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Chapter Text

Salutations! Thank you for taking the time to read "The Great Pretender". I appreciate your time and consideration, and hope you enjoy what has been written.

This tale was inspired by my curiosity of the Kennedy Family and the historical events that took place during their lifetimes. As someone who enjoys history and understands the importance of accuracy, I have taken great care to research and collect all information presented.

Please note, this is a historical FICTION - it will be occurring in an alternate universe with fictional elements. With that said, sit back, relax, and enjoy the read.

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"Blow, whistle blow away,

Blow away the past,

Go engine anywhere,

I don't care how fast,"

Beyond the Blue Horizon - Jeanette MacDonald (1930)

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August 1938

New York City was legally not segregated, but upon a train from New Orleans, Louisiana, you might have thought it was. If you were white, you sat in the nicer cars — with more space and comfortable seats that made the long journey bearable and light. If you were black, or "colored" as an attendant crassly stated during boarding, you sat in the undesirable cars — where there was not enough room and the amenities were barely usable. 

However, despite these given circumstances, Mrs. Evangeline Rivière — dressed well in a polished dress with pearls — showed no sign of discomfort or defeat as she held her daughter closely to her side. With her head held high, she stared straight ahead, humming softly as rubbed the arm of her young child.

As any mother would, she tried to make any bad experience as comfortable as possible for her child — for childhood was a blessing that should not be disturbed by the cruelty of reality.

Though, if you were to pass the pair by chance, you would have never assumed they were mother and daughter. 

Or kin to be quite honest.

Which is why when the attendant came by to conduct his monitoring rounds, he paused at their seats – dark eyes zeroing in on the child with an accusing question on the tip of his tongue. But before he could say a word, Mrs. Rivière calmly looked him in his eyes without an ounce of fear or hesitation.

"She's negro," She stated plainly. He looked as though he wanted to argue, but bit back his tongue at her unwavering gaze and continued his rounds. He was not the first white person to question her maternity to her daughter nor would he be the last. It was expected with how things were for them.

Mrs. Evangeline Rivière was a black woman who was light brown with dark brown eyes and dark brown hair. Her daughter, Émeraude Chérie Rivière, was also black – with olive toned skin, light green eyes, and long dark hair. 

She was the rare result of recessive genes from her biracial father and her biracial grandfather on her mother's side – a physical reminder of the French blood that ran unwillingly through their veins. However, she was still her parents' daughter – with her mother's charming, almond shaped eyes and her father's sharp, facial structure. 

She was as beautiful and precious as the jewel she was named after – and Mrs. Rivière's last great treasure in the world she was determined to protect.

Which is why they were going to New York City. 

New Orleans, Louisiana – their birthplace and home where all their family and friends resided – was no longer safe for them, and as hard as a decision it was, Mrs. Rivière decided it was best to leave. The city she loved so dearly had not only taken her father, but also her husband, and she refused to have it take her only child. As alien as New York City was to them, it would be offering safety, security, and stability, which was all she wanted for her dear Chérie. 

"Come now, Ma Chérie," She instructed, holding their luggage in one gloved hand, and her daughter's hand in the other. With haste, she guided them out of the busy train station into the bustling streets of the unfamiliar city. Daylight was long gone, leaving them with nothing but dark skies and bright lights. 

After being passed by several taxi cabs, Mrs. Rivière was able to flag one down to board, holding Chérie close as she got them inside. 

"Central Harlem, please."

Though most of their family was in New Orleans, Mrs. Rivière did have some kin in the concrete jungle – two to be exact. 

Evangeline Rivière was one out of three daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas and Mae LaBelle. Her two older sisters, Albertine LaBelle and Mireille Smith, had long migrated to New York after the death of their father – and had been waiting for their youngest sister to join them. New Orleans was their home, but there was too much pain there now.

The brownstone that the sisters lived in was modest – it was four stories with five bedrooms –  and stood at the end of the street with a pharmacy market at its bottom. It took the last of their inheritance from their father to afford, and it was worth every penny. It was their fresh start from a harsh past and created a future for their children. Seeing it in person gave Evangeline hope, and left her with no regrets as she knocked on the door.

"This is it, Chérie," She said, taking a deep breath as she looked down at her daughter. "This is our new home now...we'll be safe here."

Chérie looked up at her mother, and offered her a comforting smile, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. At times, Mrs. Rivière was amazed by how calm and reassuring the young girl was – as though she was fully aware and understanding of the situation that they were in. She was definitely an old soul, having the mannerisms and speech of a grown woman well seasoned in life. She often wondered what sort of life waited for her out there.

"Thank God you both made it here fine," Albertine greeted upon opening the door, pulling her little sister into a hug. She along with the rest of the family welcomed the mother and daughter warmly as they entered the home.  

Chérie watched curiously as relative after relative approached them, introducing themselves and offering a warm embrace. She was quiet throughout the whole affair, mustering a small, nervous smile at the strangers that surrounded her. 

She was still getting used to things. 

"You both should go settle in," Albertine advised, directing them upstairs. "We have your room ready."

The room designated for the pair was warm and spacious. It held one bed with a night stand, dresser and vanity. It was perfect for the small family of two now. 

As Mrs. Rivière unpacked their luggage, she thought of the coming days that awaited them. She needed to find a job, she needed to find Chérie a school, and she needed to move on from her husband's murder. It all felt overwhelming, but as she glanced over at her child sitting quietly on the bed, she knew she had to do it. She had to push through for Chérie.   

Sighing, she paused in unpacking and took the empty spot next to her daughter, pulling her close to her side as she placed a kiss on her head. Chérie smiled at the affection, wrapping her arms securely around her mother's waist and snuggling close to her. 

"...I know it's going to be different now, sweet girl — papa's not here with us anymore, but everything's going to be okay," Mrs. Rivière said softly. "Everything's going to be okay..."

"...I know, mama," Chérie said, placing a kiss on her mother's cheek. "Everything's going to be okay."

Mrs. Rivière smiled at Chérie – her eyes slightly tearing up at the reassurance of her daughter. For someone so young, she seemed more sure of their tomorrow than her own mother was. How thankful she was to have such a wonderful, yet strange daughter.

And strange Chérie was, indeed.

To her best abilities, she tried to hide it – to be the child that she physically was, and live her life as. However, doing such a thing was a difficult task when mentally you were not a child, or even the person people thought you were. It was quite the dilemma, and had been ever since she had "woken" up to this life. 

For even though Chérie was a young child, there was a time when she was not.   

In a time, much further in the future, Chérie was a 31 year old, newly wed Historian who had her whole life in front of her. A life taken swiftly away in one stormy night that she, herself, still could not explain. All she knew was that in one minute she was in 2022, and in the next, in 1930, being wrapped in a warm blanket as she screamed her lungs out. 

A very scary predicament that took her some time to accept.

That she was still accepting.

Her only way to cope with it all was to pretend – to be the little girl that she knew she was not, to be clueless of events that she knew would happen, and to be mentally strong when she knew she was losing it. 

It was an existence that brought her some peace, but little did she know, it would be her only existence moving forward.

For pretending would become her life — and, oh, what a great pretender she would be.

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"I don't want to set,
The world on fire,
I just want to start,
A flame in your heart,"

I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire -
The Ink Spots (1941)

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May 1946

"What are the rules, Chérie?"

"Be vague, be distant, be utterly inconspicuous — put on the show, and no one will ever know."

Chérie finished with a soft smile, gazing up at her mother whose dark eyes were anxious and nervous. Grabbing the matriarch's gloved hand, she gently squeezed it, reassuring her mother again like she did all those years ago when they first moved to New York.

Though Chérie was no longer that small creole child anymore.

Émeraude Chérie Rivière — or Chérie as she preferred— was now a charming 16 year old high school graduate, and, to many, the most beautiful girl in all of New York.

With an olive toned complexion complemented by light green eyes, dusted freckles, plump pink lips, and thick dark hair, she grew well into her African and French features, becoming an interesting blend of both.

Which was why Mrs. Rivière was so worried.

"Everything's gonna be alright, mama," Chérie reassured. "I've done this for years now — it's not gonna be no different—."

"It is, Chérie," Mrs. Rivière said plainly, looking directly at her daughter. "Things...are different now. You're no longer a child — you're a young lady, and it's going to be harder to hide who you really are. Not to mention you'll be by yourself, and out of New York—."

"Mama...I'll be fine," The teenager insisted. "I'll be with Mrs. Beaumont and Blanche, and it's only for the summer. I'll be good and follow the rules — no one will ever know."

Mrs. Rivière wanted to argue, but before she could even get the words out, the strong Manhattan accented voice of her employer called out.

"Blanche! Chérie! The car's here, girls! Come on down!"

Chérie looked at her mother with soft eyes and an apologetic smile. "...It's too late to back out now, mama — especially with all the Beaumonts have done for us. It would be rude to cancel on them now, and you ain't raise no rude child."

Shaking her head, Mrs. Rivière sighed. "...No — I didn't. Just...promise you'll come back to me, Ma Chérie — and weather that mind of yours. Don't cause any trouble with that pretty little head."

Chérie only smiled at her mother, avoiding a verbal agreement by quickly hugging her and placing a kiss on her cheek. If only she could promise such a thing to her.

If there was one prominent thing that Chérie could not hide in her current life, it was her drive to fight and push for change for the equality of her people. She could not do it as boldly as she once did — due to the time and society she found herself in — but over the years, she has learned to be more discreet with it.

Not being afraid to plant the seeds of change, and challenging the growth of them.

As difficult as it was to accept for many years, Chérie understood that she was stuck in the past. She had no way back to her original life, and still had no inkling as to how she was there in the first place.

With that acceptance, she knew she could do two things: sit idly and slowly go insane from the lost of her old life — or embrace this new one by blending into the background, and strategically assisting in the equality of Black America.

She chose the latter — which is why she would be spending her summer in Massachusetts.

"Remember the rules," Mrs. Rivière repeated as Chérie grabbed her luggage, and headed out of the Beaumonts' study room.

"I will," Chérie promised.

The rules were important — Chérie would never deny that. They not only kept her safe — in more ways than she will ever admit to her mother — but also her family. She could still remember the evening her mother put them in place, and the emphasis to put on each word.

"Be vague , be distant , be utterly inconspicuous — put on the show , and no one will ever know ."

They were put in place a week after they arrived in New York when Mrs. Rivière found employment as a private secretary to Mr. Henri Beaumont — a wealthy white man who made his fortune from the textile industry. Upon seeing Chérie one evening, he made an interesting offer to Mrs. Rivière.

"She's practically a white child," He explained. "Why not give her the education opportunities of one. I'll be willing to fund it, of course."

The offer felt too good to be true, but Mr. Beaumont proved to a be a loyal ally to the Rivière family — him and his family.

The Beaumont family lived on 29 Palms Avenue in Upper East Side of New York City. They were of French descent and came from old money, being heavily apart of the social scene in high society.

They were also dedicated humanitarians, who treated everyone equally despite the color of their skin. They were a family of moral and standards, and put their money towards noble causes.

Mr. Beaumont's offer was genuine, and Mrs. Rivière eventually accepted it.

Which began the next layer of Chérie's pretending, and the need for rules.

White passing was nothing new under the sun, but it was still dangerous — many people had been killed behind it. If she was going to attend white institutions for education, then she had to blend in as best as she could, and she did. Just like how she was blending into her role as Émeraude Chérie Rivière.

"There you are, Chérie," Mrs. Beaumont smiled as the olive toned girl joined them in the foyer of 29 Palms. She stood expectingly next to her husband. "Now where is that daughter of mine?"

"I'm right here, mother," Blanche said, running down the grand staircase to stand next to Chérie. "No need to rag on me in front of Chérie. She knows I love to be fashionably on time."

Blanche Beaumont looked a lot like her mother. She had the same dark wavy hair, square face, and beauty mark as she did. Their only differences were that Blanche was much taller, and had her father's deep brown eyes while Mrs. Beaumont had clear blue eyes.

"Now shall we get going then? Jean is expecting us, and I would hate to be late by whistling dixie," The brunette declared, holding her head high as she led the way out of the front door.

Mr. Beaumont shook his head as he chuckled. "Well I guess I'm just an armored heifer — not even a kiss goodbye for her papa."

"She's just anxious, dear. Don't take it personal," Mrs. Beaumont said, straightening her husband's tie, and kissing him on the cheek. "I'll call you once we make it to Massachusetts. Let's go, Chérie, before she decides to leave us too."

Chérie nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"You enjoy yourself now, Chérie," Mr. Beaumont said as the women made their way out the door. "I'll keep your mother from worrying too much about you. Give her a call as soon as you can."

"I will. Thank you, Mr. Beaumont," She called out before entering the car, giving a wave from the window once the door was shut.

"Ms. Evangeline was still against you coming, huh?" Blanche asked as the car began to drive. It was no secret to anyone how her mother was displeased with her coming along. "It's just some volunteer work for the summer — you're going to be doing a lot of it when you start college in the fall."

Chérie thought about her next words carefully. "...It's not really about the volunteer work...more about her only child being completely surrounded by white folk with all her kin too far away to provide refuge if something were to happen."

"Oh..."

"But nothing will happen, so there is nothing for her to worry about," Chérie stated, smiling at the French girl. "I also really want to go — thank you again for asking me to come."

"Of course! Every young lady needs some campaign work under her belt before she enters society," Blanche said matter of factly. "Makes you more well rounded — or at least that's what Jean says. I can't wait to introduce you both. She's excited to have us come, and help out. Her father wants lots of volunteers for Jack."

Knowing someone with a friendship with the youngest daughter of THE Kennedy family was not something Chérie saw happening upon her realization she was in the past. In fact it was the farthest thing on her mind for the possibility of it happening was slim to none.

Yet, when Blanche returned from her first semester of college, gushing about a certain Irish Catholic family, she knew her proximity to history was a lot closer than expected.

Which both amazed and frightened her — it was every historians' dream and nightmare. To be close enough to history to witness it, but not change it.

The Kennedys in particular were a special interest for many historians. Their beginnings, their accomplishments, their tragedies — people have studied and written about them for years, but to actually experience them in person would be an educational achievement.

Chérie felt shameful for how quickly she accepted the invitation to come volunteer for them. It was history after all — John F. Kennedy's 1946 campaign for the U.S. House of Representatives — how could she say no to seeing it in person.

There was also another reason why she wanted to go.

John F. Kennedy favored desegregation and other civil rights efforts during his life, but did not place them on a high priority during his run for presidency. It was not until towards his unforeseen end that he started to openly support and push for civil rights legislation.

Sometimes Chérie wondered what would have happened if he had that fire from the very beginning — what differences could have been made if he was sensitive to the matter a lot sooner.

She had no plan whatsoever to change history, but if she could just spark the passion sooner — it was a dangerous game to play, but she was clever enough to pull it off.

And without even speaking a word to him.

She doubt she would even see him.

During Kennedy's campaign for the Congressional 11th District seat in the U.S. House of Representatives, they had wards set up in every neighborhood of the district to his name out there. They could be stationed at any of them with Kennedy briefly coming by for rallies and parties. The only way you would see him if you actively sought him out during such events — which she knew for a fact Blanche would do.

It could not be denied that the brunette had a soft spot for the future President of the United States. He was all she talked about after going on a ski trip with their family. She was definitely scheming on getting his attention this summer. She wanted Chérie to participate in her plans, but she politely declined — making it clear she was strictly there to work and not fraternize.

"How are you younger than me, and such a cold fish," Blanche pouted, huffing out air. "You don't have to work on the campaign all summer. The Kennedys have a home on the beach we can go to! It'll be fun."

Chérie shook her head. "I told mama I would only be doing volunteer work while I am there, and that's what I'm going to do."

"You're such a drip," Blanche rolled her eyes. "I'm going to get a dish to ask you out for a milkshake."

Shaking her head with an easy smile, Chérie ignored Blanche, and focused her attention on the scenic view outside of the car. Their trip required another two hours before they were in Boston, so they would be seeing forestry and highways for quite a while.

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Jean Ann Kennedy was the youngest girl, and the shyest sibling out of all the Kennedy children. She was tall with short warm brown hair and blue eyes — a Kennedy through and through.

When she approached them upon their arrival at Bellevue Hotel on Beacon Hill, Chérie was not expecting her to greet them so openly, immediately pulling Blanche into a hug and squealing with excitement. When her blue eyes landed on Chérie, she formed a cool smile on her lips and extended a hand.

"Hello, I'm Jean Kennedy! It's nice to meet you! You're Blanche's cousin, right?"

Yes — the story that was made up whenever people asked about Blanche's light green eyed acquaintance. She was her "cousin" who her father took in after the passing of her parents.

Chérie took her hand and returned the smile. "Yes — it's a pleasure to meet you, Jean. I'm Émeraude Rivière. I'm excited to help out this summer."

"Gosh, such a pretty name for a pretty girl!" Jean said. "We're definitely excited to have you here as well. We need all the available hands for Jack. Did you both need a moment to settle in to your rooms?

Blanche shook her head. "My mother already has us checked in, and has taken our bags upstairs. We're yours for the rest of the day!"

"Perfect! You both can just follow me then, you'll be working out of Jack's hotel room with the rest of us."

Chérie blinked for a moment, processing what the Kennedy just said. She had not been expecting them to work in the base of operations. Blanche must had made quite the impression on the Irish family to have them want her to work so closely with them. Though this did put her a little too close to history for her comfort.

Swallowing hard, Chérie tried to not to overthink it as she followed behind Jean and Blanche. She just needed to stay in the background, she did not have to interact with their family.

The hotel suite that John had was buzzing with movement, calls, and loud talking when the trio entered. There were people picking up and hanging up phones; organizing documents and files; and coordinating parties and rallies. It was a bit overwhelming at first sight, but seeing the inter workings that got JFK into his first public office was thrilling in a way. These were the people responsible for his success.

Without meaning to, Chérie began to wonder about the room — a smile slowly spreading across her face as she watched everyone work. She was really witnessing history first hand, and it made her buzz from the inside with excitement. She knew she was going to cherish this experience.

"Hey, kid!" A finger tapped her on the shoulder. "You helpin' around here?"

Glancing up from her gazing, Chérie was met with a young lady that was not much taller than she was. She was small with short sandy hair and warm brown eyes. Immediately, Chérie recognized her as Ethel Skakel — the future Mrs. Robert Francis Kennedy.

Chérie stared at her for a moment. "Uh...um...yes."

