Do Wolves Dance with Daffodils?

When the helicopter touched down on the roof of the presidential mansion, Clarissa gasped. She had landed in the land of spring.
 
When Jorge mentioned that he was making a few renovations, he had been very off-handed, giving no indication of the extent of his grandiose vision. The rooftop, formerly sterile concrete, had been converted into a horticultural paradise. Sunlight glanced golden from planters overflowing with crocuses, daffodils, tulips, and a dozen natural wonders she could not even name. She wondered if she had fallen asleep on the long ride, and was dreaming an impossible dream.
 
Jorge emerged from the elevator, all smiles, wearing a grass green kaftan embroidered with pink and white daffodils. How could he have known that they were her favourite flower? 
 
"Welcome, Clarissa.  Do you like it?"
 
He took her hand and pulled her gently towards a padded bench. “Sit. Enjoy. The welcoming reception doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.”
 
She sank onto the cushion beside him, sternly repressing an urge to rest her head on the inviting expanse of silk draped over his shoulder. This was their fourth meeting, pure business, no excuse for anything personal. This was the first time she had seen him dressed in civilian gear. The bold informality of his robe transformed him, melting away decades of his fifty-three years.
 
She turned her head from side to side, savouring the glorious dance of colour, allowing herself to be drawn into the magic of the moment. "You said you didn't like flowers."
 
"Since I met you, everything is different. With your guidance, I can learn to like ... anything."
 
His face was close to hers now, his eyes shining. She pulled her hand away, her skepticism mixed with regret.
 
"Even democracy?" She had meant her question to mock him, but the words spilled from her mouth wistfully, charged with hope.
 
He snorted. "That would take time. A lot of time. But we have much to enjoy meanwhile. The gardens are under construction, and will be open to the public next month. We have planted a million bulbs, and will be distributing them in the fall, so that everyone may enjoy their beauty."  
 
"That sounds like an excellent beginning. But you must distribute food as well."
 
"We will see about that. The floods have destroyed all hopes of a spring harvest, and we must negotiate for supplies from abroad. As you know, our international situation is difficult. All those pesky boycotts!"        ‘
 
"Why have you summoned me here? You said you had an announcement of international importance."
 
Jorge smiled beatifically, transcending all traces of his newscast persona. "Love, of course. When I am in love, anything is possible."
 
Clarissa stared at his face, imagining the innocent boy he had once been. It was hard to believe that he was responsible for the deaths of millions of people.
 
"Who is it this time?" she asked, her voice cracking, barely civil.
 
He stood, bowed, sank to one knee, reaching for her hand. "You, of course. My angel, did you not have the eyes to see what was happening?"
 
The first words that came to Clarissa's mind were O SHIT! Never in her worst nightmares had she imagined that he would find her attractive. She had done everything she could to be the hard-nosed investigative reporter, pure business, immune to temptation. She had felt some stirrings in her groin from time to time, but attributed them to the sheer disgust generated by this rabid wolf that had to be put down before he infected more people.
 
"I was intent on doing my job," she said curtly, pulling her hand away. "Seeking the truth, with neither fear nor favour."
 
Jorge stood up, towered over her. "If it is truth you want," he proclaimed with a grand sweep of his arm, "you shall have it. I will give you an exclusive that will make your name known the world over. But first – you must marry me. All the preparations have been made. The archbishop will be here for the ceremony tomorrow, at precisely three o'clock. That will give you enough time to have your gown fitted and decide on your hairstyle and make-up. The event will be televised globally."
 
"Why would anyone be interested in watching your seventh wedding?" Clarissa's head was spinning. She needed to say no, of course, as quickly and decisively as possible, and demand to be transported home, but she could not organize her thoughts sufficiently. What if ... what if ... there was more at stake than an exclusive interview? What if she was the beauty who could tame the beast and put an end to his reign of terror? What if they could learn to dance with the daffodils together? He had made the effort to surround her with flowers. Could she make an effort to change world politics?
 
"Everyone is interested in power," Jorge purred. "My doings will always be news, and people will always be enchanted by romance."
 
There is no romance here. It’s all a huge mistake. I have to get away before I throw up.
 
Clarissa opened her mouth and closed it again. She gazed into Jorge's eager eyes and smiled. "Could I take just a little peek at the wedding gown now, before the reception?"
 
It’s not a commitment, she reassured herself as Jorge ushered her into the elevator. Just a tiny glance. Then it’s back to business. There is a time to dream, and a time to wake up.
 
“I commissioned Tio Trattorio to design your gown. He’ll be at the reception to listen to any feedback and requests you may have.”
 
Tio Trattorio? I’m going to meet The Great TT and give him my feedback?  
 
She closed her eyes, imagining the moment, and knew that she wouldn’t be going anywhere until she had gazed at herself in a series of full-length mirrors, resplendent in a gown created just for her by one of the greatest fashion artists of all time.

I’ll write about it. Human interest. Thousands of women will swoon for a blissful moment and then move on. Or I can go deeper. The enchantment of power.  The wolf in the daffodils. 

If I write about it, it’s just a story. Business as usual.

The elevator eased to a stop and its doors slid open in fluid silence.

Jorge gestured. “The fitting room is to the left.”

She took his hand. “Show me the way.”