Humberto took my elbow and whispered, “Morgan, are you sure you can do this?”

  “Yes.” Stop asking questions, Humberto! He was starting to flip me out. “I mustn’t keep the prince waiting any longer. Mom, I mean, I wouldn’t approve.”

  I plunged into the gathering and headed straight to the balcony. I’d shake hands later, but for now I deftly weaved and dodged the ambassador to the United Kingdom and her husband and a couple of embassy diplomats. Parker stationed himself by the doorway, ready to intervene in case things went awry. I almost missed Max’s disapproving frown, but it would be a dead giveaway to have him shadowing me at the reception instead of Mom’s agent.

  Let me state for the record that Prince Richard looks nothing like the photos I’ve seen of him in the celebrity mags. He’s much, much hotter. No wonder Hannah freaked out…the next king of England should have been modeling underwear on a billboard in Times Square.

  Too bad he seemed bored out of his skull.

  Prince Richard’s famous sapphire eyes were glazed over with a dull stare of polite interest as he spoke to one of the dignitaries. It was an expression I’d worn a bajillion times at these types of functions.

  I greeted the prince with what I hoped was motherly presidential interest. “And how has your visit been progressing?” I asked after we’d worn out the usual pleasantries about airplane travel and the weather.

  “It’s been smashing,” he said in his chippy British accent. “The ribbon cutting at the new U.K./U.S. appliance-manufacturing factory in Utica was quite enthralling, as was the North Atlantic Fisheries conference in Bangor. Lovely places, Bangor and Utica.”

  “Really?”

  “Indeed. I feel as though our two countries are close on an accord regarding, erm, cod and haddock quotas.”

  “Excellent.” God, how did Mom keep from passing out with boredom? And poor Prince Richard looked as if his brain wa
s atrophying before my eyes.

  I opened my mouth to discuss the international emissions standards Mom insisted I mention, and found myself saying: “Would you like to have some fun?”

  Prince Richard choked on a sip of spring water. “Pardon?”

  I repeated myself. “My daughter, Morgan, is about your age—perhaps you two could hang out and have some fun.” I gave him what I hoped was a motherly wink. “It’s a little boring around here, isn’t it?”

  Prince Richard took a moment to politely consider the offer, but he couldn’t conceal the relief rippling over his face. “I’d be delighted to meet your daughter, Madam President.”

  “Excellent.” Suddenly I realized Humberto was at my elbow. He shot me a meaningful look. My fifteen minutes as leader of the free world was up. “Would you excuse me for a moment, Your Highness? I need to make a few arrangements.”

  “Of course.” Prince Richard gave the cutest formal bow, totally Old World European.

  Parker appeared at my other elbow.

  These guys didn’t mess around. Before I knew it, I’d been whisked away back upstairs to my parents’ room, where my mother waited anxiously.

  “Well? How’d it go?” she asked as I handed over the suit. “It looked successful from what I could see on the security feed.”

  “Pretty good. No one gave me funny looks at all. Oh, by the way, I made a date tonight. With Prince Richard.”

  Mom shrugged into her pantsuit jacket. “You work fast. Konner who?”

  I laughed and handed Mom her sensible pumps. “It’s not like that. I feel sorry for the guy. He had to attend a conference on fishing and appliance manufacturing.”

  “Purgatory,” Mom agreed. “Just keep the fun low-key, Morgan. Okay?”

  “Sure, Mom. We’ll play pinochle in the Treaty Room or croquet on the North Lawn.”

  “I was thinking you two could go bowling in the White House bowling alley.”

  “Uh…I’ll ask him.” Bowling? Yeah, right.

  I gave my mom a kiss on the cheek. “See you in the morning.”

  Once in my room I tore off the wig and ran my fingers over my itchy scalp. I scrubbed my face and added a swipe of daring lip color. A squirt of hairspray fluffed up my flattened hair. Once I slipped into jeans and a funky top, I felt like myself again.

  Parker called the family line to tell me the Secret Service detail had moved Prince Richard to the Treaty Room, which was next door to the Yellow Oval Room. When I arrived, Prince Richard was peering out of the south-facing window, where night now lay velvety over the spectacular Washington, D.C., skyline.

  “Hey there.” I stuck out my hand and introduced myself.

  The prince took it gratefully.

  “Ready to get out of here?” I asked him.

  “Absolutely!” The prince’s gorgeous eyes shifted to his cadre of aides hovering at a discreet distance. “But where would we go?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas. There’s just one important thing I have to deal with before we can go.”

  The prince sighed. “Security.”

  “Bingo.”

  He gestured to a nearby member of his staff. “That will give me time to ask someone to go to my suite at the Watergate and get me some appropriate clothes.”

  “Great! See you in a bit.”

  I excused myself and went to find Max. He wasn’t at all happy when I informed him that I wanted to go out with Prince Richard, the most photographed celebrity in the world.

  “C’mon, Max,” I wheedled. “The poor guy’s been stuck at official functions since he came to the U.S. Besides, my mom wants me to entertain him.”

  “Was this you as your mom or the real president?”

  “It was my idea, but Mom agreed.”