Smiling brightly at her answer, Ethel grabbed Chérie's hand and pulled her to follow her. "Great! You can help me pass out these coffees. I'm Ethel, by the way! What's your name, cutie!"

"...um...Émeraude," Chérie answered as Ethel handed her a tray, and began to put coffee on it.

Ethel laughed. "That's a funny name — got something shorter, kid?"

"Not really."

"Well, we're gonna to have to fix that," Ethel stated, placing the last coffee on the tray. "Take these to Jack's room, and set them on the table. The men should be back soon for their next meet up."

"Oh! Um, I don't know where his room is."

Ethel laughed again. "This must be your first day, girly! His room's that way."

Following the direction that Ethel pointed in, Chérie made her way to John's room with an unceasing feeling bubbling in her gut. This was definitely much too close for her comfort, but thankfully, no one was in the room when she entered.

Finding a coffee table in the room, Chérie placed the tray of hot beverages on a clear spot, taking a quick glance around the room as she prepared to leave. Curiosity did have get the best of her; however, when her eyes caught sight to a pile of papers on a desk.

She already had an inkling to what they could be, and if they were, then this is exactly where she needed to be. The original plan was to wait when he was distracted while prepping for a rally, but this could work as well.

Walking over to the desk, Chérie skimmed over the papers, smiling at her findings. These were John's speeches, and they were — quite horrible. Chérie had read how unprepared John was during his early years of public office, but she would have never guessed it was this bad. His ideas were definitely there, but not in a coherent explanation on paper.

The lecture professor in her wanted to rewrite them all, but she had no right to. Naturally, John was going to shape into the leader that they all read about in the future. For now, all she would do was plant the seed.

Chérie took a quick glance over her shoulder before digging into her hand bag. Pulling out a folded newspaper, she opened it up and placed it on the desk — finding a spare piece of paper and writing "Please Read" on it.

The newspaper was from her uncle's newspaper shop in Harlem, and had an important story as the main article.

VETERANS' EYES GOUGED OUT BY HATE-CRAZED DIXIE POLICE

On February 12, 1946, just hours after being honorably discharged from the United States Army, Isaac Woodard Jr. — while still wearing his uniform— was viciously attacked and blinded by South Carolina police as he was taking a bus home.

As of date, the state of South Carolina has yet to arrest and charge the police men that committed this crime or even acknowledge that it happened. There was no national news coverage or interest in the story. The only people that knew and cared about it was Black America.

John F. Kennedy lived a luxurious, privileged life in Massachusetts away from all the ugliness that was racism and Jim Crow. If he just had a glimpse of what it was really like, then maybe he would not be so hesitant in the future to make a change. She just hoped when he saw the paper he did not dismiss it.

Closing up her hand bag, Chérie smiled triumphantly to herself as she made her way to the door to leave. As she was about to open it, it swung open, causing her to freeze in misstep when a familiar yet eerie Bostonian accent stepped into the room.

"I need just a minute, dad," The voice huffed, tired and anxious. "I've been running around town all morning. Just give me—."

Chérie gripped her dress tightly as a pair of tired, bluish green eyes fell on her with a questionable gaze. In front of her stood a confused, tall, and skinny young man with hooded bluish green eyes, somewhat tidy brown hair, and big ears. The suit that he was wearing was severely wrinkled, and he looked as though he was about to be sick.

This was John Fitzgerald Kennedy — the 35th President of the United States of America.

He was just as stunned to see her there as Chérie was herself — racking her mind on how to get out of this awkward staring contest with a historical figure. Then she remembered why she was even there in the first place.

"Coffee!" Chérie blurted out, pointing to the tray of drinks on the coffee table. "I came in here to bring you coffee — for your meeting."

With his eyes still on her, John nodded slowly, stepping aside in the doorway for her to leave. "Uh, um, thank you."

"You're welcome, sir," Chérie replied, walking out of the room. When she was a good distance away, she looked back and saw he was shut in his room now.

"There you are!" Jean exclaimed, walking over to Chérie. "I've been looking everywhere for you, cookie! You missed the whole tour."

"I'm sorry," Chérie apologized. "I got lost and then Ethel asked to deliver coffee—."

"Ethel? Haha — leave it to her to put someone to work as soon as they get here," Jean giggled. "It's okay. I don't mind doing the tour again, then we can settle in with Blanche and pass out some flyers. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," Chérie breathed, relieved.

For the rest of the summer of 1946, Chérie dedicated her time and efforts into being a campaign girl: making calls, passing out flyers, and hosting rallies. It was tiresome work, especially when she was supposed to be in incognito mode the entire time, but it was worth every moment.

Everyday she worked with Blanche, knocking on doors and passing out pamphlets and buttons to get John's name out there. It brought back some memories of when she was helping with Barack Obama's 2008 Presidential Campaign. She wondered if she could come back and help when Kennedy was running for the Presidency — maybe push for him to visit more Black communities as he was on the trail.

A far fetched idea, but so was time traveling.

There was only one downside to the entire summer, and Chérie was not sure how to feel about it.

"Hi, Émeraude, um, would you like to go grab a shake?"

"I'm sorry — I have to make calls all afternoon. Maybe Beth can go with you."

The increase of male attention.

For most of her time in the past, Chérie had been able to avoid gaining the attention of the opposite sex. She went to primarily all girl schools and only ever was around her family or the Beaumonts. Of course, she would get stares on the street, but no one ever approached because she was with her mother.

However, her mother was not here to glare away brazen young men from her, she was on her own, which meant open season for a lot of them.

Everyday a young man had asked her out for a shake or to the cinema, and she declined all of them. She was hoping they would catch the hint, but none seem to be good at comprehension. It had gotten so bad that she started to work later in the evenings with the older crowd just to avoid them.

It was a lot more quieter in the hotel suite then, and gave Chérie some much needed space.

One night when she was putting together flyer packets for the next day, she walked past John's bedroom door, catching a glimpse of what he was doing inside. He was sitting in a chair with his reading glasses on, reading a certain newspaper with Isaac Woodard Jr.'s name it. She could not help, but smile.

The flame was lit.

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"Oh, who's gonna fix the whistle?,
Won't somebody fix the whistle,
Oh, who's gonna fix the whistle?,
So my poor old pop will,
Know it's time for him to stop,"

Five O' Clock Whistle -
Ella Fitzgerald (1940)

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June 1947

President Truman's solemn voice filled the entire LaBelle Pharmacy as Chérie turned up the volume of the radio. With a lollipop firmly in her mouth, she leaned against the stand that held the radio in place, listening intently to every word. June 29th, 1947 will go down in history as the first that any President of the United States addressed the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People — and she was experiencing it first hand in person.

It was both thrilling and haunting — to witness history firsthand when you have already studied it.

Such a thing would cause some to go utterly insane, but Chérie — who always found solace learning about the past — was finding her peace with it. There was no point in going mad over something she still had no clue could happen. For now, all she could do was work the pharmacy, listen to President Truman, and suck on her lollipop.

The summer of 1947 was a quiet and pleasant one for the time traveler. After finishing her first year at Barnard College — an all white women's college in Manhattan, New York — retreating away to her family's pharmacy for the summer was a well welcomed change of environment. From the children coming in and buying candy to the adults picking up their medicine and sparring a chat, it felt good to be around people she was used to and comfortable with.

The LaBelle Pharmacy was a very popular spot in the community. Nearly everyone in the neighborhood came in and patronized at the establishment, so there were never no strangers that walked in the shop besides the few white people that strayed in.

Working there had always been a treat for Chérie — it helped her feel connected to the community as well as gave her place to encourage the support for civil rights.

Something her family was not very keen on her doing.

"You know your mama's gonna pop you if she catches you listenin' to that, right?" A cocky voice entered, causing Chérie to roll her eyes.

Releasing the lollipop with a loud "pop" from her mouth, Chérie turned to her cousin with an unimpressed look as she returned behind the counter. She had four cousins — all of which she loved very much — but Zachary Elijah Smith was by far the most annoying.

Zachary was the third eldest out of all of the LaBelle grandchildren. Stocky built with brown skin, deep set dark eyes, and thick eyebrows, Zachary worked down at the newspaper office with his father, James "Jimmy" Smith, and brought in fresh papers to the pharmacy. His drop-offs were always a "fun" time for Chérie whenever she manned the pharmacy.

"You not gonna tell on me, are ya?" Chérie asked. "This is history after all — something to tell our grandchildren. The first President ever to address the NAACP in talks of civil rights."

It was Zachary's turn now to roll his eyes as he refilled the newsstand. "As if that's gonna change anything. Those crackers up in D.C. ain't gon do shit for us. Just told them folks that to shut 'em up about that Isaac Woodard fellow."

"Must you be so pessimistic."

"I'm a realist," Zachary stated, finally facing his younger cousin. "And it's time you start being one as well. The last thing this family needs is for you to be a civil rights activist at an all white college."

"Maybe that's exactly what needs to happen," Chérie said, folding her arms across her chest. She did not mind stirring the pot at Barnard College, having already made an impression on her English professor by writing her finals paper on the Blinding of Isaac Woodard Jr.

However, it was the only scandalous thing she did so far at the institution.

For Chérie's first year at the college, she was fairly tamed in her activism, understanding that for her Freshman year she should be grounding herself first before encouraging any type of revolution. Sophomore year; however, was going to be a much different story.

Zachary shook his head. "You sounding a lot like your Pa right now, and must I remind you what happened to him."

Chérie held her tongue, pressing her lips hard together as she gripped her arms tightly at Zachary's words. With hard eyes, she took deep breaths, weathering the anger that was boiling inside of her. She knew his words were not supposed to be venomous, but they still stung in a place that she had not been in years.

"No need. I remember just fine, Zach," She stated firmly. "At least my Pa had the courage to die for something? Can't say the same for the rest of ya."

"Because the rest of us have accepted the way thangs are around here," Zachary exclaimed, filling up the last stand. Picking up the remaining papers, he started to make his way to the shop door. "This is the white man's world, Chérie, and we're just living in it. I advise you realize that soon before something bad happens to you too."

Sighing at Zachary's last words as he left, Chérie leaned against the counter, and continued to listen to Truman. Despite how the family felt about civil rights, she knew for a fact that it was going to happen, and great things were going to come from it.

Her father, Jacques Rivière, believed so as well — until his dying breath. Mrs. Rivière was also a believer at one point, but the loss of her husband took that fire away from her.

Now it was only Chérie carrying the torch in the family. A heavy burden, but someone had to do it.

"Don't you pay no mind to him," A deep voice approached, putting down some cigarettes, peanuts, and a Coca Cola on the counter for check out. "Niggas like him ain't ready to accept the truth. Truman doin' a good thang out here for us — pushin' for change."

Looking up at the customer, Chérie offered him a small smile before beginning the check out process. "Thanks, Billy."

William "Billy" Harrison Wilkins was Chérie's first friend upon moving to Harlem in 1938. He was tall with a well built frame, warm brown skin, dark eyes, and a strong jawline. He had a dimpled smile and a scar in his left eyebrow that made him a dreamboat to the ladies. His attire was always a straw hat on his head with some gray coveralls, gloves, and a plain white tank top — his uniform for the factory he worked at.

"Anytime, Cherry," He smiled, using the nickname he coined for her. "...So how ya been? Hope them white folks up at that school been treatin' you well."

Chérie shrugged as she bagged his items and calculated his total. "They are — since they think I'm white that is. It's definitely uncomfortable at times, but what they are teaching is worth it. That'll be $0.25. How's the factory?"

"Shit — but it's a livin' and puts food on the table, so can't complain," Billy said, pulling out a quarter and handing it to Chérie.

"You still playing that trumpet of yours?"

"Oh, I won't ever stop playin' Mona, Cherry — you know that. Remember all the songs you used to sing with her? You both made some sweet music together."

Chérie only nodded as she handed Billy his bag and receipt, remembering well of their time together on the steps of her family's brownstone as she song his songs with his trumpet. But she decided not to verbally say anything, knowing where the mention of such a time would lead to.

"It'll be nice if you both could do a reunion down at Smalls Paradise?"

"You know I don't like to sing in front of folks, Billy — especially at a night club I have no business going to. My mama would kill me."

Smalls Paradise was a nightclub in Harlem that Billy performed at during the week. Owned by Ed Smalls, it was the only one of the well-known night clubs in Harlem to be owned by an African-American and be integrated. It was a stand out place, and all of Chérie's cousins went to it for a good time and a drink.

Billy had been performing there since last year with the house band, and was making quite the name for himself. He had been trying to get Chérie to sing there for quite some time, but she always turned him down.

As a person from the 21st Century who was lost in time, it was not a good idea for her to draw a lot of attention to herself.

"She doesn't have to know," Billy insisted. "Your cousins come all the time."

Chérie made a face. "Do I look like Quincy, Gregory, Zachary, or Edith?"

"No, you don't," Billy chuckled, pulling out a cigarette and heading to the door. "Just think about it, Cherry. At least, come out once to hear me play. I promise not to tell, Ms. Evangeline."

With a quick wink and smirk, Billy exited the shop, leaving Chérie to herself again — a small smile playing on her lips.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful for the time traveler, she continued her duties at the pharmacy as customers came in, and was left to her own devices when foot traffic was low. By the time 3:00PM came around, she was restocking some items behind the counter and listening to smooth jazz on the radio. As she hummed to the music, the front door bell rung, alerting her that someone had just walked in.

"Welcome to the LaBelle Pharmacy," She called with her back still turned, refilling the peppermint candy. "Please let me know if you need assistance with anything."

Chérie heard a couple of voices respond to her, alerting her that more than one person had entered the store. They seemed to have found what they wanted with no issue was they only browsed the aisles for a few minutes before coming to the check out counter. Chérie was refilling her last item when they placed their items on the counter.

"Will that be all today?" She said, quickly turning around and beginning the check out process.

"Yeah," One voice responded. The other body was completely silent — in fact, Chérie would have probably never known he was there if the first voice didn't roughly nudge him in the shoulder. "...Stop gawking with your peepers, Bobby. You're being fuckin' weird. If you think the dame's pretty, then ask her out."

Upon hearing the name "Bobby" and hearing a thick Bostonian accent mumble "Sorry", Chérie froze mid-checkout, and slowly lifted her light green eyes to steely blue ones that belonged to Robert Francis Kennedy.

The seventh Kennedy and third boy, Robert stood tall in his dark suit and tie with blue eyes, neat brown hair, a boyish face, and dimpled chin. Chérie had briefly encountered him during the campaign last year when she had to deliver some flyers to a rally in Charleston. She had passed them to Robert upon her arrival, keeping her head down and speaking quickly in order to get back to the base of operations.

However, by the way he was looking at her right now, it looked as though he got a better look at her than she had initially thought.

A look of familiarity was in Robert's eyes as he peered at Chérie curiously, pulling out his wallet as his eyes stayed eerily trained on her. She stood still during the entire examination, gripping her dress under the counter as she tried to control her breathing.

This is bad — very bad.

"I didn't know they hired whites in a colored store," Robert's friend commented, also looking at Chérie. "Aren't you a little too pretty to be working, cookie?"

Focusing her attention back to the items being purchased, Chérie quickly rung them up and bagged them — not liking how this line of questioning was going as Robert stood there recognizing her. "That'll be  $0.75, sir."

As the first gentleman was about to reach into his pocket, Robert stopped him and handed him over the bag. "I got it this time, Buck. You go ahead and get us a taxi — I'll be out in a minute."

Looking at Robert as his eyes stayed focus on Chérie, his friend chuckled before shaking his head and smirking. "Alright then, Bobby. Look at you finally becoming a man."

Robert rolled his eyes at his friend's comment, and waited until he was out of the shop to focus on Chérie again. His stare was sure this time as he watched her, which made her very nervous.

Diverting her eyes to the counter, Chérie tried her best to not feel uncomfortable with such a stare. "...Can I help you, sir?"

"I know you," Robert said confidently, coming closer.

"I'm sorry, sir, I think you hav—."

"No," He said, but lowering his voice. "I know you — I know those eyes...stunning green eyes, perfectly tanned skin, adorable freckles, always with her head down and moving around. One of the hardest working volunteers we had during the campaign that didn't flirt with Jack."

"Fuck!" Chérie screamed in her head as her eyes grew wide at the counter. She refused to look up now.

He then pulled a confused, yet amused smile on his face. "...I was hoping I would be able to see you again...just not at a negro pharmacy store — what are you doing here?"

For once, Chérie was at a loss of words to say. She had never predicted something like this happening. Usually the whites that came in were the ones that actually resided in Harlem — not Harvard students, especially a historically famous one at that. Playing with her dress, she swept her mind for any lie she could tell to get the Kennedy off her back.

"There you are, Ms. Rivière," A warm voice entered the room, approaching Chérie from behind. Albertine LaBelle placed a gentle had on Chérie's shoulder as she stood next to her. A tall, curvy woman with brown skin, a round face, glasses, and curly hair pulled into a neat bun, she smiled warmly at Robert. "Taking care of another customer for me — you are just too sweet. It means so much that you come down here and volunteer during the summer."

"Volunteer?" Robert questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir," Albertine lied smoothly. "Ms. Rivière comes down to our shop to volunteer when she can since we are low on staff right now."

"Oh, wow, that's very generous," Robert said surprised.

"It is," Albertine agreed.

Nodding his head, Robert turned back to Chérie. "You're a very kindhearted young lady to help up out here. Uh, Blanche is your cousin, right?"

Chérie nodded.

"She visits us in Hyannis Port a lot to see Jean. Why don't you come up with her next time — our family would be...glad to see you again. I better get going now. Goodbye...Ms. Rivière. I hope to see you very soon."

Robert's exit from the shop brought relief and anxiety to the LaBelle women as they both relaxed their shoulders and looked at one another.

Albertine sighed.

"Sweetheart, I don't think this game is going to last much longer."

Chapter Text

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

"Mother, may I go out dancing?,
Yes, my darling daughter,
Mother, may I try romancing?,
Yes, my darling daughter,"

Yes, My Darling Daughter -
Dinah Shore (1940)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

December 1947

Washing greens and preparing black eyed peas on New Year's Eve was a longtime tradition in the LaBelle household. Sitting at the kitchen table with her mother, aunts, and cousin, Chérie peeled leaves from stems, and rolled them up for cutting before tossing them in the sink to be washed. It was a tedious chore, but with family, it went by a lot faster with gossip and laughter.

