Chapter 6: Sweet Sixteen and Shattered Dreams

At fifteen, the First Lady personally held our Sweet Sixteen ceremony.

It was a grand affair—white tablecloths, crystal chandeliers, and a cake so tall it needed its own table. All the big names in D.C. showed up, and for one night, we felt like princesses.

She opened a velvet box, revealing two antique hairpins—one with a soaring eagle, the other shaped like a storm cloud. They’d belonged to the late President, she said, and passing them down meant we were family for good.

The hairpins glimmered in the lamplight, heavy with meaning. She brushed my hair back and fastened one just above my ear, her hands trembling a little.

Now they were split in two, given to Natalie and me.

I caught Natalie’s eye in the mirror, and she grinned—half pride, half disbelief. We were part of her story now, not just guests in her house.

In the bathroom mirror, the First Lady looked at us kindly, touched the wrinkles at her eyes, and hugged us as we leaned against her knee, full of emotion.

She squeezed us tight, her voice thick with unshed tears. “You girls made me young again,” she whispered. For a moment, we were her only family in the world.

The event was fancy today, but not without drama.

Every time the band played a new song, whispers floated across the room. The press hovered by the door, snapping photos, hungry for gossip.

At the end of the ceremony, Mrs. Ferguson, wife of the Senator from Texas, jokingly suggested marrying the Junior Ambassador to her son.

She clinked her glass, voice sugar-sweet. "Wouldn’t it be grand if our families joined forces?" she said, loud enough for the room to hear.

It was just a feeler, but the President’s smile froze, sharp as a paper cut. The room went so quiet you could hear the ice melt in the punch bowl.

He stood, jaw clenched. The room froze. Everyone knew not to cross him when he used that tone.

Mrs. Ferguson fell silent at once, not daring to say another word.

She ducked her head, lips pressed thin. Her son stared at his shoes, cheeks flaming red.

My palms sweated; even I could tell something was off.

Natalie squeezed my hand under the table. We didn’t need words—both of us felt the room shift, the future tightening around us.

The President didn’t really think it was inappropriate—he was afraid Savannah would team up with D.C.’s power players.

I realized it wasn’t about us at all. It was about alliances, leverage—things we couldn’t control.

He was wary of Savannah.

He’d rather keep us in check than risk a rival power growing under his nose. Politics—always politics.

Natalie glanced at me, hid her panic, and finished the ceremony.

She straightened her shoulders and smiled for the cameras. But I saw the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty that settled like dust on everything we did.

We weren’t in the mood to mingle and soon returned to the East Wing. The First Lady came back late, looking tired: “The President talked to me about your futures. I guess he’s picked out some families for you.”

She collapsed in her chair, rubbing her temples. The party leftovers sat untouched on the sideboard, their sweetness gone stale.

—Boom—

A sudden thunderclap outside, white light flashing across Natalie’s pale face.

The rain hammered the windows, thunder rolling overhead. I jumped, startled. Natalie’s hand found mine beneath the table.

I reached out to hold her, feeling her trembling.

Her grip was tight, desperate. I tried to steady her, but my own heart was pounding.

The First Lady suddenly looked at me, her eyes full of helplessness and pity.

She searched my face, as if hoping for answers. I wished I could give her some.

A bad feeling rose in my chest.

My mouth went dry. I wanted to ask what she meant, but couldn’t find the words.

“Aubrey, the Vice President and his wife let me know a bit.”

She spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. My stomach twisted tighter with every syllable.

She said, “The President might arrange for you to marry Ben.”

I froze. Ben? My mind reeled. Of all the boys in D.C.—Ben, with his bruised ego and endless complaints? I wasn’t ready for this, not even close.

The rain finally started, and I let out a slow breath, my hand ice-cold.

The storm outside matched the storm in my chest. I squeezed Natalie’s hand, searching for reassurance.

Natalie slowly gripped my hand back.

She didn’t speak, but her eyes said it all—fear, anger, and a spark of defiance.

Powerless, our fates drifting like leaves in a storm.

I pictured us swept away—pawns in a game we never asked to play.

We couldn’t escape.

Not without help. Not without risking everything we’d built.

The marriage wasn’t set yet, but the shadow hung over us. The Vice President’s son and ambassador’s daughter knew we were down lately, so they gave us space.

They stopped inviting us to study groups and sat quietly at lunch, their silence a gift. Even Lillian sent a note: “Here if you need me.”

After the Sweet Sixteen, even the youngest of our classmates were old enough for engagement.

Suddenly, rumors of betrothals swept the academy—every week, another announcement, another round of forced smiles and awkward congratulations.

They all got engaged one after another—even Lillian.

I hugged her tight, promising to write, even as she blushed and hid her face. We all pretended to be happy, but I saw the nerves in her eyes.