  Max’s jaw hardened and I could see the vein on his neck pulse above his buttoned-up collar. “And what do you think she meant by the word ‘entertain’?” he asked sharply.

  I blinked. Was Max angry at me? “She’d love it if we played Scrabble and drank lemonade, but since it’s a Friday night, I was thinking of something more exciting…like dancing.”

  “Morgan—”

  “What if we go to the Purple Panda? They’ve got a new DJ.”

  “Out of the question. For one thing, you’re underage.”

  “How about Asylum, then? They always book killer bands.” The more Max resisted my plan, the more I wanted to do it.

  Max ran a hand through his short-cropped hair in frustration. “May I remind you that you’re still a minor?”

  “Please, so are you! It’s not like no one ever snuck into a nightclub before they reached legal drinking age. Besides, we’re not going out to drink, we’re going out to dance.”

  “Morgan. I’m serious. The security of both you and the prince is too important to compromise for a night out on the town.”

  “Max. I’m serious, too. Prince Richard and I want out of The Bubble for a little while. I’ll call Hannah, too. She’s got a huge crush on the guy…it’ll be an early birthday present for her.”

  “You want Hannah to come?”

  “Sure. Plus you’ll be there, as will the prince’s detail. What could go wrong?”

  Max chewed his lip. At the mention of Hannah, the tension around his shoulders seemed to ease. “All right,” he said after a long moment of consideration. “But we do this my way. I’ll call in a favor, and see if we can get you into Vex.”

  “Vex?” Holy cow! Vex was the hottest club in the metro D.C. area!

  “I know the head of security there,” Max continued. “I’ll send the advance team to sweep the place. I’ll check if the VIP room is available, too.”

  I gave a yelp of joy.

  “BUT—and Morgan, this is a big but—you’ve got to promise me not to do anything crazy.”

  “I promise to remain in visual contact with my Secret Service team at all times.” I crossed my heart.

  “If I say we have to move out, we have to move out. No lip, no flack.”

  “Got it.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?” Max muttered.

  “Nah.” I punched him playfully on the arm. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. You’re in charge, remember?”

  Max regarded me warily. Or was that wearily? “Being in charge of a tornado is much harder than it looks,” he said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Secret Agent Man is getting us into Vex? With Prince Richard?” Hannah squealed. “No way!”

  “He knows a guy.”

  “Impressive.”

  It was. It really was. Max went up a notch or two in my estimation, but nothing could prepare me for the sight of Max when Prince Richard and I arrived at the motorpool. My baby-faced Secret Service agent was dressed in a black shirt—no tie in sight—and well-worn jeans slung low at his hips to show off flat abs. Had that hot bod been lurking under his boring gray business suit all this time?

  “Who’s that bloke?” Prince Richard asked. He’d changed into an exquisitely tailored Euro-style shirt topped with a leather bomber jacket and knitted skullcap that covered his distinctive wavy black hair.

  “That’s my Secret Service agent.” I blinked a couple times to make sure. Max looked almost…cool.

  “What’s the deal?” I asked Max, who stood by the door of the limo, waiting. “Where’s the suit?”

  Despite the new clothes, Max was all business. “I have to blend in, Morgan. Unless you want everyone in Vex to know that the president’s daughter and Prince Richard of Great Britain are getting their groove on with them.”

  True. Max would stick out like a sore thumb in his business suit.

  Still. It unnerved me how different he looked—like he should be sitting next to me in calculus class instead of muttering into his wireless com and concealing his government-issue firearm.

  I tried to ignore Max as the limo slid through traffic to the revitalized part of Anacostia’s waterfront, where Hannah’s parents owned one of the new high-rises going up near t
he Nationals’ baseball stadium. Lights glittered over the Anacostia River, and good hostess that I was, I pointed out notable landmarks to the prince like the Marvin Gaye Memorial Park and the historic wharves, which the British burned down in 1812.

  The prince, good guest that he was, feigned polite interest and apologized for the burnings until Hannah emerged from the lobby of the luxury condo; then he became Scooby-Doo eyeing a Scooby Snack. Hannah had pulled out all the stops for this occasion. A clingy knit dress in a gorgeous shade of fuchsia set off her chocolate skin, and she’d straightened her hair so it flowed silkily over her shoulders. The gold choker around her throat and matching armband bracelet winked in the light of the street lamp.

  Gracefully she folded herself into the limo. “Lovely to meet you, Prince Richard,” she said in a low sultry voice, and held her hand out to him.

  The prince swallowed, then hastily took her outstretched hand. “And you,” he murmured.

  Max and I exchanged glances. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

  A massive line snaked from the front door of Vex to around the block, but the advance team had managed to clear the back entrance for us. The Secret Service also posted agents in strategic places around the club’s interior.

  Max checked me before we headed in. “Remember your promise, Morgan.” The expression on his face was tense.

  I knew the hardest security situations were in public places like this. That’s why the Secret Service tried to keep people like the prince and me contained inside The Bubble, where they could control conditions.

  “Nothing crazy’s going to happen. Just fun tonight,” I assured him.

  But Max didn’t look reassured at all. “This place is sick!” Hannah yelled into my ear over the pulsing music.