Albertine always led the task as the oldest LaBelle sister, and was solely in charge of the washing and cooking of the greens and beans. Mirelle and Mrs. Rivière worked on the other New Year dishes: cornbread, rice, gumbo, ham, and beignets — while Chérie and her cousin, Edith, assisted with the more laboring work in the kitchen.

Though it would not be until after midnight that they would partake in the meal that was being prepared, the LaBelle women worked hard to ensure everything was ready and perfect for a joyous New Year — and 18th birthday for Chérie.

"Hot diggity dog, Chérie!" Edith exclaimed with a bright smile. "You're gonna be 18 tonight, doll! How does it feel?"

Edith was Chérie's only female cousin who was just two years older than her. She was warm brown with a bright smile and a beauty mark similar to her mother's next to her mouth. Her dark long hair was always perfectly styled in curls, and her eyes were a slightly lighter shade of brown compared to everyone else.

She was Chérie's best friend and confident.

Chérie shrugged, pulling off another set of leaves from a stem. "Feels like another day."

Which it did for her, because she had already turned 18 once.

"Come on now, Chérie," Mirelle said, preparing the cornbread mix. "You're gonna be a full fledge woman when that clock strikes midnight. Aren't you a lil excited?"

Mirelle Smith née LaBelle was the middle LaBelle sister, and was married to James "Jimmy" Smith. She was the shortest sister with brown skin, short curly dark hair, large brown eyes, and a beauty mark next to her mouth. Out of everyone in the family, she was the loudest and most opinionated.

"It's just gonna be another birthday," Chérie said.

"But it's your 18th, sweetheart," Mrs. Rivière stated, pressing a sweet kiss to her daughter's temple. "It's definitely worth getting excited for, my special New Year baby."

Émeraude Chérie Rivière was born January 1st, 1930 at the literal stroke of midnight, being dubbed as a New Year baby within the family. Looked upon as a sign for a prosperous life, Chérie found it very eerie due to her situation.

New Year was known to a be special time, and sometimes she wondered if that was the reason why she was even there in the first place.

And would it be the key back to her time?

It was a ridiculous theory, but with what has happened to her so far, she looked at it with all seriousness.

"Actually, Auntie Evangeline, I wanted to ask your permission for somethin',"Edith said, glancing towards Chérie — making the time traveler raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, what is it, dear?" Mrs. Rivière asked.

"Well, you see, Billy invited Chérie and I out to Small's Paradise to celebrate her 18th birthday," Edith explained. "He had dedicated a special performance for her, so I wanted to ask would it be fine if I took her? I promise to look after her and we'll leave right after the performance."

Chérie's light green eyes nearly jumped at her head at her cousin's question. Glancing around the kitchen, she saw she was not the only one, because Mirelle looked as though she was a deer in headlights. Edith was known to be rather bold, but Chérie had not expected this.

Especially since she usually snuck out to go to Small's Paradise with her brother and cousins.

"Child, have you lost your mind!" Mirelle exclaimed, looking at her daughter in disbelief. "You know we always go to church for New Years! And why on Earth would we want Chérie to celebrate her 18th at a nightclub instead of with family?!"

"Oh, mama, don't be a drip. It'll only be this one time — nothin' wrong with changin' things up. Plus Billy got something planned special for her."

"Oh I bet that no good boy does—."

"Not like that, mama!"

Mirelle made a face and rolled her eyes. "Oh, please! Neither of ya are going to that club! You're going to church where you outta be!"

"If I remember currently, Mirelle, you spent a couple of new years at a nightclub back in New Orleans when you were Edith age," Albertine remarked tauntingly, washing another set of green leaves. "In fact, did you not meet an aspiring newspaper writer one year, and end up secretly marrying him a week later? Nearly drove mama insane when you came back home dressed in white."

"Oh, hush up, Albertine," Mirelle huffed. "You ain't got no girl, so you don't understand! You let your boys do almost anything — they constantly at that club!"

"And so is your boy!"

As the two sisters began to bicker, Mrs. Rivière shook her head with a sigh, and turned to Chérie and Edith. "Did you both really want to go to Small's Paradise for New Years?"

"Yes!" Edith answered without hesitation.

"No."

Chérie's answer paused all work and commotion in the kitchen as all eyes fell on her.

She honestly truly did not want to go to nightclub for New Years. When Billy had initially asked in the Pharmacy two days before, she was going to decline until Edith stepped in and told him they would think about it.

The older cousin told her later it was rude to straight out decline when someone invited you to a function with the intention of having a performance for you, but Chérie would have much rather it be a private show just for herself.

She did not like attention, and having all eyes on her at a nightclub while Billy blew his trumpet for her was not a very appealing thought.

"I don't want to go — I hate having attention on me and that's all I'm going to get when Billy performs."

"But it'll be your birthday, cookie! You deserve to have all eyes one you!" Edith tried to explain, standing abruptly from the table and pulling Chérie on her feet to dance with her.

Reluctantly, Chérie matched her footwork and cracked a smile as Edith spun and twirled her around the kitchen.

"Plus you love to dance! We'll only go there for a little bit, and have some fun before the performance and then we will, Chérie. Come on now! Don't let me go through all this raggin' for nothing."

"Edith—."

"You can go, sweetheart," Mrs. Rivière interrupted her daughter, causing the two cousins to pause in their dancing.

"What?"

"You can go!"

Edith was the first to react, squealing in delight as she ran over to her aunt and threw her arms around her. Chérie stood in her spot utterly speechless as her shocked face mirrored that of Mirelle.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Auntie Evangeline!"

"What you thankin' her for, Edith! I ain't say you can go," Mirelle stated, putting her hands on her hips. "Evangeline, what are ya thinkin'?"

"I'm thinking it's better to know where my daughter is going and who she will be with instead of her sneaking out and going anywhere with anyone, because I was unwilling to listen and trust her," Mrs. Rivière said. "We have good, mature girls, Mirelle. They only asking for an hour or two of dancing and socializing — much better compared to our sneakin' out for an entire night in the 1920s."

"Plus they will have our boys watching them," Albertine said, placing a comforting hand on the middle sister's shoulder.

Mirelle sighed, finally giving in. "Fine!...Edith, you can go — but I'm picking out what ya wearin'!"

"Deal!" Edith agreed happily, skipping over to her mother and placing a kiss on her cheek.

"But mama," Chérie said softly, approaching her mother. "I really don't want to go."

Mrs. Rivière touched her daughter's chin gently and smiled. "Ma Chérie, wasn't it you that told me I ain't raised no rude child...Billy was sweet enough to orchestrate a whole performance for your birthday, go even if it's just for a little while. You only turn 18 once, so go out dancing and try a little romancing. Can you do that for me, my darling daughter?"

Taking a deep breath, Chérie nodded. "Yes, my darling mother."

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

Chérie clung to Edith's cost tightly as they moved through the crowded floors of Small's Paradise to their designated table reserved for them by Billy. In front of Edith was their cousin Gregory who led their party by following the guide of the waiter. Behind Chérie was Zachary and Gregory's twin brother, Quincy.

Gregory and Quincy were the oldest of the LaBelle grandchildren, and the only children of Albertine LaBelle. They were tall, lean, and light brown with round faces and short curly hair that they usually slicked back. They had dark brown eyes and one dimple on the opposite of each other's cheek.

They helped out at the pharmacy with their mother, and worked part time at a car shop.

They, along with Zachary, were regulars at Small's, so it did not surprise Chérie how they were greeted by nearly everyone they passed.

When they finally arrived at their table, Gregory held out a chair for Edith and Quincy did the same for Chérie while Zachary took his seat.

"Greg!" Billy exclaimed with a wide smile, shaking the twin's hand and pulling him into a hug. He then glanced down at the table, and saw Edith and Chérie were present. "You were able to bring the birthday girl out?! How you do that?"

"That was all them, Ace," Gregory joked, before taking his seat.

"Thank Auntie Evangeline," Edith said, lighting her cigarette. "She even convinced Chérie to come out tonight — she was still trying to get out of it."

"Because I don't like attention," Chérie said, taking off her coat. "You all know that. I really do appreciate all this, Billy, but you don't need to do a big show for me."

"Well I feel I do, so please accept my apology in advance," He laughed, walking over to her seat and squatting down to her level. "I'm really glad to see you here, Cherry. Just have fun and relax tonight, alright. Even activist need to have fun."

"Fine," Chérie sighed, rolling her eyes with a smile pulling at her lips. "You just gotta cut a rug with me later."

"Oh, I can definitely do that," Billy said, standing up and placing a kiss on her hand. "Now let me get back to the stage before my boss kick my ass. Ya'll's first round of drinks on me tonight, so enjoy."

"Drinks?" Chérie repeated as Billy left. "I ain't nowhere near the legal drinking age."

"Oh, girl, don't be a drip — one drink ain't gone kill ya," Zachary taunted, earning a head smack from Quincy.

"Don't worry, Chérie, I'll take your drink for you," Quincy said.

"And this is why you are my favorite male cousin."

As the drinks came to the LaBelle table, Chérie took a glance around the club, and observed the environment with curious eyes, soaking in the history that was the 1940s nightclub scene. It was in these hotspots that dances such as the Jitterbug, Charleston, Lindy Hop, and Swing became popular, and mainstays in dance hall history.

Chérie had learned all of them as a personal challenge to herself, and was practically bouncing out of her chair in excitement at watching the dance floor display each dance.

Edith noticed her bouncing, and — with no hesitation — finished her cigarette, got out of her chair, and pulled Chérie towards the dance floor.

"Greg! Quinc! We wanna dance!" Edith declared, causing the twins to jump from their seats and follow the girls.

Gregory partnered with Edith while Chérie went with Quincy, and the pair of cousins began to dance to the tune the house band was performing.

"In the Mood" was a popular band tune in the 1940s and filled the smoke clouded room with an upbeat joy. Jimmy led the song with his trumpet, and had everyone — including people not on the dance floor — on their feet.

Quincy swung Chérie around with ease to the sway of the music. They were always each other's go to dance partner, and coordinated well with each other. They both enjoyed being extra on the dance floor — not being afraid to do a high flip or trick that most shied away from.

Matching each other's footwork, they moved in synced as Quincy flipped Chérie over his shoulder and squatted, allowing her to do a spin kick over his head. She then joined him in a squat of her own as they bounced with each other to full height again. A bright smile was on Chérie's face when Quincy grabbed her hands and led their footwork to a quick move of her swinging on either side of his body, ending with her spinning out and back to him.

"Show offs!" Gregory shouted out with a laugh next to the duo.

"Oh you wanna us to show off?" Quincy asked with a cocky grin. He then swung Chérie between his legs before pulling her up to back flip over him, and then over her. If either of their mothers were present, both would be speechless.

"Should have kept your mouth shut, Greg," Chérie laughed, tapping her feet along with Quincy's.

Gregory rolled his eyes with a playful smile, and Edith giggled at her cousins' antics. As they continued dancing, the house band lowered the music to a whisper, making them pause as the club owner, Ed Smalls, approached the main microphone on stage with a cigar.

"Hey! Hey! Everybody! Are ya'll having a good time tonight!" Ed exclaimed happily. The whole club responded with a loud cheer. "Now that's what I like to hear! Every night at Small's Paradise is a good time — especially on New Year's Eve! Thank you all for joining us tonight! Your patronage is everything for a simple business man such as myself. We are now officially going to start the countdown to midnight, so everyone please join me as we count into a wonderful new year and welcome 1948 in 10...9...8...7...6...5...4....3....2...1!"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" The club shouted in unison. Confetti popped all around the room as friends hug one another, and couples kissed. The LaBelle cousins gathered together in a group hug, wishing each other a "Happy New Year".

As they parted from each other, a lone trumpet began to play "Happy Birthday" on stage, attracting all the attention in the room. Billy played the full birthday tune as he looked at Chérie — his eyes smiling at her as blew out every note.

When he finished, Ed allowed him to approach the microphone. "Happy New Year, everybody! You know New Years is not only special, because it's a new year — it's also special, because one of the most beautiful, intelligent, and oddly intuitive young ladies I have ever met was born on this day. Happy Birthday, Cherry! This next song is for you."

All She Wants to Do Is Rock

Billy's voice opened up the song and soon the audience followed in tow with clapping with his notes. The band followed in, cuing the dance floor to start moving with the music.

Chérie smiled with a blush as she danced with Quincy, but eventually he let her so she could dance on her own. Focusing on Billy's voice, Chérie allowed her body to move as it pleased as she became the center of attention on the dance floor. Her footwork went crazy to the beat of the music, allowing its flow to guide her feet and kicks as she amazed the crowd.

Falling into a flawless spilt, Chérie brought her legs together and flipped herself back up — her footwork to take control as she swung her arms side to side. She knew she was attracting too much attention to herself, but she was having too much fun to care at the moment.

The song described her perfectly.

Without meaning to, Chérie accidentally allowed some of the 21st Century to come out, and fell to a squat, only bouncing her butt as she snapped to herself. That one move alone made the audience burst out in a cheer.

"Auntie Evangeline gone kill us," Quincy said aloud as the LaBelle cousins watch their youngest.

Chérie stood back up and continued until Billy brought the song to a close. Sending her a wink, she mouthed a "thank you" before blowing him a kiss.

As she began to walk away, Billy came back to the microphone. "Wait, Cherry! The crowd's lovin' ya girl! Let 'em hear you sing — please!"

"I ain't singing, Billy," Chérie declared.

"Please, honey! I'll beg if you need me to — come on now! Please! Please!"

Billy's pleading became infectious and soon the entire crowd was begging for her to sing. Even the crowd the dance floor was starting to participate in the begging, practically pushing her to the stage. She did not like that, and would be talking to Billy about that later.

"Come on, Cherry, just one song — that's it," Billy said, reaching out a hand to her as the crowd brought her to the front.

Sighing in defeat, she took it and allowed him to pull her on stage. When she was securely on, she punched in the arm.

"Ow! What I do?"

"This!" She said plainly, walking up to the microphone.

Chérie was not a shy person — far from it actually. She did not mind standing in front of crowds or facing a large number of people. She was a college professor after all. She just knew as someone from the future it was not a smart thing to do — especially with the double sided life she lived as someone who white passed.

Yet — here she was under this blinding stage light, forced to sing.

She knew she should have stayed home.

She hated to be pressured into things she did not want to do. Boundaries was one of her pet peeves, and if you messed with hers, she could be pretty nasty about it.

Glaring over at Billy one more time, an idea popped up  in Chérie's head that made her pause him from starting on his trumpet. Turning to the piano player, Chérie whispered a request in his ear, and he nodded.

Since he wanted to hear her sing so badly, she was going to give him quite the performance.

"Go sit in the audience," Chérie ordered. "You ain't playin' — you're going to listen."

Billy looked with her with a questionable gaze before doing what he was told. When he was seated at a table near the stage, Chérie returned to the microphone.

You Don't Own Me

The piano led Chérie's voice in as she sung into the microphone. With a cool expression, she sent a cold glare at Billy as the crowd hollered with excitement for her performance. Putting heavy emphasis on every "don't tell me what to do" and "you don't own me", Chérie smiled to herself when her point got across as he hung his head low in embarrassment. Finishing the last note, Chérie stormed off stage in the midst of the audience giving her a thunderous applause.

Even though she knew she was still too young to drink, she went straight to the bar and ordered a martini. Surprisingly she got it without her being IDed, but it was the 1940s, so things were far more relaxed.

Grabbing her drink, Chérie turned around to return to her cousins when ran straight into a body, and spilled her drink.

"Shit!" She exclaimed, turning to the bar to grab napkins. "I am so sorry! I should have been paying attention."

As Chérie began patting down the suit she had spilled alcohol on, her body grew cold when she heard a familiar thick Boston accent.

"Nothing to trouble over, doll."

Pausing in her patting, Chérie looked up to hooded bluish green and froze. A part of her — a rather stupid part of her — was hoping he did not recognize her, but as he gazed down at her with furrowed brows, she knew she was screwed.

"...do I know you, doll?" John Fitzgerald Kennedy asked.

Chérie shook her head slowly. "...No."

John blinked at her for a moment. "No...we've met before. I would remember those eyes."

FUCK!

"Jack, what's taking you so—Ms. Rivière?"

Showing up behind John was none other than his brother Robert, which made Chérie scream inside. Even though Small's Paradise was integrated, the possibility of the Kennedy brothers being there should have been zero to none — yet here they were standing before her, staring as if she was the odd one out.

"Bobby, you know her?" John asked, glancing over to his brother.

"She, uh, volunteered for us for your campaign in '46 — she's Blanche's cousin, remember?"

Looking back at her, John looked at her carefully and traced her features with his eyes. He then chuckled when recollection hit him as he gazed deeper into her eyes. He could not ever forget those eyes.

"I remember now — navy blue sailor girl that dropped off my coffee. Weren't you just on stage singing?"

And that was Chérie's cue to run.

Dashing past the brothers without another word, Chérie jumped for joy when she spotted Edith with her coat near the exit of the club. Apparently they had been planning to head out, and were looking for her in the crowd. She wasted no time in throwing on her coat and gloves as they headed out the door.

"Besides that dick forcing you to sing, how was your 18th birthday, cookie?" Edith asked, clinging to her younger cousin.

"Definitely unlike any I ever had before," Chérie breathed, allowing the cold of the night to settle her nerves.

She just wanted to go home now.

Chapter Text

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"That they will ever haunt me,
All through my life they'll taunt me,
But will they ever want me?,
Green eyes, make my dream come true,"

Green Eyes -
Jimmy Dorsey (1941)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

August 1948

"Are you ready, Chérie?"

"I have no choice to be," Chérie answered dryly, placing her gloved hand into the open palm of Jacques Beaumont. "Can't believe I'm doing this."

"It's expected," Jacques said coolly, looking at the green eyed girl. "You are my 'cousin' after all — people would talk if you didn't."

Taking note of Jacques' emphasis on cousin, Chérie sighed and nodded, accepting her fate as the older Beaumont guided her to the line up with the other girls and escorts. There were 22 of them in total — all dressed in brilliant white gowns and jewels, being escorted by either their fathers, brothers, or cousins in their white tie attire. Many were nervous, most were excited, and Chérie just wanted to go back to Harlem.

She in no way or fashion wanted to be a debutante — yet she was obliged to.

