Capítulo 7: The Prime Minister of Canada

"My job is to do the best possible job for my country, and I wouldn't want someone else telling me what I should be doing in Canada." --Justin Trudeau

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Roselle gaped her mouth at Dylan, whose face was flushed red.

"I'll be right back," Dylan said, walking off with the woman in a pantsuit.

She sat there, waiting for him to come back for what felt like an eternity. She repeatedly smacked her own forehead. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid,' she told herself. She had just made a fool of herself in front of Canada's head of state.

Dylan returned. "Sorry," he said. "My secretary is pretty neurotic. She thinks every little thing that goes on is an emergency."

"Why didn't you tell me you're the prime minister of Canada?!"

He bowed his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't think it mattered."

"Of course it does! You're the face of the second biggest country on Earth and I just spent an evening with you." Roselle felt herself shake with chills, suddenly overcome with newfound nervousness.

Dylan took her hands. They were so warm compared to hers. "Take a few deep breaths. I'm just a person. Me being the prime minister doesn't change anything, alright? I had a great time tonight, and my occupation has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I hope it doesn't change how you feel about me either."

She took a few deep breaths, and eventually calmed down, finding solace in his words. "You're right," she said. "But what do you mean . . . the way you feel about me?"

"Oh, um . . ." He darted his eyes around the room. "I meant it platonically, of course."

Roselle noticed that their hands were still holding one another. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but she felt comfortable enough to intertwine them. "That's too bad," she dared to say, giving him 'the look'. "You wanna go somewhere else?"

"Like where?"

"Upstairs."

Dylan laughed nervously. "I don't think we'd be allowed to go there anyway. Why don't we take a walk through the garden?"

* * *

Roselle and Dylan walked through the mansion's courtyard together. It was beautiful at night--the walkways were lit with streetlights that illuminated the pond. The gazebo was also off in the distance which was lit up with its own candles as well. Roselle was still very drunk, and as she walked, she wobbled from side to side, and almost fell.

"Woah!" Dylan said, catching her. "Careful there."

The two made their way over to the gazebo and sat down.

"Isn't the courtyard beautiful?" Dylan asked.

"I guess," she said, shivering. "It's cold too. Isn't this the part where you offer to give me your jacket?"

He chuckled. "I would, but I have something better." He pulled out a blanket out of his suitcase. It was blue and fluffy, and had a woven picture of a bunny on it. He wrapped it around her, and tucked her inside. "Better?"

She nodded. "Yeah, it's really warm. Why do you have it in your suitcase though?"

"Well, can I tell you something I've never told anyone before?"

"I guess so."

Dylan took his glasses off and put them in his jacket pocket. "When I was a kid, I was very close with my sister, who loved to sew. She made this for me on my sixth birthday. A few days later, she passed away suddenly because of epilepsy. I've been carrying that blanket around with me ever since." He smiled. "I've never told that to anyone before. It's kind of embarrassing. You wouldn't expect the prime minister to still carry his blankie around with him."

"It's not embarrassing," Roselle said. "I actually think it's really sweet. Are you sure you're okay with me using this though?"

"I don't mind."

Someone walked down the path, clapping. Roselle turned to see who, and there was Eliot Scott, the man who would take the spot as the next vice president.

"It's nice to see you in touch with your sensitive side, prime minister." said Eliot.

Dylan exhaled, exasperated. "So good to see you, future vp," he greeted.

"Where's my sister?" asked Roselle. "Weren't you with her?"

"That was YOUR sister? She was so annoying. I had to get away from her." Eliot rolled his eyes.

She gritted her teeth, glaring at him. "Don't talk about her like that. That's rude."

He put his hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt. "Ouch, my feelings," he said sarcastically. He turned to Dylan "You like feisty girls, don't you?"

"What is it that you need?" asked Dylan. "We were kind of having a moment, if you wouldn't mind."

He shrugged. "Guess you could say this is a family visit."

"Family?" Roselle asked. "You mean you guys are--"

"He's my cousin," clarified Dylan.

"Sadly," Eliot added. "Now can you lose the girl? We need to talk, man to man."

"You're the one intruding upon us. She's not going anywhere. If you want to say something, you can say it right here."

He grumbled. "Whatever. I'm not gonna beat around the bush, man. I need cash."

"What happened to the million dollars that I just gave you? What happened to the money your backers gave you? Or what about all the money you got out of your supporters?"

"Look. Things ain't been easy lately. I lost a lot of money in an . . . investment. My people don't trust me with money anymore."

"You've been hitting the slots again, haven't you?"

Eliot was silent for a moment, but eventually he broke out into a laugh. "Okay, you caught me. I'll admit it. I've been at some casinos. But I think I understand how the machines work now. If you'll only give me a loan--"

"No. I'm done letting you 'borrow' money. You need to go to rehab."

"I've been to rehab three times! You'd think it would've worked by now, but it didn't."

Roselle was quietly observing the situation, wishing she could leave, but simultaneously being too intrigued to do so.

"If you don't go then I'm telling Grandma," Dylan threatened.

"Grandma's not here." Eliot shoved him into the gazebo.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Roselle asked, rushing towards him.

"I'm fine," the prime minister said, dusting himself off. "Very mature, Eliot. What would it do to your political career if someone saw you getting into a fight at the president's engagement party?"

"I don't care. I was already elected," said Eliot. This time, he threw a punch at his cousin. "Come on. Fight me like a man."

"OH MY GOSH!" screamed Roselle.

Dylan's nose started bleeding. "Cut it out."

"Or what? You're gonna snitch on me to the press? You're gonna press charges? You're not gonna do that. You're too soft. You're weak. You always have been, you little coward." He kneed Dylan in the gut, to which he dropped on the floor. He continued to kick him on the ground.

Roselle slapped the vice president across the face. "You bully!"

Eliot was slapped so hard that his cheek was a deep shade of red. He paused for a moment, presumably processing what had just happened, glaring at her. "You dumb hoe."

Dylan got off the ground and elbowed his cousin in the eye. "I don't care what you do to me but don't talk to people I care about like that!" He shoved him.

Eliot had a hand over his eye, but he smirked. "Looks like I learned how to push your buttons. I should have known that you have a soft spot for thots. Sadly, Lily's marrying the president now so you had to find a new hoe, huh?"

Dylan jumped on Eliot, and the two were having a brawl on the ground, taking turns pummeling each other.

"Stop it!" Roselle demanded, though they didn't listen to her. She tried to break them up, but she couldn't manage to do so. "You idiots! This is going to be so bad for both of your careers!" They still didn't budge.

Roselle ran out of the gazebo, frantically looking left and right for security guards. "Help!" she called. "There's a fight!"

She caught the attention of a few security guards, who rushed over to the gazebo. There were also dozens of paparazzi who caught glimpse of the action, and ran over with their flashing cameras. The security guards tried holding them all back, but there were too many.

The guards eventually broke up the fight. Dylan calmed down a bit and complied, but Eliot was still trying to break away. More guards had to hold him back.

Armani and Lily rushed over to the gazebo to see what was going on too, and their expressions were painted horrified when they saw all the guards and paparazzi.

"Dylan!" Lily shouted, eyeing the prime minister, whose face was all beat up.

"Ro," Armani said. "Do you have any idea what on earth is going on here?"

Roselle was speechless, looking back and forth from Armani and the chaos. "A presidential fist fight," she finally said.

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