See Disclaimers in part 1
****
Platinum Blonde 3/3
By Lacy
When we arrive at the White House, we go directly to the Oval, and
we're ushered inside without preamble. President Bartlet is sitting
in one of the chairs his feet propped unceremoniously atop the coffee
table. He's wearing Saturday jeans and a 'Bartlet For America'
sweatshirt.
"Mrs. Bartlet would flay you alive if she saw your feet up on the
antique coffee table," I chuckle.
"Shut up and show me what you got," he responds. His hands are fairly
rubbing together in glee. His eyes twinkle with excitement. You
would think I'd just bought an incredibly expensive ring for him.
I sit on the couch next to his chair and set down the bag to remove
the boxes. President Bartlet tilts his head to look at Sam and Toby
who stand silently by.
"He give you any trouble?"
"It was only a minor skirmish," Toby replies. "Josh succumbed quickly
to his fate."
"You weren't gone for as long as I expected, Josh. Did you put proper
thought into this?"
"Could you at least take a look at the ring, before you condemn me?"
I locate the smaller box and case, flip open the velvet cover and
gently slide the case across the coffee table to him. He perches his
glasses on the tip of his nose and holds the jewelry box in the palm
of his hand.
"May I?" he inquires, indicating a desire to remove the ring for a
further inspection.
"Of course, Mr. President," I reply. I have to stop myself from
imploring him to not get his fingerprints all over the stones.
He removes the ring and scrutinizes it for a moment. I lean back on
the sofa, cross my legs, and wait for his verdict.
"Three-quarters carat in a platinum setting," he says. My God! Does
this man know about everything? Couldn't he be just as clueless as I
am about this one thing? "Marquis accents,' he mumbles. "Antique
design."
"Yes, sir." I respond.
"It's exquisite," he decides.
"I had the same thought, Mr. President."
"I'm impressed with you, Josh. This is a ring to be proud of."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're becoming very good at this romance stuff." He places the ring
back in its case and hands it over to me.
"I try, sir."
"Keep up the good work," he tells me with a smile.
"I'll do my best."
"We're through," he declares.
"Thank you, Mr. President."
As we leave, we can hear the President shouting, "Mrs. Landingham!
What's next?"
****
I leave the office at six and return home, but Donna is not yet there.
Her absence allows me the opportunity to make sure the rings are well
hidden before she returns.
Not an easy task let me tell you. It's very hard to keep things from
someone who knows you inside and out? I still have a few secrets from
her though, and one of them is a loose board on the bedroom's window
seat. It should keep my secret, at least until the time comes to
divulge it.
I hear the keys in the door just after seven and turn to discover a
rather ragged looking Donna coming through the door.
"What's wrong?" I ask, worriedly.
"She took me to a place that was over forty miles away." She greets
me with a kiss.
"And she made you walk?"
"Don't be ridiculous. She showed me a lot of places. I've climbed a
lot of stairs. When you don't have much time to look for a house, you
have to see as many as possible when you have the chance."
"Sit down," I tell her. "You hungry? I could make something."
"You could make something?"
"Of course, by 'make something' I mean pick up the phone and make it
appear in thirty minutes or less."
"Ah." She removes her coat and throws it over the back of a chair,
before stretching across the sofa. She lifts her feet so that I can
sit beside her, before settling them back into my lap. "What did you
do after I left?"
"Miss you," I respond. Well, I'm not lying, am I?
"So sweet," she sighs, her eyes closing in exhaustion. I take off her
shoes to massage her tired feet, and she moans from the pleasure of
it. "You're such a good man," she says, her eyes drifting open to
look at me.
"Keep telling me that," I say. "Sometimes I need to be reminded."
"I will. I promise."
"You need to eat something. I'll order dinner."
"Not unless you can do it telepathically, because I'll beat you over
the head with my shoe if you stop what you're doing right now."
I smile and continue massaging her feet. "Did you find anything?"
"We have options," she answers. "But nothing has really spoken to me
so far. Most of the places I looked at either had a living room, but
no study. The kitchen wasn't modern enough. The house was too
modern. The bathrooms were too small," she lists off the things she
didn't like.
"Maybe you're just being too picky." She pulls her feet towards her
and reverses her position on the couch until her head is resting on my
leg.
"Maybe I am," she agrees sadly. "I just want it to be perfect, Josh.
I don't want it to just be our house, I want it to be our home. Does
that make sense?"
"Yes," I answer, my fingers caressing with her hair.
"I want it to be a house we can live in for a long, long time. I want
it to be special."
"Keep looking," I tell her. "You'll find it. It's too early to get
discouraged," I remind her.
She changes her position again, this time sitting up and moving over
into my lap. She wraps her arms my neck and mine go around her waist.
"I know," she sighs. "Thank you."
She kisses me as my hand strokes her back. It feels so good to have
her in my arms. I think about the purchase I made today, and wonder
when would be the best time to propose.
Things like this have to be planned. They must be plotted. I could
ask her now, but I'm not sure she would take me seriously. I want the
moment to be perfect.
Not that there's imperfection in this moment, with her lips on mine,
and her tongue doing that thing it does so well. Just the touch of
her lips can heat my entire body. With my eyes closed, I touch her
cheek and I can feel that her own skin is flushed. We break for air,
and as I look into her face the beauty of her pink cheeks, and the
smoky quality to her blue eyes strikes my heart.
Three years ago, she was a diamond in the rough. She was looking for
something to believe in, and hoping that in the process, she could
learn to believe in herself. She told me she thought I would find her
valuable. The word doesn't even begin to describe what I discovered
in her.
I touch her face again, my eyes lost in hers. She turns her face to
place a lingering kiss on my palm.
Donna Moss is a woman of indomitable spirit. A far cry from the
raggedy soul I met three years ago who was desperate to hide her
unraveling edges. She is a woman of strength and courage. Before
Donna, I'd only ever heard stories about women like her.
The kind of woman who can defend those she loves against outside
attack. The kind of woman who stares into the face of adversity,
picks up the pieces of a broken life, and moves on. The kind of woman
who holds back the storms and the floods with the sheer force of her
will.
And Donnatella Moss does it all with gentle hands and a gentler heart.
She's the true definition of a Renaissance woman. She's brave and
unbending, bright and capable, rare and beautiful. She's flawless and
brilliant.
She's priceless.
The End