By masquerading as the cousin of the distinguished and prominent Beaumont family, Chérie opened herself to playing by the rules of high society, and in high society, once you are of age, you are to debut yourself to society — and the marriage market.

Something the Beaumonts tried hard to get Chérie out of, but was pressured into. It would not look right after all to not give their "orphaned niece" a debut like they did their daughter.

"It's only for a couple of hours," Jacques whispered quietly to Chérie as the line made its way to the grand ballroom. "Just give the people the show they want, and you'll be home in no time, Ace."

"If only it was that easy," Chérie said lowly. Glancing around to the girls in front of her and behind her, Chérie could feel their steely gazes on her as they made it to the grand ballroom entrance. It had already been rumored she would be debutante of the year, which did not make her a favorite among her peers.

"Remember ladies — big smiles!" Their etiquette teacher reminded as they entered the ballroom. "Big smiles."

Taking a deep breath, Chérie put on her best fake smile, and followed Jacques lead into the ballroom, keeping her eyes low to ensure she did not draw too much attention.

All debutante balls began with the presentation of the debutantes. They would come into the ballroom with their escorts, and perform a walkabout in a circle in the middle of the dance floor. They showed off not only their looks, but their wealth and status with their dress, jewels, and shoes. Chérie — not wanting to participate in the showcase — decided to rewear Blanche's debut gown and necklace with her mother's shoes and earrings.

She had no desire to impress people that would only be in her life for a brief moment, or find a husband among this crowd. She was only white passing for her education, and was determined to live the rest of her life as the negro woman that she was.

"Time for our dance," Jacques said, turning to fully face Chérie as he grasped her hand and placed an arm on her waist. "Try not to step on my shoes, will ya? These are my favorites."

Chérie rolled her eyes at the older Beaumont. "You just try to keep up."

Jacques Beaumont was Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont's first born and only son, and Blanche's older brother. Though the same height of his father, he favored his mother and sister, having gentle features with dark wavy hair and crystal blue eyes. He always had a playful relationship with Chérie, becoming a pseudo brother to her in their childhood together. He currently attended Harvard, studying as a law student.

"Looks like you already have a few beaus interested," Jacques noted, spinning Chérie out and pulling her back in.

"They're only interested because they think I'm your cousin," Chérie stated simply. "If half of them knew I was negro, they'll be disgusted in themselves."

"Then shame on them for being ignorant, racist bastards."

Chérie giggled at the remark, and hid a large smile into Jacques' shoulder as he guided them across the dance floor. After a few more practiced routines, they lined up again with the rest of the debutantes, and prepared for their individual introductions. This took place in the center of the dance floor where they would curtsy and finally be "debuted". Chérie was assigned to be the last one introduced, and she knew exactly why.

"Miss Émeraude Rivière, escorted by her cousin, Mr. Jacques Beaumont. Miss Rivière is a top student at the prestigious Barnard College, a fluent linguist in four different languages, a skillful piano and harp player, a charming conversationalist, an excellent dancer, and a beauty in her own right. She is this evening's 'Debutante of the Year'."

"Fuck," The time traveler thought bitterly as she curtsied.

Still forcing her smile, Chérie was handed a bouquet of white flowers, and paraded around the dance floor again before joining the rest of the debutantes for group and solo pictures. The entire exchange was cold and awkward, and Chérie wanted nothing more than to disappear — she was now public enemy number one.

"Want me to sneak you some champagne?" Jacques asked quietly as they took their picture.

"Yes, please," Chérie breathed, smiling hard at the camera.

Dinner soon followed after pictures, which gave Chérie some breathing room before she would have to socialize and dance for the rest of the evening. Upon her sitting at the Beaumont's table, Blanche had informed her over eight men had already came by asking her father for a dance with her that evening with several more coming during dinner. It was rather disturbing how eager they were to have a dance with her, especially with how old some of the men were.

"You don't have to dance with all of them," Blanche said. "Just a few and then we can leave."

Chérie nodded, sipping the champagne Jacques got her with no restraint. He supplied her with it for the rest of the dinner, which she appreciated with the amount of dancing she would have to perform.

For the next hour after dinner, Chérie was on the dance floor, dancing with men whose names she barely remembered. She was polite throughout the whole ordeal, and had pleasant conversations with them as they guided her footsteps. Some were vain, some were boring, and some were, surprisingly, interesting. However, as she finished her tenth dance, Chérie desired some time alone, and quietly exited the ballroom to a separate room in the venue.

The room Chérie found was furniture less with a lone piano in the corner, and large windows showing the cityscape of late 1940s New York City. Focusing entirely on the city life displayed outside, she absentmindedly stood at the window with wondering eyes.

Sometimes it still amazed her how she was truly lost in the past — with no sure definite way back to her own time. It was an unsettling feeling for her whenever she was alone. She wondered about her family and friends as well as her husband who no doubt was worried about her. She wondered if they were still looking for her or had long given up — had she long given up trying to find a way back to them.

These thoughts plagued her as her eyes followed cars and lights in the streets below — a lone tear falling at the mystery that was her situation. Taking a deep breath, Chérie wiped her cheek and prepared herself to  face the crowd again, turning around midway before stopping at the sight of someone else in the room.

On the other side of the room stood a lone, tall figure also looking out the window. Their entire focus was on the world outside, so they probably did not know Chérie was even there — in the same way she did not know they were there. She had every intention to leave them be, but as she gazed at them carefully, she recognized who it was.

A lot skinnier from their last encounter over eight months ago, Chérie took in the familiar side profile of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, and watched him from a distance. There was talk that some congressmen would be attending tonight's ball, but she did not think she would be seeing Kennedy there. Blanche had not said a word of it, but then again her crush for the young lawmaker had long passed since she discovered she was not his type.

It was interesting finding him alone in this room — from what she could recall studying, John enjoyed himself a good party, but something did seem a bit off about him. The way he was looking out the window was reminiscent of how she was just looking out — lost and wondering eyes, trying to find impossible answers.  She had never seen the future president look so vulnerable, weak, and sad.

Something was wrong, and as Chérie scrambled her brain as to what could be amiss, it dawned on her. It was August 1948, but three months prior, on May 13th, 1948, John F. Kennedy lost his favorite sister, Kathleen "Kick" Kennedy Cavendish, to a tragic plane accident in Paris. This was a piece of history that people barely delved in — JFK's depression after losing his sister.

Chérie had read a small amount of books that highlighted it, but it was truly a dark time for John. Up to this point, he had lost all the siblings closest to him: Rosemary in 1941, Joe Jr. in 1944, and now Kick in 1948. As the sibling with the most health problems in the family, John thought he would be the first to go while his siblings lived longer, more fulfilling lives, yet here he was, the last remaining from the first four of Kennedy children.

He was incredibly lonely — and Chérie could see it plainly on his face.

It was best to just leave him be, but she did not have it in her to turn away — to leave him alone when he was lonely. She debated with herself for just a brief moment, but decided against her better judgment to approach him.

She would comfort him just for a while, and be on her way.

"...Congressman Kennedy," Chérie called out hesitantly, walking towards him. John immediately turned to her upon hearing her voice, and wasted no time replacing his frown with a practiced smile. Looking at her carefully, he looked as though he did not recognize her, but was pleased with what he saw — his eyes lingering in places she tried to ignore.

"I...I just wanted to offer my condolences to you and your family. I'm terribly sorry for the loss of your sister, Kathleen. I've heard she was...an absolute joy."

John turned his body fully to her now — his smile slightly flattering as his bluish green eyes focused on her light green ones. For a moment, there was only silence between them.

"...Uh...Thank you," He said in a low voice, running his hand down his face. "Uh...I'm sorry...have we met?"

"We have...I was volunteering at the time during your '46 congressional campaign — Blanche Beaumont's cousin," Chérie said as his eyes lit up with recollection.

"Coffee girl!" He exclaimed with a grin, walking closer to her. "I...I also remember you singing...at that clu—."

"Émeraude Rivière," Chérie introduced herself quickly, sticking out her hand. She would rather he not remember her from that night.

John, looking down at her hand, gently took it and shook it.

"Blanche told me how close you were to your sister — like two peas in a pond...your other half."

"...Yes," He answered honestly, still holding her hand.

Chérie gave him a comforting smile. "I know...how hard it is to process such grief alone."

"You do?" He asked.

She did. She had a husband, a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, and several friends. She had a whole life before she was Émeraude Chérie Rivière. And even as Chérie, she has known loss — the loss of a home, her childhood, her father. Though, to most of the white people there, she had lost "both" of her parents.

"Yes," Chérie said.

"...Don't you find it a bit unfair to experience such pain at such an age?"

"Life is not fair, Congressman Kennedy, but we make the best out of it. Even though we feel alone, we are not. I still have family that cherishes me, and so do you. We live for them now."

"...You...are very wise, Miss Rivière," John said softly. His eyes were still trained on her own — no longer lost, but completely focused on her. "You've grown a lot from the shy girl I once knew who always ran from me."

Chérie laughed at the jab of her always dashing away from him. She was just trying to be careful to not distort history, but tonight was fine. He needed this — or at least that's what she told herself.

"What brought about the change?" He asked, stepping closer. "Why aren't you running from me anymore?"

The question took Chérie off guard, and so did John's closeness to her, but she was not put off by it — just surprised.

"You looked lonely," She answered simply, shrugging her shoulder. "And I...didn't want you to be lonely."

John's face was unreadable from this answer, and he said nothing else to her. He simply stared at her — his eyes tracing every inch of her face as if making sure it was imprinted in his memory.

"I don't want to be lonely either, Miss Rivière," John confessed. "Will you stay with me?"

He held a straight face, but his eyes were vulnerable and weak, almost desperate for something. Seeing them broke something inside of Chérie — she read of John's loneliness, sadness, and isolation, but seeing it first hand unnerved her.

This great man was also a broken man — and with that knowledge, she made her first mistake. She was well aware of what he was asking her for with such a question, and even though she should have refused him, she did not.

"Yes."

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How Chérie found herself on the bed of John F. Kennedy's hotel suite will forever be an enigma to her. She was not sure why she said yes to his invite, or lied to the Beaumonts for an early exit out of the ball, but now she was here, and desperately trying to reason with herself that it was fine.

John slept with many girls before he married Jackie —and unfortunately many afterwards. Nothing about tonight will change the future — though it would certainly change her perspective on the past if she ever gets back to the future.

Chérie was the one who had initiated the kissing, hoping it would distract her from thinking too hard about the situation. She was surprised though with how well John responded to it.

John was known to be a very straight forward lover in his biographies. He was not a foreplay type of man - he was an in and out type of man, which made Chérie wary for the experience she was about to have with him.

However, he took charge of their kisses very quickly, molding their lips together in a far more intimate manner. He did the same with their still clothed bodies, entangling them together as one hand trailed into her dress and made contact with her core.

A sharp gasped fell from Chérie's lip as a lone finger rubbed her bud tenderly, causing a familiar feeling to erupt in her veins again. John took this time to explore her mouth with his tongue, releasing a groan as he heard her moan from the contact with her core.

Once she was moist enough, John moved his finger to enter her as his thumb continued to rub her bud. Upon the intrusion, Chérie automatically clenched on John's finger, which made the congressman chuckle.

"So tight and desperate, Miss Rivière," He breathed into her ear as he motioned his finger in and out of her. As he trailed kisses down her neck and into her breast, he increased the speed of his thumb and finger, bringing Chérie close to the edge before completely withdrawing.

"John!" Chérie whined, surprised by her own high pitched plea. She had not recall being this horny before.

"Jack," John corrected, giving her a sweet kiss. "Jack, baby. Call daddy, Jack. I want you finishing on my dick — not my finger."

Chérie could never study this man the same ever again.

"Jack," Chérie repeated which earned her another kiss from the congressman. He then began to unzip her dress as she unbuttoned his dress shirt and planted kisses along his neck and chest. After John's shirt came his dress pants, which Chérie took her time unzipping, teasing John with soft touches to his hard manhood.

"Stop teasing, Emmy," John groaned. The new nickname tickled Chérie as she finally removed his pants and briefs.

The finality of what was going to happen next hit Chérie suddenly when she realized they were both naked now — their bodies only inches away from combining with each other. She watched John carefully as he opened her legs to him and rubbed against her entrance, sending an odd thrill up her spine.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath as John kissed his way up her body, going slow and sucking desperately at her breast. When he made it to her mouth, he kissed her slowly as he entered her, making Chérie's back arch at the unfamiliar intrusion. Unlike his finger, this one took time and was more painful to get in. She tried her best to ignore the pain until finally she felt a foreign fullness that made her pull John closer to her.

He was fully inside of her.

"I fit so well, don't I?" He quipped, allowing himself to settle in her.

"...You—DO!" Chérie exclaimed as John began to thrust in her. He wasted no time pulling in and out of her, creating a rhythm that she sent sparks through Chérie's body.

It had been such a long time since she felt like this.

Chérie bit her lip and grasped at the sheets as John delved deeper in her, grinding their bodies further together. She tightened around him, which pushed him to go faster.

"You feel so good!" John exclaimed. "So fucking good, baby! You love this, don't you?"

"Yes!" Chérie moaned. "I love it! I love it! I LOVE IT!"

Wrapping her legs around John, Chérie pulled him closer, leaving butterfly kisses along his neck and torso as he slowed his pace to longer strokes. Finding a spot on his neck, she focused on the skin and sucked it sweetly, pulling another deep groan from the man.

"You and that mouth of yours, baby," John said, bringing her lips back to his. As he kissed her deeper, his strokes grew faster, hitting a sweet spot inside the time traveler that made her sing.

"Fuck — right there, Jack! RIGHT THERE!"

Chérie knew she was close, and wanted nothing more than to finally reach that peak. John knew this as well and held nothing back as he felt her clench harder around him. With a couple of more deep strokes, John brought Chérie over the edge in a shuttering climax that was followed by his own release deep inside her.

Chérie unintentionally climaxed again from the feeling of being filled, and fell back to the bed exhausted. John soon joined her, pulling out her with a low groan and falling next to her on the bed.

She had just had sex with the 35th President of the United States — and she enjoyed it.

It seemed like a crazy notion, but she did — and the evidence was literally inside of her. As off putting as it was, she oddly became aroused by it, and closed her eyes at the shame. This was something that had to go to the grave with her.

Turning her body to the side, Chérie focused her sight on the pale moon outside and sighed. She would have to find a way back home tonight, and come with an excuse for her mother as to why she was out so late. This was definitely a mistake, but Chérie did not think too long on it as she felt John slip back into her, bringing an arm over her body and pulling her into his chest. Laying his head on top of hers, he pumped into her with slow, deep thrusts that made her purr.

"You're not done yet?" Chérie whispered playfully, bringing his hand to her breast to squeeze. His stamina reminded her of her husband's. They always had a couple of rounds throughout the night.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of you, doll," John remarked, finding another sensitive spot in her and thrusting deeper. Chérie was soon seeing stares.

Were some of those biographies wrong? Was JFK actually good at sex?

Chérie got her answer as she climaxed for a third time, squeezing John tight into releasing inside her again. He poured in her without restraint, maneuvering her face to kiss him until he emptied completely inside her.

This time John did not even bother to pull out. He stayed in her for the rest of the night, thrusting, cumming, and making Chérie feel unimaginably good. Their bodies went too well with each other, and she wondered if they would ever stop — did she even want it to stop.

She was sure in the morning she would regret all of it, and scold herself for even agreeing to go with him, but for now, she was going to enjoy every last moment of it.

"Don't leave me alone," He begged softly, pumping into her again.

"I won't..."

Chapter Text

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"You started something,
Yes, you did,
But you didn't know what I'll do,
I knew right away,
That you were my new romance,"

You Started Something -
Robert Cummings and Betty Grable (1941)

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September 1948

Junior year at Barnard College started on an anxious note for Chérie. For weeks, she had been monitoring her body, being conscious of any changes that may indicate of life growing within her. She was on edge for what had seemed like forever, expecting the worse at any moment as days went by with no sign of her period. She had tried busying herself with schoolwork to take her mind off of the possibility that she may have ruined her life, but relief did not come until she felt her first cramp and blood flow.

It was the fourth week of September that her period finally came — and that she realized she was not pregnant with John F. Kennedy's baby.

The tension that released from her body at the confirmation was so overwhelming that she nearly cried. Even as a grown woman trapped in an 18 year old's body, she would not even know how to go about an unplanned, out of wedlock pregnancy in the 1940s. These sorts of things were handled very differently in the 21st century — she would have had options.

In this time period, she barely had two.

Nether less, all Chérie could focus on was as her relief as she laid across her dorm bed, thankful that her one time mistake did not leave permanent consequences. The thought of becoming pregnant did not even cross her mind during her night with John — and neither did it cross his with how liberally he finished in her.

She was honestly surprised how she was not pregnant.

Staring up at her dorm room ceiling, Chérie placed her hands on her lower belly and sighed. Pregnancy was one thing she had not experienced before waking up in the past. It was something she had been looking forward to after her marriage — that they were working on before she came here. It would have felt odd to have JFK's baby in her womb before her own husband's.

But then again this whole situation was odd: waking up in the past, pretending to be someone else, pretending to be a white girl, having sex with a future President of the United States, and almost getting pregnant by him. How she was still sane at this moment should be studied.

Though sometimes she did feel like she was losing her mind.

Chérie still did not know why she spent that night with John, or why her mind often wondered back to that evening. It was already shameful enough that she did it, often becoming aroused again from the memories, but her mind refused to let her forget. And then she often thought of John, which left her stomach in knots and her heart racing.

It left her no choice but to conclude that even though mentally she was a grown woman, she was still in the body of a young woman who had lost her virginity to a charming man. An attachment had been form without her even realizing it, and her body was now smitten with the congressman.

An annoyed groan was released from Chérie as she turned over on her bed. The regrets from that night just keep on piling for her, and all she wanted to do was to get through this life as uncomplicated as possible. She had no one to blame but herself at this point.

As Chérie tried to force a nap on herself to sleep away her problems, soft knocking was heard at her door as well as the voice of her RA, Shirley Beckett.

"Émeraude, are you in there? May I come in?" Shirley asked from the other side of the door.

Chérie sighed — she really wanted to be alone right now. "You can come in."

Shirley was tall and blonde with bright brown eyes and a slim face. She was a Senior at Barnard, and unlike so many of the girls there, came from a very humble middle class background. Chérie was not close to a lot a people on campus, but she would include Shirley in the small few she talked to on a daily basis.