The teacher’s daughter also just got married.

The wedding was small, in the rose garden behind the chapel. The teacher beamed, but I wondered if she felt the same fear we did—uncertainty about the future.

Out of respect for our teacher, Natalie and I left the East Wing to attend the wedding, but ran into an old friend there.

He was taller than I remembered, with a crooked smile and Southern drawl. His handshake lingered, a reminder of home.

The young man was related to Natalie’s big sister’s husband’s family and happened to be at the wedding. Seeing us, he was delighted, and in conversation we learned that Natalie’s big sister had given birth to a son last month.

He pulled out his phone, showing us photos of a chubby-cheeked baby in a blue onesie. Natalie teared up, and I hugged her tight.

A big joy.

It should’ve been a celebration, but the news only made the distance between D.C. and Savannah feel wider.

But neither of us could smile.

The happiness was bittersweet—tinged with longing for the family we missed, and the future we couldn’t control.

Why hadn’t we heard about such a big event in D.C.?

Natalie bit her lip. “Do you think Dad forgot to write? Or—?”

Before, letters from Savannah came regularly, the general never missing any family news.

I remembered the rhythm of his handwriting, the way he’d tuck a joke or a dollar bill inside. Missing a letter felt wrong, like a puzzle piece gone missing.

Thinking about it, it had been more than a month since the last letter from Savannah.

Natalie counted the days on her fingers, her brow furrowed in worry.

Was it not written, or intercepted?

I remembered the way the President’s aides sorted the mail—always watching, always listening. It wouldn’t take much to make a letter vanish.

My heart turned cold. Natalie sat beside me in a daze, and we just sat there in silence.

The world felt too big, the future too uncertain. I wrapped my arm around Natalie’s shoulders, and we watched the clouds drift past the chapel steeple.

A blue shadow passed behind the oak trees, and a reflection appeared in the pond. I turned suddenly.

The sunlight danced on the water, and I caught a glimpse of someone familiar.

It was Caleb Sanders.

He stood near the pond, hands in pockets, his posture tense. He looked over, meeting my gaze with a nod.

He stopped and nodded to me: “Delegate.”

His voice was quiet, steady. For a moment, I saw the weight he carried—the pressure, the expectations.

His gaze quickly found Natalie, unable to hide his concern.

He crossed the grass to her, his eyes soft. I stepped aside, giving them space.

Natalie turned and saw him, tears spilling over before she could speak, her voice breaking.

She tried to speak, but the words tangled. Caleb knelt beside her, offering his hand. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of them.

My eyelid twitched.

I’d suspected something, but seeing them together—so vulnerable, so real—it hit me all at once.

Wait, there was something I didn’t know.

I realized their bond ran deeper than friendship. The ache in my chest was sharp, but I couldn’t look away.

I wanted to say a lot, but seeing Natalie hugging her knees and crying, I softened and warned, “Hurry up, there are a lot of people watching.”

My voice was gentle, but firm. She wiped her cheeks and managed a shaky smile. Caleb squeezed her hand.

Caleb thanked me quietly: “Thank you.”

His gratitude was real. I nodded, stepping back, a silent promise to keep their secret safe.

I quickly left, keeping watch nearby to give them a moment alone.

I watched from the shade of a willow tree, pretending to check my phone while the world carried on.

When I came back, Caleb had already left.

He moved fast, disappearing before anyone could ask questions. Natalie sat alone, her tears gone but her cheeks still flushed.

Natalie wiped her tears, her eyes still red.

She straightened her back and took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever came next.

I asked, “Natalie, you and Caleb…”

She blinked, searching my face. I hoped she knew I was on her side, no matter what.

She never lied to me. After a pause, she nodded and said quietly, “I like him.”

The confession hung in the air, fragile and brave. I reached for her hand, squeezing it tight.

For a moment, I was overwhelmed with sadness.

It was a bittersweet ache—the knowledge that love and fear could live side by side, that happiness was never simple.

I didn’t know whether to be happy for her, for finding someone she liked, or sad for her.

I wanted to promise her everything would be okay, but the words caught in my throat. All I could do was sit beside her, offering silent support.

The President would never let either of us marry into a powerful family. Even if he did, it would mean endless trouble.

We were pawns in a game bigger than ourselves. Every choice came with a cost—a lesson we’d learned too young.

If you didn’t love anyone, it didn’t matter who you married or what you put up with.

Some girls grew up believing love was a luxury—something for storybooks, not real life. I wondered which side we’d end up on.

But if you really cared for someone—well, that’s the hardest thing in the world.

And that’s what made it worth fighting for. Even if the whole city stood in our way, I promised myself we’d find a way to be happy—together, come what may.

But in D.C., promises are just words—until someone’s brave enough to break the rules.