"Hey, kid, there's a gentleman on the phone for you," Shirley said, opening the door. "A 'John Kennedy'."

Chérie's stomach sunk as she sat straight up. "Come again?"

"There's a 'John Kennedy' on the phone for you," Shirley repeated.

Chérie blinked at this information, utterly confused as to why she was receiving a phone call from John when: 1.) He did not even know what college she attended, 2.) What dorm hall she resided in, and 3.) Had no reason or purpose whatsoever to contact her in the first place. She was rather dumbfounded by the whole thing.

"I...I don't know a 'John Kennedy'," Chérie lied. "Did he say what he wants?"

"Just you," Shirley answered. "But if he's a stranger, I can tell him you're not here."

That was an option. She could just ignore the call and go about her day, and if he called back, lie again and say she was not there. But that would not answer her questions as to how and why he found her. Common sense would be to let the mystery go and ignore him, but she had not been using that as of late, which was scaring her.

"No need — I'll take the call."

In the 1940s, phones in dormitory halls were only limited to a small room called the phone room that students had to pencil in to use, or on the off chance of receiving a call, had to be nearby to take it. It was a good sized room with a chair, table, and one lone black phone. It was a far cry from the sleek, hand held devices they had in the future.

When Chérie arrived to the room, she shut the door and secured its lock before taking a seat at the table. Staring at the handset, she grabbed it tentatively, and held it to her ear, vaguely making out the background noise on the other side but clearly hearing John's breathing. She could hang the phone up now, but her arm would not cooperate with the command.

"Hello?" She was surprised how soft and timid her voice came out.

"There you are," A familiar Bostonian accent greeted her ear. "I thought I had the wrong hall for a moment."

Chérie did not know how to respond to that. If anything it just confirmed to her he actively sought out to collect information about her whereabouts.

"How are you?" He asked, catching the time traveler off guard.

"I'm-uh...I'm well," She answered. "How—?"

"How's school?"

"...School is...school. Just another semester."

"What courses are you taking? Are they challenging?"

"Congressman Kennedy, why are you calling me?"

Chérie's question was hard and straight to the point, leaving no room for funny business. She already had a pregnancy scare because of this man, and now he had the audacity to call her to question her about her schooling as if it was not the perfect timing to confirm a conception. She was not stupid, and neither was he.

"I'm not pregnant if that is why you're calling," Chérie stated firmly.

"You're not?"

"No, I'm not," She said.

"Would you have told me if you were?"

"...No."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons," Chérie said. She did not offer an explanation — she saw no reason in giving one. She was not pregnant, and that was all that mattered. "...I should...probably get going now."

"You didn't answer my question?"

"I don't feel like answering anymore questions, Congressman Kennedy. Now have a good evening."

Chérie hung up the phone before John could say another word, taking a deep breath before leaving the phone room to return to her own. She retired early that evening, allowing the soft rain that fell to her window to put her asleep.

When Chérie woke up the next day, she felt relaxed and refreshed, leaving yesterday's mistakes and worries behind her as she prepared for class. Her week went on as it usually did, returning her focus to academics and activism. Life had finally returned to the pace she was used to.

Until a month later — when she received another call.

She should have declined it, but before she knew it, she was back in the phone room.

"How are you?" John asked.

"Still not pregnant," She answered drily. He oddly enough found this humorous, and laughed happily into the phone.

"You're funny, Emie," He said with a chuckle.

"Please don't call me that," Chérie groaned. That name reminded her of that night.

"Well, what should I call you?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe my name."

"Émeraude is a mouthful," He commented. "I need something easy — like Jack."

"I don't have a nickname," Chérie insisted. "So Émeraude will just have to do."

There was a silent pause from John. "...what's your middle name again?"

What?

"I saw it briefly on the program at the ball," He continued. "It reminded me of a song by Buddy Clark. It's at the tip of my tongue—Chérie! That's it, Chérie! I'll call you that. Chérie..."

Chérie frowned. "I did not give you permission to call me that."

"It's either Emie or Chérie," John said. "Pick your poison."

She hung up the phone after that.

The semester carried on for Chérie as two more weeks went by before she got another phone call from John. As usual, he asked how she was, and she repeated yet again she was not pregnant, which brought him laughter. He then would bombard her with questions: he asked about her school, her courses, her extracurriculars, her social life — anything he could think of he asked it.

Chérie's answers were short and to the point, but he was never defeated by them. He would just ask her more questions, which would lead her to hang up the phone on him.

But he always called back two weeks later.

It had become a weird routine between them. He would call, ask her questions, and she would always be the one to hang up. And the cycle continued — and she allowed it to. Though as the conversations continued, she realized something.

"I haven't asked you any questions," Chérie stated during one call.

John paused. "...No, I guess you haven't...would you like to?"

"...Yes."

"Go right ahead."

"How did you locate me to this exact school and dorm hall?" This had been eating at Chérie for a while now.

"Jeanie asked Blanche, and she told me."

There was no ounce of guilt or shame in admitting he used his sister to get her information. He was bold and honest with it, which left Chérie flabbergasted and impressed.

"Do you have another question?" John asked.

"Why do you keep calling me?"

"To check if you're still not pregnant," He quipped, pulling an unexpected chuckle from Chérie.

"You dick!" She laughed, accidentally letting her 21st century self slip out. However, John did not mind.

"You're cheating on me with Nixon?!" He playfully joked. "I mean I know I'm a skinny guy with a freckled, rat face, but you don't gotta go republican on me, Chérie."

Chérie could no longer withhold her laughter, and took a solid minute to get it all out. This man — this unserious, carefree man — was going to be President of the United States one day. This made her laugh even harder.

"You should laugh more, Chérie," John said. "It's such a pretty sound — all your sounds are pretty."

Catching her breath, Chérie steadied her heart beat from the laughter. "What are you talking about?"

"You make pretty sounds," John repeated with a soft chuckle. "Though everything about you is pretty — pretty hair, pretty eyes, pretty smile. You do know you're all the men could talk about that evening — 'the Beaumont's pretty emerald making her debut' — and you decided that spend your evening with a sickly, freckled, rat-faced, Irish Catholic like me."

"You say that...but something tells me you don't let that get in the way of you spending your evenings with women," Chérie said carefully. "I hear you rarely go home alone."

"I don't," He admitted freely. No attempt at all to hide his womanizing. "I like spending my evenings with women, and they like spending it with me."

John said that as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and Chérie could do nothing but listen. She already knew all of this about him, but hearing it being confessed to her made her ponder why she was being told this.

"The woman I marry will understand that, of course," John said matter of factly. "She will be my priority — she will be the wife and the mother of my children. Her needs and wants will always be met."

"But she would have to share you?"

"Only in body," He stated. "She'll have my heart."

"Well, good thing I don't ever plan to get married," Chérie remarked bitterly. "I wouldn't have to deal with sick fucks like you."

Chérie hung up the phone, regretting she ever answered in the first place.

Chapter Text

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"I want some red roses for a blue lady,
Mister florist, take my order please,
We had a silly quarrel the other day,
I hope these pretty flowers take the blues away,"

Red Roses For a Blue Lady -
Vaughn Monroe (1948)

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November 1948

Saturday mornings for Chérie were strictly reserved for time with her mother. Ever since she began white passing and pretending to be the "niece" of the Beaumonts, interactions with her mother as her mother were only limited to certain weekends at the Beaumonts and summers and holidays in Harlem. When she started college, that time decreased significantly, which prompted Chérie to carve out time on Saturday just for them.

They always met in Harlem, where they could shop and leisure without questionable stares following them. Everyone in Harlem was perfectly aware of Mrs. Rivière's high yellow daughter, knowing full well she was negro. It was only the white folk that could not put two and two together.

The Rivières Saturdays always started with brunch at a restaurant, followed by their favorite cold beverage —milkshakes. As they slurped up the ice cream and soda, they would gossip and laugh, reminding Chérie of a much simpler time when it was just them against the world.

They would then catch a matinee showing at the theater, sharing peanuts with each other as they watched the black and white picture. Though Chérie did miss the high definition, colored movies from her time, she had gotten used to the grainy noir pictures of the past and found some appreciation for them.

After the theater, the mother and daughter would then spend their time shopping, pursing through the street markets and shops as they walked down Central Harlem.

Like any black mother, Mrs. Rivière spent her time filling up Chérie's basket with things she really did not need, but her mother thought she needed anyway. It was quite comical at times.

"You want some apples, Ma Chérie?" Mrs. Rivière asked, purchasing the fruit before Chérie could even answer. "Here, sweetheart, have some apples — you'll need some snacks in your dorm."

Chérie only nodded, a humorous smile on her face as she held back a laugh. It was moments like these that really made her miss being with her mother.

Wrapping her arms around the matriarch's arm, she leaned into the older woman comfortably. "I really miss you, mama."

"I miss you too, baby," Mrs. Rivière smiled, leaning into her daughter and kissing her on the temple. "I think about you everyday, always praying for you."

"...Do you ever regret letting me do this?" Chérie asked curiously, holding on to her mother tight.

Mrs. Rivière was silent for a moment. "I did at first, but then I prayed about it...and thought about your future. I wanted you to have more than I ever had — a better life for you and your children. It was hard, but I knew you were brave and smart enough to do it — plus you always kept up with the rules."

The rules.

Be vague, be distant, be utterly inconspicuous — put on the show, and no one will ever know.

Chérie was sure she had broken one of them so far. She was no longer inconspicuous — her puberty had long taken that away as she was a very beautiful young lady with exotic features that white people had yet to link to her African heritage. However, that in truth was not her fault. Both of her parents were fine and attractive people, so naturally she came out pretty as well.

She just so happened had a very stand out-ish appearance — no thanks to the French in her blood.

"Well, inconspicuous has gotten a bit harder, but the other two have been easy."

If she just kept up with the other two rules, then she would be fine, especially with just one more year at college. Upon graduation, she had planned to become a teacher at a local Harlem school and then work herself up to being a professor at Howard while contributing to the civil rights movement. It would be just like her life before.

She just had to get through the game of playing white for one more year.

"I am very aware of that," Mrs. Rivière remarked coolly. "The Beaumonts' phone has had no rest since you were debuted. Thankfully, Mr. Beaumont declines all of them for you. Some are persistent though."

"Until they find out I'm Negro," Chérie quipped with a smirk.

"But it's best that they don't," Mrs. Rivière warned softly. "A lot of good folk have gotten themselves killed for doing what you're doing. Ain't nothing worse than a white man's rage, honey. Remember that."

Chérie nodded, understanding her mother well. She still remembered that terrible night in New Orleans.

Mrs. Rivière and Chérie continued their shopping into the late afternoon before departing from each other at a bus stop. With sweet kisses and a tight embrace, they bid farewell to each other as they went their separate ways.

Chérie returned to Barnard College with a basket full of food and a jug full of apple juice that she immediately placed in the common area's ice box. Nibbling on an apple, she smiled to herself, content with another wonderful Saturday with her mother. She was so happy about the day that she nearly did not notice the beautiful bouquet of red roses sitting on the desk in her room. She was nearly done with her apple when her light green eyes finally caught a glimpse of them.

The bouquet was by far the reddest roses she had ever seen, and looked to have been freshly cut from their stems. They were undeniably beautiful, but Chérie had no idea as to who they could be from — or how they even got her address to send them. Looking into the flowers, she picked up a card that held a message.

We had a silly quarrel the other day.
I hope these pretty flowers take the blues away.
- Jack

Chérie sighed. She would not describe what they had as a quarrel, more like he was just being a disgusting pig. He was being too honest with her about things she already knew, but did not want to know personally through him. She honestly just felt bad for Jackie who would end up marrying him. The life he described was a life she could never see a woman truly being happy in.

But that was going to be their life, and even if she wanted to change it, she could not. That was tampering with history, and she in no way or fashion was going to be blamed for a catastrophic future.

Looking at the flowers, a part of Chérie wanted to throw them away. It was evident John had formed some type of attachment to her, being absolutely too honest and open with her, and feeling the need to deliver such a gift for her forgiveness. He still attempted to call her as well, which she had promptly told Shirley to decline since their last conversation.

It was best she snipped the attachment now before something in history changed for the worse.

But there was also a part of her that did not want to throw away the flowers. John F. Kennedy did not send flowers to women who he had already conquered — he had gotten what he wanted. And yet he sent her flowers. It was just a theory — something she that had crossed her mind during their phone calls. He always called her, he always asked her questions, he was always overly honest with no shame with his comments and answers.

He was vulnerable with her.

Chérie had somehow made one of the most enigmatic men in history vulnerable with her — and this peaked her interest. She could find out more about Kennedy than documents, letters, or even first hand accounts could ever explain, because he was willing to let her in. She could truly uncover the true John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

It would be an academic achievement — but an extremely dangerous one as well.

If she was not careful, she could really mess up the fabric of time. But if she was careful, then she could achieve something incredible.

There would be a risk though.

These roses were not only asking for forgiveness, but also for him to be let in as well. He was vulnerable with her, and he wanted the same as well. That would be breaking the rules, and she could not break the rules any further.

But she was a clever girl — and a great pretender.

It was obvious to her now that John was looking for someone he could confide in and find mutual vulnerability with — a companion of sorts he could trust and find support.

A friend.

She could do that — she could be his friend. She just had to remember the rules, and make sure they never slept with each other again. Vulnerability and sex led to emotional attachment, emotional attachment led to love, and he could not ever fall in love with.

History would be destroyed.

However, what Chérie did not realize at the moment was that John had already had sex with her in a vulnerability state, and that an emotional attachment had been made. Not only on his end, but on hers as well. History was already falling apart, and a new was slowly setting in place.

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"Funniest pair of eyes I've ever seen,
Funny I can't get wise to what they mean,
I wish that I could understand the things you say,
Each time I try to go, you seem to make me stay,"

What Do You Want To Make Those Eyes at Me For - Betty Hutton (1945)

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December 1948

Chérie was nowhere near the drinking age, but she was starting to understand no one really cared in the 1940s. With a cocktail in her hand, she sipped it gingerly, playing with the pearls around her neck as she took in the sight of a 1940s cocktail party playing out in front of her. If it was not for the bitter alcohol going down her throat, she would have thought she was sitting through a in period drama film.

But this was her life — which made her want to drink even more alcohol.

"How long are going to be a fly on the wall, Chérie?" Blanche questioned, approaching with a pout. "It's a cocktail party — you're supposed to be mingling with people, not being a cold fish."

"When have you ever known me to be an eager beaver around white folks, Blanche," Chérie responded, eating the olive from her glass. "Plus I don't know these folks. This is your friend's party — I only came, so you wouldn't be alone."

Which was true.

Chérie had no intention of attending the fame cocktail parties hosted by Patricia Bullhorn, but her love and protectiveness of Blanche was what brought her out tonight. For some reason, the brunette was desperate to be within the same social circle of the red head, but Chérie was always wary of such a friendship.

Patricia was not a very pleasant person. With dark red hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, she was the only daughter and heiress to Patrick Bullhorn, a mean and gruff oil baron who spoiled her rotten. If Patricia did not have it her way, she could be rather mean, vindictive, and petty.

Chérie never liked her, and yet, Blanche wanted to be her friend so badly. It made no sense to her.

"You could at least pretend to like being here," Blanche remarked.

Chérie giggled, taking another sip of her drink. "Only if you knew. But fine, I'll be a little more present this evening. Now go over there and dance with Thomas Barkley — he's been staring at you all evening."

"Really?" Blanche blushed, glancing over at the tall blonde. "I don't think I got the moxie to go over to him."

"May I offer some liquid courage?" Chérie said, offering her drink. Blanche immediately took it, downing the last of the alcohol before taking a deep breath and walking over to Thomas.

With a smile on her face at her "cousin" starting a conversation with her crush of the season, Chérie grabbed herself another cocktail from a passing tray and moved over to a couch near the fireplace. With her light green eyes focused on the fire and its warmth, she sipped quietly to herself, glancing ever so often at Blanche to ensure she was fine.

As expected for a beauty sitting alone at a party, she was soon joined by many gentlemen who vied eagerly for her attention, talking to her and each other with no cease as she continued drinking. It was a rather interesting party trick she came up with — when a group of men tried to talk to her, she would only listen, causing them to only talk to each other as she watched.

It was inevitable that men would always come to her, so she figured if she did not talk much to them, it would keep her at the appropriate distance she wanted from them.

"We gotta be tough on these commies, I tell ya!" Percy exclaimed. "I hear they even started to infiltrate the states!"

"Get outta here, Percy!" Ian said, shaking his head. "That's bupkis! Ain't no dam communist getting into our country."

"It's true! They sending spies in every day! They even in Truman's administration!"

As the men went back and forth with their own facts and opinions on the rise of communism, Chérie could not fight back the smile on her face. Seeing men be drunk and talk about politics was always a treat — no matter what time period. It brought out their irrational, paranoid sides, which was always entertaining to watch.

Though she had to admit their concerns were valid — communism was on the rise now, and sooner rather than later the McCarthy Trials will have them snitching on each other with not a shred of evidence.

These next couple of years were about to be interesting.

"Settle down there, fellas, no need in scarring the little lady with talk of red moving West," An all too familiar thick Boston voice remarked lightheartedly. "It's a party remember — we're here to have fun. Isn't that right, Miss Rivière?"

With her glass pressed against her lips, Chérie briefly glanced at John, who stood coolly at the mantle of the fireplace, leaning against it as he held a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a cigar in the other with his hooded bluish green eyes watching her expectantly. She did not keep her gaze on him though, moving her eyes quickly from him to her painted nails.

She had not been expecting to see him tonight — or any time soon. They had just resumed their phone conversations a few weeks ago, which went the same way as before: he would call, ask her questions and talk, and she would hang up. However, neither had mention anything about coming to tonight's party from their conversation three days ago.

If Chérie would have known, she definitely would have thought twice about attending tonight. Now he had the focus turned back on her.

"I actually like how the conversation is focused on politics right now, Congressman Kennedy," Chérie said. "Don't you think it's rather important? Communism is spreading like wild fire in Europe and Asia, and what are we doing as a country to protect ourselves? Clearly this must be a high priority in the House right now."

"Yeah, she got a point there, Congressman! What are you doing to prevent the spread?"

"What the Capitol going to do to protect us?!"

Chérie snickered into her drink as all attention went to John who quickly went into politician mode.

"Serves him right," She thought to herself, quickly moving off the couch as John took center stage.

Moving over to the other side of the room, Chérie found herself joining the ladies, who instead of talking about politics like the men were more focused on gossip and fashion. Patricia was leading the conversation, happy to absorb all information presented — even if some were blatant lies.

"Oh, Émeraude!" Patricia exclaimed with fake happiness, waving to the time traveler. "So happy you could finally join us ladies. You know it doesn't look too good to have men surrendering you all the time — people might get the wrong idea."

"Oh! You are absolutely right, Patricia," Chérie said sweetly. "I should be like you, and have none around me. It must be nice to be able to keep people away."

Patricia's smile fell quickly from the remark, which left Chérie and a few other girls holding back a chuckle.

"Right...," Patricia said, pulling one corner of her mouth up. "You're always such a treat, Émeraude."

"As are you," Chérie nodded, lifting up her glass. Blanche, who had heard bits and pieces of the interaction, was by her side in no time, giving her an anxious look with Thomas not too far behind her.

"Chérie," Blanche pleaded softly to her friend. Chérie merely rolled her eyes.

This is how Chérie and Patricia always interacted with each other — both showing plainly their dislike for the other. It was always civil though — their clever words being their only weapon. However, the tension was still there and was not leaving anytime soon.

"Well...," Patricia began, standing from her seat and walking over to the fireplace, tapping her glass with a spoon to grab everyone's attention. "Attention everyone! Attention! Thank you all so much for attending another one of my marvelous cocktail parties! Your attendance is all the appreciation I require when planning such events — I truly do all of this for you all."

"You got to be kidding me," Chérie whispered, earning an elbow jab from Blanche. "Ouch..."

"I would also like to thank Congressman Kennedy for joining us this evening," Patricia said, waving over the young politician to stand next to her. "It is such a pleasure to have one of America's finest in attendance tonight."

John approached Patricia with a lazy smile, shaking her hand and flirting shamelessly before turning to the rest of crowd. His eyes roamed the room, gauging the crowd before settling upon Chérie. With a not so subtle wink that made Patricia frown, he kept his eyes on Chérie as he addressed the room.

"Thank you, Miss Bullhorn, for hosting us this evening in your lovely home, and for having me as a guest. It's good to see so many new and old faces whenever I am able to get out of Washington, and just relax."

"Well of course, Congressman," Patricia beamed. "We appreciate all that you do on Capitol Hill for our country. It's good to have someone so young and lively representing what we really want for the future — especially with the threat of communism looming over the horizon."

"Ms. Bullhorn, I truly believe the only way to stop communism from spreading any further in the world is by helping and supporting the smaller nations, building up their democracy so they can have strong governments that they can trust and rely on — that's why I fully back the Truman Doctrine. If we could just contain the spread of red, then there will be a much brighter future for freedom for all."

"Marvelous, Congressman Kennedy! Let's all give him a hand!"

"That's not really necessary—."

"Nonsense!" Patricia exclaimed as she started to clap. "Everyone let's give him a hand!"

The room erupted in a round of applause for John as he offered up his drink in acknowledgment, thanking people for their support. It was moments like this that helped cemented his spot for presidency in the future.

"Now, no more politics for tonight! It's time for games!" Patricia announced. "Gather around everyone — we shall play truth or dare!"

"And this is my quo to find a lovely little corner to play invisible in," Chérie said to Blanche, turning away before stopping to acknowledge Thomas. "It's good to see you again, Ace. Treat my cousins well tonight, I'll be watching you both from a corner."

But before Chérie could get far in her escape, a strong grip on her arm pulled her back to a grinning Patricia. "Oh, sweet "Debutante of the Year" Émeraude, since this is your first time coming to one of my parties, you'll be the first player in my little game."

"I would rather not."

"Too late," Patricia declared, forcing the light green eyed girl closer to the fire place. She was a lot stronger than she looked. "What shall it be, Émeraude — truth or dare? If you decline to answer a question or do a dare, you must take a shot of vodka."

Seeing that there would be no way out of this, Chérie took a deep breath. "Truth."

"Anyone have a question for the lovely debutante?"

Immediately a hand from nearly every male in the room went up, which made Patricia frown and Chérie snicker.

"I'll ask the question! Émeraude, do you believe a negro man deserves to be treated the same as a white man?"

"Absolutely."

The silence that fell upon the room at Chérie's answer was uncomfortably telling when all eyes fell on her. As if expecting her to eventually say "kidding" or "joking" from her answer, they stared long and hard as she stood her ground — not flinching from the attention.

Patricia tried her hardest not to break her smile. "Pardon?"

Chérie did not back down. "I believe a negro man should be treated the same as a white man — just like how a negro woman should be treated the same as a white woman—."

"Émeraude!" Patricia exclaimed — her smile hanging on by a thread. "Let's be rational now. We are different from them. We should not be treated the same."

"We all bleed the same red blood, Patricia. Blood that was shed in foreign lands just, so you and I could keep our freedom. They deserve civil rights."

Patricia looked at Chérie hard. "...I think you might have had a little too much to drink, dear."

"Oh, I haven't had enough," Chérie said coolly, sipping from her glass and walking back to Blanche.

The silence continued until another player came up and performed a silly dare to drink their liquor while hopping on one leg; however, that did not stop Patricia from sending mean glares towards Chérie. She ignored them as the game went on, not caring for the red head's disdain for her. However, when it was finally Blanche's turn, Patricia was adamant she give the dare.

"Blanche, I dare you to...sing for us!" Patricia smiled wickedly.

"Pardon?" Blanche asked meekly.

"Sing for us, Blanche," Patricia repeated sweetly, giving the brunette the floor.

Blanche nodded slowly, keeping a weak smile on her face as she turned to face the crowd. It was Chérie's turn now to give Patricia a glare — everyone knew Blanche had terrible stage fright when it came to singing or speaking in front of a large crowd, and she was too desperate to please Patricia to say no.

Chérie always hated a bully.

"Go on now, Blanche — sing!"

"....I-I...I...."

Chérie downed the last of her drink, and ran over to stand next to Blanche. She was not going to let Patricia embarrass her.

"Blanche, on my cue," Chérie said softly to her as she began to snip her fingers. There was always one song they sung together. "1...2...3...."

"Sisters, sisters! There were never such devoted sisters," They began.

"Never had to have a chaperone, no sir!" Blanche sung, pointing playfully to Chérie.

"I'm here to keep my eye on her," Chérie followed, pointing at Blanche.

"Caring, sharing, every little thing that we are wearing," They sung together.

"When a certain gentleman arrived from Rome,"

"She wore the dress and I stayed home!"

"All kinds of weather, we stick together," The "cousins" sung happily, pulling each other in a hug. "The same in the rain and sun. Two different faces, but in tight places, we think and we act as one!"

The duo bursted out in laughter, finishing the song with one more repeat of the chorus before getting claps from everyone and a sour look from Patricia.

"Thank you, Chérie," Blanche whispered to her, hugging her tight.

"Anytime," Chérie breathed.

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"I'm a little jealous of Blanche," Chérie heard John approach, taking a seat next to her on the couch. After the game, everyone had returned to their own doings, and Chérie found herself a nice corner to rest in alone. It should have been expected he was going to get her alone eventually.

"You jealous, Congressman?" Chérie questioned with a raised brow. "I find that hard to believe."

"But I am," John shrugged, taking a hit from his cigar. He inhaled from it smoothly, and exhaled a cloud of smoke, turning to her and cracking an easy smile. Chérie always hated smoking, but he made it look so cool — she could watch him do it all day. "She has you after all — her loyal and protective cousin."

"Well, you have Eunice, Patricia, Bobby, Jean, and Ted — nobody can get to you even if they wanted to," Chérie said. "No one is that brave."

"Except for Addison's Disease, Colitis, Hypothyroidism, and very severe back pain," John chuckled dryly, exhaling another cloud of smoke. This time there was an air of sadness to him.

Chérie looked down at her hands. "You really shouldn't be saying that out loud — nobody wants a sick man for a president."

"Who says I want to be president," John retorted with a light smile, looking back at Chérie. It did not go over her that he was practically undressing her with his eyes. It did not help that he already knew what she looked like naked.

"You're a Kennedy," Chérie said. "You're born and bred to take over the world."

"Now you sounding like the old man — he'll like you."

"I don't take that as a compliment, Jack," Chérie chuckled lightly. "I hear what they say about the Ambassador — he's not a very nice man."

"He'll be nice to you — just bat those lashes and green eyes at him, and he'll treat you better than his own wife."

Chérie shoved him at that comment. "That's not funny — that's your mother you're talking about, Jack. You should not take your father's infidelity of her lightly."

She honestly hated how open and honest he was with her, and it was apparently worse in person because now she could see his nonchalant responses to her chastising. He merely shrugged off her statement and continued smoking. It left her speechless how he had genuine concern for the problems of the world, but not within his own family.

Usually she would have hung up the phone by now, but since they were sitting right next to each other, that was not an option for her. Neither was getting up and leaving as John's stormy eyes kept her in place, keeping her curious and frustrated by his own fascination with her.

"Just how things work in our world, Chérie."

"'Your' world," Chérie corrected. "In my world, people stay faithful to their spouses."

John smiled. "Must be quite boring there."

Chérie wanted so badly to slap him across the face, but with the current environment, she restrained herself and only gave him a glare. He looked at her back, but not with the disapproval she was giving him. His hooded eyes went from her eyes, to her lips, to her breasts with no shame in sight — there was only one thing on his mind.

She really regretted ever sleeping with him.

"Down boy," She ordered seriously.

John only smiled at her. "There's five guest rooms upstairs...it won't take long."

His audacity should be studied, because Chérie knew that statement alone would have had half the women at the party following him upstairs.

"No, Jack," Chérie said with finality.

Slumping his shoulders, John sighed and rose from the couch. "Alright, Chérie."

But before he walked away, John bent down to her and pressed a gentle, tender kiss to her cheek. "Still the most beautiful woman in the room — my emerald."

Chapter Text

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"Kiss me once,
Then kiss me twice,
Then kiss me once again,
It's been a long, long time,"

It's Been a Long, Long Time -
Kitty Kallen (1945)

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February 1949

"Your ability to eat cold things in a the middle of winter should be studied, Chérie," Edith said lightheartedly, gaining the attention of her light green eyed cousin.

With a spoonful of milkshake in her mouth, Chérie blinked over to Edith, who was behind the counter of the pharmacy, and giggled. It was only the two cousins manning the shop this evening, and with the cold weather outside, traffic was low enough for Chérie to fix her a milkshake."

"It's always a good time for a shake," The younger cousin said, popping her spoon out and turning her attention back to the radio. She had been trying to find a good station to listen to past the time.

Edith only shook her head. "You're such an odd dame. Shouldn't you be heading back to campus soon? It's getting pretty late, ya know, and ya know how Aunt Evangeline gets about you walking in the dark."

"I'll be fine — besides when do I ever have enough time to come see you all during the semester," Chérie shrugged, taking another scope of her shake. With another scan of the stations, Chérie sighed and gave up, walking over to the record player and choosing a selection from the family's collection.

Within seconds, "Swing It, Sister" by The Mills Brother was filling the entire shop.

"Dance with me, Edith!"

Edith did not have to be told twice — nearly hopping over the counter to join Chérie in a good swing. Joining hands, they began to toss each other around as they followed the rhythm of the song, stepping and laughing in sync. Whenever they danced with each other, Chérie did not mind taking led, guiding their steps and swings with ease. It reminded her so much of their childhood.

"Oh, Chérie, honey," Edith giggled, pulling her into a hug. "I miss you so much, cookie. My favorite dance partner — I hate those white folk keep you all the time."

"I know. I miss you too," Chérie breathed, pulling away. "I just got two more semesters, and I'll be back. Been even talking to the local schools around here for a job next autumn."

"My little cousin — a teacher for the next generation! Gosh, stop growing up on me, kid!"

Chérie shrugged with a giggle. "I don't think I can."

"Well, slow down anyway," Edith said, returning around the counter as Chérie took another spoonful of her shake. "The next thing I'll know you'll be married with kids."

"No...I don't see that type of life for me," Chérie laughed, shaking her head. The subject of marriage and children seemed to have been coming up a lot since her 19th birthday. Edith was already engaged to her fiancée, Stuart Harper, who was currently stationed in Arizona with the Air Force. The plan was for them to marry after she finished nursing school.

"You say that now, kid, but once the right beau comes along...you'll be married and pregnant in no time. I'll have everything planned for you, of course, as your Matron of Honor."

"Can we just focus on your wedding first, Edith?"

"Absolutely — but we can also plan for yours."

Chérie groaned. No one seemed to understand she did not want to marry. She was a woman from a completely different time, who could wake up to her original life at any day. Marrying someone and having children would just complicate her life even more than it currently was. Plus, technically, she was already married — to the love of her life, in fact — she could not imagine herself marrying anyone else.

It just made her sad now whenever anyone brought it up, because Chérie did miss her husband — a lot. Sometimes the thought of him brought silent tears to eyes, reminding her of the time she has lost with him. She was sure that the reason she even slept with John that time was because of how much she missed her husband. His charm and easy conversation reminded her of him, and, honestly, with how lonely she was feeling at that night, she could understand her foolish mistake.

She was human after all, and her preferred love language was physical touch. She just needed a moment to be with someone again.

But she could not afford to be weak like that again.

"Alright, I think it's time for me to get back to my dorm," Chérie said, finishing up her shake and grabbing her coat. Buttoning herself her and throwing on her hat and gloves, she ran around the counter and pulled Edith into a tight hug. "Give everyone my love and kisses. Goodnight, Edith."

"Goodnight, Chérie," Edith said. "Phone us when you make it back."

"I will," Chérie waved, walking out of the shop.

The night sky was indigo when Chérie began her walk back to Barnard College. It contrasted deeply to the snowflakes that fell from it. The sight mesmerized her for a bit, pulling a light smile to her lips at the beauty of snow in New York. It was a wonderful distraction from the couples that walked past her, making her heart heavy.

Winter was always a nice time to have someone.

He had proposed to her in the winter — on a night like this with the snow so nice and pretty. They had went out ice skating, and when she had turned her back to him, he went down on one knee and popped the question. She tearfully said yes.

She would have always said yes to him.

When Chérie finally made it back to her dorm and signed back in, her eyes were red and face was wet. She did not one to talk to anyone, but as she went towards the stairs, Shirley stopped her.

"John Kennedy on the phone for you."

Chérie blinked, debating on whether to take the call or not. Logic was saying "no", but she did not want to cry herself to sleep that night, so wisecracking with John should cheer her up.

"Alright," Chérie said, turning around to the phone room. Closing the door behind her, she stripped off her coat, hat, and gloves, and wiped her tears away before grabbing the handset.

"Hello."

"Hey there, Chérie," She heard John's voice from the other end.

"Hi Jack," She responded softly and low — her voice a little off from the tears. Surprisingly, he noticed.

"...You've been crying," John stated, sounding oddly serious from his usual casual tone. "What's wrong, Chérie?"

"Nothing — it's nothing," Chérie said.

"It doesn't sound like nothing."

"It's really nothing, Jack...just...feeling a little lonely tonight."

John was quiet on the other end in for a moment. "...I'm in New York for the weekend for a VA fundraiser. I-uh, need an audience tonight to go over my speech. You have the time?"

Chérie thought carefully about her next answer. This could be a bad idea, but then again she could be the first historian from the 21st century to say she helped John F. Kennedy with one of his speeches.

"...I have the time."

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The coziness of John's hotel suite relaxed Chérie quite a bit as she sat at attention on the small couch. But then again it could have been the bourbon she was sipping on in the glass she was holding. It certainly perked her up, clearing her mind to focus on the deep baritone of John's voice. He had definitely gotten better at directing his voice since the '46 campaign.

"How was that?" John asked, looking over his glasses to her small form on the couch.

"Good," Chérie said, taking a drink from her glass. "But you were looking down at your paper a lot. You're also...wobbling—."

"It's my back," John finished, taking a deep shaky breath as he placed a hand on his lower back. "It's been bothering all evening."

"Then come sit down! You should have said something earlier," Chérie reprimanded, running over to the congressman and guiding him to the couch. "You don't have to be tough around me, yuck! Now tell me what you need."

"Just to sit down — it's nothing."

"Yeah right," Chérie said, rolling her eyes. She was not a medical professional, but Edith did use her as a test subject a couple of times, so she did know a thing or two about dealing with a patient in pain.

Running to the bathroom, Chérie tossed some rags in the sink and ran hot water until the bowl filled. She allowed them to soak as she grabbed another rag and went over to the drink cart to get some ice. She came back to John with a heated rag in one hand and an ice covered one in the other.

"Hold on to my arm — I'll take you over to your bed."

Though it took them a moment — due to Chérie's height and weight, and attempting to carry a grown man — once John was on his bed, he was able to take off his shirt and brace, and lay down on his belly for her to apply the towels alternately on his lower back.

"I didn't know you were a nurse," He quipped with a chuckle.

"I'm not — just know a pretty good one in training," She explained, rubbing the heat into his back. She tried her best to be gentle, going by his groans on what areas were causing the most trouble. When he seemed relaxed enough, she switched out to the ice.

"...Thank you," John said softly, catching her off guard. "The pain...it's soothing a little."

Chérie smiled. "You're welcome. I know it's not much, but I couldn't have you suffering all night. I really wish I could stop it all together."

"It's a shame you don't want to be a wife one day," John said. "You'll make a pretty good one."

Chérie touches slowed a little. "No...that's not possible."

"...Why?"

"..."

"Talk to me, Chérie."

John did not verbally get a response, but he felt droplets of water fall on his back. Pushing himself up, he turned to find a tearful Chérie, desperately wiping at her face. She did it so openly that it stun John at first.

Kennedys did not cry. They were far too privileged and taken care to linger on such feelings. Who were they to cry over things when there were so many others in the world that had far less than they did.

But Chérie was not a Kennedy — she was not even who he thought she was — she had no quarrels with showing emotion and crying. Nor did she think twice to reaching out to John and clinging to him as she silently wept. For the first time since waking up in the past, she did not care to carrying on the facade, and just wanted some comfort.

So much so she let her emotions over power her reason.

Chérie knew what she was doing when she began pressing butterfly kisses to John's chest, trailing up slowly to his neck. They were slow, gentle, and desperate, finding their way to his welcoming lips. He kissed back with the same desperation — if not a little more hungrily — taking control and pushing Chérie onto the bed. All concern for his back pushed aside as he climbed on top of her.

Neither allowed room for breathing as their lips merged interchangeably with each other — Chérie holding John's face close and John tangling his hands in her hair.

Logic only came briefly for Chérie when John pulled away and lowered himself, allowing her to think about what could happen next if they did not stop. But the thought disappeared quickly as soon as John's lips kissed her inner thigh. With tender kisses, John pulled up Chérie's dress skirt, and left a trail up to her panties, earning sweet sighs from the time traveler.

She could stop this, but at this point she did not want to.

It's been a long, long time.

When she felt his breath at her core, she took a deep breath, and allowed him to discard her underwear — her heart beat increasing as she felt the first long lick. Unlike last time, Chérie allowed herself to moan liberally and loudly as she got lost in the feeling of John's tongue diving in her. It felt so good she was crying at the sensation, pushing his head deeper until she saw stars in her vision.

Her climax hit her hard, eliciting a scream out of her that she was sure all of New York heard. John had truly undone her.

She took heavy breaths as he began to button her dress, planting kisses on every inch of exposed skin that he could find. When he took off her bra, he paused and looked her in the eye, coming in close to lean his forehead against hers. He smiled down at her, which in turn made her smile up at him. He leaned in closer, capturing her lips in his, and kissed her deeply.

Chérie pulled his body close to hers, undoing his belt pants, and pulling them off to find his member. John hissed at the touch of his member being stroked, and took deep breaths as Chérie pumped him. She guided him to her entrance and he did not hesitate to push in.

Closing her eyes, Chérie wrapped her legs around John's waist and urged him to continue, enjoying the feeling of being full again. His thrusts were slow and deep, urging moans and grunts from the both of them as their bodies molded together.

Entangling their hands, John picked up his pace, hitting a delicate spot in Chérie that took her to moon. Throwing her head back, she arched her back, rubbing her chest into John's and pushing them further to the edge.

Chérie came first, squeezing John without mercy. As she came down from her peak, she sighed at the feeling of something warm filling her up, and faintly remembered she was not ovulating.

There was no chance for pregnancy now.

That brought her some comfort as John pulled out and rolled to her side. They both breathed heavily into the cold night, finding the air filled with the scent of their activities. It was oddly appealing, bringing a slickness back to Chérie as she glanced over at John's half hard on.

Logic again was no where in sight for her.

Turning over to John, Chérie pulled him into another kiss and climbed on top on him, not being shy in straddling him. John was thoroughly surprised she lifted her hips to pump his member again, but did not complain when she slowly sunk herself on top of it. Chérie sung at the feeling of a new spot being hit, and took pleasure in rocking her hips into John.

She was sure his tip was literally in her womb now.

"Beautiful," John said, smiling breathlessly at Chérie's riding of him. Gripping her hips, he pushed himself up and latched his lips to one of her breasts, licking and sucking it to Chérie's delight.

"Oh, Jack," She breathed, pulling his face up to her lips. "Oh...oh—fuck! Fuck — it feels so good. Jack!"

This time John came to his peak first, falling back to the bed as he erupted in Chérie again. She came after, falling gently on him before pushing herself up to face him. Biting her lip, she secretly liked how she had him looking under her.

Leaning down to his face, she kissed him on the cheek.
"You like that, daddy?"

Within minutes, Chérie was on her back again with wide eyes. John had already started thrusting in her again.

"Call me that again."

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

This felt familiar. Lying in bed naked on the chest of her lover as he stroked her tenderly. Both tired, but neither having the strength to fall asleep. It brought back memories of a distant past she longed for but did not know if she'll ever have again.

But she had right now — on top of John that she shamelessly let fill a void he had no business filling. She told herself she would not have sex with him again and here was entangled in him, his fluids still leaking out of her. It was so frustrating.

"...I think we fucked each other so good we can't sleep," John remarked.

"...We did," Chérie agreed.

John chuckled lightly. "That's the first."

"That's because no one has done it right like I have."

"You...and that mouth," John shook his head, pushing himself up. He still held Chérie close to him, forcing her head up as he looked down at her. He could look into those light green eyes forever, curious as to what they would look like on a little girl with his hair color and smile.

A little girl that looked like her would be fine as well.

He had been having those type of thoughts lately, and tonight just made them even more interesting. He could imagine lots of nights like this, and mornings, and a couple of afternoons.

No — lots of afternoons. John could not ever see himself tiring of Chérie. She fit him so well, and matched his sexual appetite so easily.

Plus, the way she was on top of him tonight.

John initially dreaded the idea of marriage, knowing it had to be done if he ever wanted the presidency, but still being very much against. He was taking his time in finding the right girl that would fit well with him and the Kennedy Clan, but he think he might have found her.

And he might be falling for her — and he did not mind.

Leaning down for a kiss, Chérie met John halfway and returned the passion he was giving her.

No — he did not mind at all.

"Stay with me — for the rest of the weekend?" He requested, pulling away.

Chérie bit her lip. "If I stay, you won't get any sleep."

"I know."

Chapter Text

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

"Will it ever cloy,
This odd diversity of misery and joy,
I'm feeling quite insane and young again,
And all because I'm mad about the boy,
Mad about the boy,"

Mad About the Boy -
Helen Forrest (1949)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

May 1949

On the second weekend of every month, Chérie woke up to the smell of expensive cologne and cigars with Irish chest hairs tickling her skin. Upon opening her eyes, she was always greeted by a sleeping, freckled face John F. Kennedy, who — during the night — would inch himself closer to her so there was little to no space between them. It was on these mornings that she finally understood the appeal.

Though he often clowned himself for being too scrawny and skinny with a sickly, rat face, John F. Kennedy was an attractive man. He was tall with the perfect square jawline and facial structure. His freckles — which he did not like — was to her one of his most endearing features. She never realized he had a widow's peak, but thought it fit him just fine. Her favorite features however were his eyes and smile — so easy going and inviting, somehow wrapping her up in this weird affair that they were having.

If you would even call it an affair — she was certainly single, and John, well, if she had not already known through history, then the gossip in the streets certainly gave her a picture of what he was doing in D.C.

And yet, here she was in bed with him again with his light snores in her face, knowing that information.

After years of judging women in this life — and her previous one — for having an infatuation with Kennedy, Chérie was the one that found herself in his bed — and quite often.

John wanted to see her more, and suggested one weekend out of the month due to his schedule. Chérie agreed, but only if it was the second weekend of the month. She was not ovulating during that time, which gave them some wiggle room to avoid pregnancy if they did — which they always did — have sex that weekend.

It was risky business, but so was everything as of late.

Sighing, Chérie finally rose from the bedsheets and yawned, reaching for John's button down and throwing it on. As she got out of bed, room service knocked at their door right on time to deliver their scheduled breakfast, waking Chérie up a little more to get something in her belly.

John always ordered a large spread for them, giving Chérie plenty of options as she fixed their plates. Every now and then while doing this, reality and reason would crash down on her, and she would wonder to herself what on earth was she doing wearing nothing but JFK's shirt as she fixed him breakfast — but then long arms would wrap around her and suffocate her neck with kisses, and she would carry on.

"Good morning," He breathed into her ear before planting a kiss on her check.

Chérie tried hard not to smile at the affection, but she was a sucker for being loved and touched on. She was afraid John may have figured that out and was taking full advantage of her weak spot. She knew by his upbringing and nature that he was not a touchy, feeling kind of man — affection was not his thing, but with his nights with her, he has slowly began to adjust.

"Breakfast?" She asked, offering him his plate.

"Thank you," He said, taking the plate and wobbling back to the bed. Chérie noticed and groaned.

"What did I say about walking when your back is acting up?" Chérie frowned, getting back in bed.

"It wasn't that far of a walk," John shrugged, digging into his eggs. "It doesn't even hurt that bad right now."

"You just have an unbelievable high tolerance for pain," Chérie retorted, taking a bite of her toast.

"I might," He grinned at her, earning a head shake.

This silly morning banter was common for them, sounding oddly like an old married couple. It was harmless and light, but also made Chérie cautious of their situation. Even though she told herself it was just sex — really good sex — she had to be careful that nothing else came from this. She hated to admit it, but John was captivating — she could understand Jackie, Marilyn, and so many others now, which was the scary part.

The last thing she needed was to be permanently sucked into his orbit of women.

This was just for fun.

They were sexually compatible and had light conversation, filling each other's needs at the moment. Chérie had a fling like this once in college, and that went well without a problem. This was just like that.

"So what should we do today?"

"Well...it's Sunday, so I gotta head back to campus. Got a quiz tomorrow I need to review some chapters on."

"How come you didn't bring it with you? You could have studied here."

Chérie made a face. "And be distracted — absolutely not!"

"...I distract you?" John asked, moving closer to Chérie with a pleased smile. He then began to kiss on her neck as his fingers worked to unbutton the shirt she was wearing.

"You do...," Chérie admitted setting her plate down, and closing her eyes.

Breakfast always ended with John getting her back under the sheets as if they both did not have things to do that day. He made quick work of it though, having them satisfied, and in shower together right afterwards. They helped each other dress — him zipping her dress and she tying his tie — it was routine for them at this point.

She did wonder if he was ever this domestic with his other girls: eating breakfast together, sharing the shower, dressing each other. It was ridiculous to think about such things, but she would like to believe she was only one this intimate with him. It felt like it was, but he was a playboy — he knew how to make women feel things that were not there.

"Before I take you back, let's get some ice cream," John suggested, throwing on his blazer. "There's a parlor not too far from here."

"Alright," Chérie said, sliding on her shoes. John was already waiting for her at the suite door, arm stretched out for her to grab onto.

When they left the hotel, one would have thought they were an item with how close he held her to him. It did not help either that both were accidentally matching in color with their attire. Chérie tried to ignore the curious and envious stares and glances, but John enjoyed the attention.

"Careful, Mr. Kennedy," Chérie remarked. "People might think you're off the market."

John chuckled at Chérie, looking down at her with relaxed eyes. "The same could be said about you, Ms. Rivière."

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

Chérie getting chocolate and John getting vanilla should not have been as funny to her as she was making it — but then again she was the only one who got the inside joke. Fortunately, John brushed her laughing off, thinking it was for his accent after he said, "Let's sit here!" at a table in the ice cream parlor. Chérie made fun it from time to time with how thick it was.

"I'm Massachusetts — what do you expect?" John explained, taking a lick from his ice cream.

"And I'm from New Orleans, but you don't hear me making that obvious," Chérie snickered.

John paused mid lick.

"You're not from New York?"

Chérie grinned. "Point proven! I was born and raised in New Orleans, and moved up here when I was eight."

"After your parents died?"

"Yup!" Chérie answered, looking away slightly at the lie that was sold to high society New York. She was
an "orphan" as far as they knew.

"Do you ever miss it there?"

"Not really — New York is my home now."

"So you like being in the city," John concluded, going silent for a brief minute. "You like the beach?"

Chérie shrugged. "Never been to one. I try to avoid places with lots of water since I can't swim."

"You don't know how to swim?!" This took John by surprise. His family practically lived in the water, so everyone knew how to swim like it was breathing. He could not fathom not knowing how to. "We have to fix that."

"I think it might be a little too late for me — it's best to learn when you're a kid."

"Not with me as your teacher," John said, confidently. "When I'm done with you, people will think you're a mermaid with how good you'll be able to swim."

Chérie arched a brow at John. "You gotta get me into some water first, and that's not happening anytime soon."

John chuckled to himself, glancing up at Chérie with determined eyes. "You let me worry about that."

Chérie looked at him curiously, eyes not being blind to how his hand reached out to hers and held it. She should have swatted it away, but she allowed it, focusing her attention on her melting cold treat in her hand.

"The semester will be over soon — you got any plans for the summer?"

"Not really," Chérie answered. She usually spent her summers in Harlem with her family.

"Well, how about you come down to D.C. and intern for my office this summer?"

Chérie paused. "...What?"

"Intern for me," John said. "We're supposed to hire a couple of them during the summer, and the job is more than yours if you want it."

Looking at John, Chérie fell silent. She had once interned as a congressional aide in her previous life, so she was used to the work and enjoyed it — but she was suspicious of John's offer. JFK offering her an internship for his congressional office with zero background screening or reference, and no connection to Massachusetts only meant one thing.

He wanted more access to her.

What they were doing so far — in a way — was controlled and safe: phone calls and a weekend visit once a month. High society might have been small, but New York City was large enough to conceal your activities without anyone knowing.

D.C. was not like that.

D.C. was small, and the political elite even smaller. Interning for John meant being seen in the same room with him more, people familiarizing themselves with her face, and putting two and two together whenever they interacted with each other one too many times outside the office. Without even trying, they could become the hottest new gossip at the Capitol.

Not to mention John's other girls.

She knew he had a roster in D.C., and would have preferred not to meet any one of them by accident. Not out of jealousy, but for the simple fact that she did not want to be seen as one of them. She did not want the world to know she was sleeping with John.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jack...."

"Why? You're studying history and politics — this is right up your lane," John explained, tracing circles on her hand. "Plus...I can show you around D.C.: the best restaurants...dance halls..."

"...You usually take your interns to all those places?" Chérie asked, raising a brow.

John smiled, taking a bite of his cone — not answering the question.

Such a politician.

"Give me one good reason as to why I should take it."

John leaned in — his smile vanishing for the first time that day, looking serious. His bluish green eyes were clear and focused on her. "I want to spend my summer with you, Chérie."

Chérie did not want to believe that. She wanted to believe he used this line on several girls, getting them directly where he wanted them. She wanted for his words to be insincere and empty. But something in his deep eyes told her they were not — and that is when she made her second mistake.

"Alright."

Chapter Text

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"I want to ride to the ridge,
Where the west commences,
And gaze at the moon till I lose my senses,
I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences,
Don't fence me in,"

Don't Fence Me In -
Horace Heidt and His Musical Knights (1945)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

June 1949

In the 1940s, racism and segregation existed in every region of the United States of America. Each region just went about it differently. In the Northeast where large cities such as New York City, Philadelphia, and Boston existed, minorities were segregated and treated as second class citizens, but were able to thrive and grow because of they were left alone to build their own communities in peace — which is why neighborhoods like Harlem existed. However, in the South, no such peace existed for any person of color.

The racial hatred that blanketed the Southern region of the United States ensured that no black or brown community thrived under their governing. Not only were they given inferior schools, hospitals, and public facilities, but they were treated as if they were not human and terrorized for just being.

It is one thing to study this type of living, but to live it was an experience Chérie would have rather not have. Yet, for her first eight years of her in the past, this was all she knew in New Orleans.

New York City was a refresher — nothing like the 21st Century, but 10 times better than the South.

Which is why the disturbing sight of two very distinctively different water fountains labelled "WHITE" and "COLORED" harshly reminded her of the territory she would be in for the next three months.

For Washington D.C. to be the capital of a country that prides itself for its pursuit of liberty and justice, it had some very ugly places on its own streets.

"You really wanna come back to this for some internship, Ma Chérie?" Mrs. Rivière asked, joining her daughter on the hood of their family's dark blue 1940 Pontiac Series 25.

They had made a stop on their long journey from New York to D.C. in a small town in Maryland to fill up on gas. Across the street was a public water fountain that Chérie had focused her sight on since they parked.

"...We can still turn around now."

"...No...I can't...," Chérie said, taking a deep breath. "Especially since Mr. Beaumont already hired a staff for their D.C. home to house me for the summer...it would be very...ungrateful to duck out now. He is still your boss after all — a very...generous boss I might add."

"He's always been generous with us.

"Yeah...but sometimes I wonder why," Chérie said, taking a drink from her coke. "Just sometimes they seem too nice, ya know. It's hard to really trust them when I see stuff like this."

"...The Beaumonts are good people, Chérie," Mrs. Rivière reminded. "Out of all the white people to trust, you should trust them. Now...this congressman you're interning for on the other hand..."

Chérie sighed, taking another sip of her drink. "Mama, I told you — he's a family friend of the Beaumonts."

"That wants a young lady that he barely knows and not even from his state to come intern for him in his office at the Capitol?" Mrs. Rivière asked, raising an eyebrow. Chérie could not blame her mother for noticing the optics of the situation, because it was what it sounded like. She would not deny it if she was outright asked.

Fortunately, Mrs. Rivière did not ask.

"...I just want you to be careful around this man, sweetheart. Don't let him take advantage of you, alright?"

"...I won't," Chérie said, taking her mother's hand. "In fact, I really hope to use this opportunity to one day end...that."

Chérie nodded towards the segregated water fountains, seeing a small black boy run up to the one labeled "COLORED" and frowning when little to no water came out.

"As far as we know, I'll be the first negro congressional aide intern in there. I'll shake things up from the inside without them even realizing it."

Mrs. Rivière shook her head with a sad chuckle. "You are your father's daughter...you can't just let things be, can you?"

"No, I can't," Chérie shrugged. "Sorry, mama..."

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Rivière did not say another word. She gently grabbed Chérie's face and pressed a sweet kiss to her template before pushing off the hood of the car and getting back in. As she did so, Gregory and Quincy came out of the gas station, ready to jump back on the road.

They had another hour or so before they would be in D.C., so they it was best to get moving again before it got too dark. Being black and traveling at night in the South was never a good idea.

It was 5:00PM when the LaBelles finally made it to the classical townhouse that the Beaumonts owned in D.C. Being three stories with a cozy feel, it was a more intimate than their mansion in New York, and only had a staff of four people: a chauffeur, a butler, a cook, and a housekeeper. Mr. Beaumont was going to hire more, but Chérie insisted four was enough, and — honestly — too much.

She knew how to cook and clean, and was a very independent person, so she would preferred to have no staff at all. However, that was not things worked for their households so staffing was necessary.

"Mrs. and Ms. Rivière, welcome to 824 George Drive," Mr. Hawkins greeted them at the door. He was the year long butler that the Beaumonts had in D.C. He was very tall and large, but had a gentle face and British accented voice. "We are pleased to have you in D.C. with us for the summer. I'm assuming the young men outside handling your luggage will be needing rooms for tonight."

"Yes, please, Mr. Hawkins," Chérie said. "They're my cousins who drove me down. My mother will also be staying for tonight as well. They'll be heading back to New York in the morning."

"Of course, ma'am," He smiled.

Once the twins had brought all of their bags in, Mr. Hawkins gave them a tour of the house, introducing them to Mr. Walter, the chauffeur; Mrs. Walter, the cook; and Ms. Collins, the housekeeper. Mr. and Mrs. Walter were D.C. natives who were black and lived outside of D.C. Ms. Collins was Irish and fairly young — only a couple of years older than Chérie.

"We tried to prepare everything for you before your arrival, Ms. Rivière," Mr. Hawkins informed as he led them upstairs to the bedrooms. "Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont only come in town for short visits, so this the longest we have ever had anyone stay in this house. We're quite excited to have you. Ah, this will be your room, Ms. Rivière."

Chérie was given the flower guest room. It was the perfect size for just one person with floral assets in the wallpaper, carpet, and bedding that contributed to its naming. Along with a bed, it had a nightstand, a vanity, an armchair, and a closet with a small chandelier on the ceiling.

This will be her safe space for the next couple of months — where she did not have to pretend.

The rest of the evening was spent with everyone settling in to their rooms and preparing for dinner. By the time nightfall came, they were all in the living room, listening to the radio as they played cards and chatted with one another. An expected phone call was received that night as they were playing, but Chérie declined it to take it.

He would have her all summer — tonight was just for her family.

Morning came far too soon for Chérie's liking, leaving her a little sad to see her mother and cousins pack up their things to leave. Their goodbyes were done in the foyer of the house to keep from the prying neighbors that had their windows wide open since their arrival.

"Stay outta trouble, kid," Gregory said lightheartedly, hugging her and ruffling her hair. "Don't cause a revolution up here."

"Can't make any promises," Chérie laughed, moving to hug Quincy next.

"I actually want you to give them crackers trouble," Quincy remarked with a wink. "Be a pain in the neck, sweetheart."

"Don't you dare," Mrs. Rivière stated sternly, pulling her daughter towards her. Holding her hands, she looked her in the eye. "Be good, Chérie. Work hard, learn a lot, and remember the rules. I want to hear your voice every night before I fall asleep, alright? So don't you dare miss a call. I love you, my darling daughter."

Mrs. Rivière pulled Chérie into a loving embrace, holding her tight as she pressed a kiss to her temple. You would think by now she would be so used to her daughter being so far from her, but it was always hard telling her goodbye.

"I love you too, mama."

Chérie watched from the window as the 1940 Pontiac Series 25 drove away, leaving her officially alone in the nation's capital. She stood there for a while, not quite sure what to do next. With her internship starting tomorrow, she had an entire day to herself for her own doings.

The phone rung for her again, but she had Mr. Hawkins decline it. She needed some time to herself, and he could wait.

"Mr. Hawkins, I would like to see D.C."

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

Washington D.C. was oddly a lot more calmer than its modern counterpart. After Mr. Walter had dropped her off at the National Mall, Chérie walked around the government hub with little familiarity, finding the capital very bare. The only monuments and memorials that were there was the Washington Monument, the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, and Civil War Monuments.

A lot of the monuments, memorials, and museums she was used to were not even built yet — leaving her in a D.C. that was not even D.C. yet. The historian in her was highly disappointed, but she had to remember she was in the past that was building itself.

Sighing, she found herself a little ice cream stand and bought a cone, taking a stroll to the Lincoln Memorial and sitting on its steps as she looked across the reflecting pool. This was always her favorite spot to come and think at when she was in the future. It was exactly how she remembered it.

Well — except for one thing.

"This is just fucked up," Chérie whispered to herself as she stared at the restrooms in front of her. One labeled "WHITE" and the other "COLORED".

With all he fought and died for, there was no way Lincoln would have approved of having these restroom arrangements near his memorial, and yet, here they are.

"This is a shame," She sighed, shaking her head and turning away.

Walking past the ice cream stand she ordered from earlier, Chérie noticed a black mother with her two children go by. The little girl spotted her and waved, and she waved back with a smile. She then noticed the ice cream stand.

"Mommy, ice cream! Can we get ice cream, please?"

Looking over to where her daughter was pointing at, the mother glanced over the stand and frowned sadly.

"Baby, we can't get ice cream there. We'll get some later."

Overhearing their conversation, Chérie glanced back at the stand and noticed a "WHITES ONLY" sign on the stand as well as the glare the ice cream man was giving the family.

Chérie stopped herself in her tracks and went back to the stand.

"Excuse me, may I have three cones of vanilla, please?"

"Oh, you're back again ma'am!" The ice cream man smiled at her. "Couldn't get enough of my ice cream, huh? Though three is quite a lot — can you eat all that by yourself?"

"I can manage," Chérie stated curtly, paying what was due.

When she got the cones, she ran over to the family and caught up to them by the reflecting pool.

"Ma'am!" Chérie called out, catching the attention of the mother. She turned around and held her children close when Chérie stopped in front of them.

"Look, mommy! It's the pretty lady!" The girl cheered.

"Hush now, Susie. May I help you?" The mother asked skeptically.

"...I noticed your children wanted some ice cream, ma'am," Chérie said, offering a smile. "I got some for you all."

"Really?!" The little girl jumped up, but her mother pulled her back.

"That was nice of you, ma'am, but no thank you," The mother said. "My children and I are just fine. We'll get our own cones."

"But mommy!—"

"Be quiet, Susie — we have to go now."

"Ma'am, I'm not white."

"Pardon?"

Chérie inched closer to the family and whispered. "I'm not white. Look closely at me — I am negro."

The mother looked directly at Chérie, taking her all in and gasped. "Gosh. You're—."

"Yes," Chérie nodded with a gentle smile. "So please take the ice cream."

Swallowing and looking around, the mother looked around them and slowly nodded, taking a cone for her and allowing Chérie to give the other cones to her children.

"Thank you," She said softly. "Children."

"Thank you, ma'am," The boy said.

"Thank you, pretty lady!" The little girl smiled brightly.

"But you really shouldn't be doing this, ma'am," The mother warned. "With that complexion of yours, you'll get yourself in trouble down here being so nice to us. It's not safe."

"It shouldn't be that way—."

"But it is," The mother insisted. "...You seem young — it's best to learn now that the world is very much black and white, and you're fortunate enough to blend in with the white. Don't ruin that for yourself by being foolish."

"But—."

"Is there a problem here?" A police officer walked up, eyeing the black family with a nasty look. "Is this nigger giving you trouble, ma'am?"

"No, sir, I wasn—."

"Did I say you could speak, gal? I wasn't talking to you. Or are you too stupid to understand that?!"

"She wasn't causing me trouble, sir," Chérie declared, moving herself to stand in front of the family. Forcing her prettiest smile and fluttering her eyelashes, she placed a soft on his arm and got closer to him. "I was just asking for directions to the Washington monument, but since you're here sir, could you take me there...please?"

Biting her lip shyly and inhaling deeply to draw attention to her chest, the officer's attention went entirely to Chérie as his demeanor completely changed.

"O-of course, ma'am," He stuttered, blushing.

He offered Chérie his arm and she took it, allowing him to guide her to the monument as she turned around to the family and mouthed an "I'm sorry".

The mother nodded, turning away to walk in the other direction with her children. The little girl waved goodbye to her and she shyly did the same.

When Chérie returned to the townhouse that evening, she retired early with a lot on her mind. She was being reckless today and almost got a family in trouble — she could not do that again.

Her mother was right — she had to be careful. She had to be smart when breaking the rules. If not, she would be causing more harm than good.

And that's the last thing she wanted with the civil rights movement so close to beginning.

Chapter Text

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

"The gentleman is a dope,
And not my cup of tea,
Why do I get in a dither,
He doesn't belong to me,"

The Gentleman Is a Dope -
Jo Stafford (1947)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

June 1949

Chérie was a hard worker — she prided herself on that. No one could take away her ambition, efficiency, and organization to accomplish a goal. She knew how to keep herself focused, and to remove emotions from a problem to be more proactive instead of reactive in finding a solution. Without meaning to, she was showing her true age and maturity whenever anyone assigned her with a job or task.

She was the best at getting things done — especially when she was mad.

Punching the letters of her typewriter with an aggressive speed, Chérie tried her best to drown out the noise of soft moans and grunts from the other room, isolating herself to the page in front of her. The head secretary, Mary Davis — who sat closer to the door the noise was coming from — had the same idea, humming very loudly as she looked over documents and made signatures.

Everyone else on the small staff of Congressional Room 322 — who were all male — did even try to attempt to ignore the noise. They snickered and whispered to each other, trying their hardest to hear every sound.

"Man, that Jack — that lucky bastard!"

"Oh, he is certainly that," She thought bitterly, slamming her platen back in position. "He is a bastard."

When the door finally opened to reveal a disheveled blonde fixing her dress, neither Chérie nor Mary looked up, preferring to ignore John's visitors and focus on their work — but Chérie did keep count.

The blonde was number five to come visit John this week — and it was only Wednesday.

She should have NEVER came to D.C.

Chérie had only been an intern in John's office for three weeks now, familiarizing herself with the staff and not being shy to support the team. She filed documents, took calls, and typed papers as requested and needed. She ran documents and files back and forth from Capitol Hill to the Old House Office Building where the office was, and assisted Mary with the financial report to the Kennedy family accountant.

She was doing exactly what she had intended to do when she accepted the offer to come, and has not faltered since.

Even with the environment she regrettably put herself in.

John had a woman come visit him nearly everyday, walking her in his office and closing the door with no shame. It was always quick and loud, being a short break from his congressional duties before he had to run to another meeting or take a call. Some came in the morning, some came in the afternoon, and some even went home with him.

Chérie knew it was bad — she just did not fathom it was this bad. And what made the whole situation even worse was that he had the audacity to still try to come over and sleep with her as if she did not witness him have sex three times that day.

Chérie was not just mad — she was pissed, and more at herself than John.

She knew what she was getting to when she agreed to come. What she could not wrap around her head was why it made her so angry?

Sex with John was supposed to be a casual carefree affair for her to get a better understanding of who he was and to bring some relief to herself. There was no reason for her to be upset with how many other relations he had, because she was not in an actual relationship with him.

He was not her man.

Yet, every time he brought a girl in, her blood boiled hotter than bacon grease. It was unreasonable and pathetic — she could not believe she was allowing herself to get so worked up about it.

"A chocolate milkshake for one of my favorite girls!" Billy Sutton announced dropping a milkshake on Chérie's desk. Billy Sutton was a staffer in John's office  who knew everyone and everything. John referred to him as his "court jester", having an attractive personality that allowed him to be everyone's favorite guy. "You skipped your lunch again, cookie."

"Sorry," Chérie murmured, opening her straw and sticking in the cold treat. "Thank you, Billy."

"Not a problem—."

"Stop flirting with the new girl, Billy," Ted Reardon reprimanded from his desk. He headed the staff, but rarely came in.

"Just being nice," Billy argued, walking back to his desk. "Can't have her starving here."

"Yeah, yeah," Ted responded, flicking his wrist to check the time on his watch. "Rivière, take 30 — Casanova got a point. You been working nonstop since you got here this morning. Don't want the other offices thinking we running a sweatshop over here."

Chérie nodded, taking a sip of her shake. "Alright — I guess I can take a quick stroll. Mary, did you want anything while I'm out."

"A raise if possible, honey," Mary said, opening another file.

"If I could, I would, Mary," Chérie chuckled lightly, throwing on her hat and gloves, and grabbing her purse. "I'll be right back."

"We'll be waiting on ya, sweetheart," Billy shouted out as Chérie exited the office and closed the door. Before she could make another move, she heard murmuring from the other side.

"That girl knows she's gorgeous," Billy said. "I get why Jack wanted her in the office so badly. She ain't just eye candy — she works her ass off here too."

"Yeah, just remember to not try anything," Ted reminded. "Jack says she's off limits."

"Alright, alright, I hear ya wise guy."

"That's interesting," Chérie thought to herself, walking away from the door. She did find it odd how no one in the office tried to get at her. Apparently, it was John's order not to. She would have been thankful for it if it was genuine, but she doubt it was.

There had to be some selfish reason behind it.

Chérie found herself in the Library of Congress for her break, getting lost in the aisles as she wondered around enjoying her shake.

This had been her first job out of college in her previous life. She had spent such a large part of her 20s in this place — it practically felt like home. It was a nice change in environment compared to the excessive womanizing she was witnessing in the office. She stayed there for a while, finding a bench and tracing the architectural designs of the ceiling with her mind.

When Chérie made it back to the office, Billy and Ted were gone for the day, and Mary went out to lunch. John was in his office, reading some documents with his feet propped up on his desk. It seemed as though he was not aware of her return, but as soon as sat back at her desk, he called.

"You done avoiding me, Chérie?"

Chérie sighed as she got up from her desk and moved to the open door of his office. "How can I avoid you when I work in your office, Congressman? We see each other everyday."

"Yes, we see each other...," John said coolly, standing from his desk and walking towards Chérie. He stopped right in front her, leaning close as he brought his hand to her face and touched it gently. "But we have not...seen each other since you been in D.C. You barely answer my calls when I call...I want to see you outside all of...this."

He was looking directly at her now — his bluish green eyes peering over his reading glasses to stare into her light green eyes. His hand then began to trace her face, going over her jaw, cheek, and nose.

Chérie looked away, licking her lips. "I thought I came down here for an internship."

"I also wanted you down here to spend more time with you."

"What if I don't want to spend time with you?"

"Why?" John asked immediately, inching closer. "Don't we always have fun?..."

"...From my observations...you've been having fun all week, sir," She said.

John's hand was now on her chin, holding it softly as he brought her closer — their noses now touching. "But you're my favorite type of fun."

Chérie should have backed away when John pressed his lips against hers, but she leaned into his, closing her eyes and welcoming the kiss. As she moved her hands to grip his face, John moved his to her waist, pressing her up against the door frame and deepening the kiss. They stayed like this for what felt like forever, focusing only on each other and the tango of their lips.

John pulled away first, pressing hot kisses along Chérie's face and neck. He then pressed a kiss to her ear. "I want to see you tonight."

Chérie sighed, moving her face to capture John's lips into a long, heated kiss. She then pushed away him softly.

"No."

She was still upset — even though she still did not know why. But until she figured it out, she would not allow him any access to her.

"I have to get back to work, Congressman," Chérie said, pushing herself off the doorframe and walking back to her desk.

She did not dare to look back at John when she sat down. She went back to work as if nothing happened, and an hour later — when John made a hush phone call — another woman came to see him. She started typing as soon as the moans started.

Chapter Text

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"Feudin' a-fussin' and a-fightin',
This ain't no corner you can brighten,
Polish the shootin' arm, oh, I'm gettin' a yen,
To go a-feudin', a-fussin',
A-feudin' and a fussin' again,"

Feudin' and Fightin' -
Dorothy Shay (1947)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

June 1949

The age old practice of congressional hearings was just as boring in the past as they were in the future. In a room with not enough seats, too many people talking, and no modern A/C unit in the middle of summer, Chérie sat front row at the Education and Labor Committee meeting bored and hot. Using one of the many files she carried over from the Old House Office Building as a fan, she flapped at herself furiously as house committee members questioned various labor union leaders.

John sat among the committee, having being a minority member, and listened intently to each speaker, jotting down notes and asking questions when necessary. Chérie liked him in this type of environment, seeing him as the intellectual that he was instead of the playboy who just had sex with a brunette aide 30 minutes ago.

She had to find him before the meeting, and caught them exiting a vacant room with him zipping his fly. He approached her as if nothing had just happened, wearing the same carefree smile that had the women of D.C. losing their minds.

"Your suits wrinkly," Chérie commented stoically, looking him up and down. He honestly looked a mess — his suit was wrinkly and too big, his tie was crooked, some of his button up was sticking out, and his hair was messier than usual. She understood why so many congressmen did not take him seriously.

"Wanna fix me up?" He asked with a cheeky grin.

"That's not my job," She answered. "Now come on — you got a meeting soon."

It was hard to believe that the congressman asking well thought out questions now was the same man about half an hour ago.

By the time the meeting ended, Chérie was ready to return to the office. She was hot, hungry, and a little irritated by the snide remarks and comments one congressman got when asking about the equal employment of negro and colored people in factories and warehouses.

Representative Oscar Porter from Maine was a freshman congressman just like John, coming in 1947 just like him. He was tall and lean with shiny, dark hair and light brown eyes behind a pair of glasses. He stood out to Chérie — not only for his vocal support for civil rights and equality, but also for his skin complexion that favored her own.

When you are a white passer, it is easy to spot others. She just wondered how come he was never mentioned in history books before.

"Congressman Porter," Chérie called out, pushing through a crowd of suits. They were out of the committee room now, grouping in the hallway as the next committee went in. Oscar had already walked to the end of hall when he heard Chérie.

"Yes? May I help you?" He asked, turning around to face Chérie.

"Émeraude Rivière," Chérie introduced, sticking out her hand. "I appreciated your questioning of the union leaders in there. They're speaking up for the rights of their workers, but are leaving out negroes and colored folk. It's not right."

"It's not," Oscar agreed with a smile, taking her hand and shaking it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rivière. Representative Oscar Porter at your service."

"Charmed," Chérie smiled.

He then really looked at her — his eyes carefully focusing on her facial features and skin. It did not take him long to figure it out, leaving him with a breathless smile.

"Which side?"

"Neither really — daddy was half and so was granddaddy on my mama's side," Chérie explained. "Similar recessive genes on both sides led to me. You?"

"...The male side," He answered simply. "Didn't know the man, and don't care to. He was supposedly a married lawyer when he met my ma — just did not tell her until he left Maine."

"Sorry—."

He shook his head, holding up a hand. "Don't be. Better off without him anyway — I'm a congressman after all."

"Yes, you are," Chérie agreed, nodding. "Um...I was about to drop these back off at the office, would you like to get like to get lunch together."

Oscar arched an eyebrow, but his smile did not vanish. "I—."

"Porter! My intern not causing any trouble, is she?" John said, coming up behind Chérie. His hand went directly to her waist, which caught her off guard.

"Not at all, Kennedy," Oscar responded. "She in fact was just asking me out for lunch."

John paused — his easy smile still in place but he was completely still now. "She was? Ms. Rivière, did you forget I was treating you today?"

Chérie blinked. "What?"

"Gosh, kid, you forgot!" John exclaimed, shaking his head before turning back to Oscar. "Sorry about that, Porter. She forgot I promised to treat her today for all the hard work she's been doing. You might have to catch her another time."

"What? No—."

"That's right. We'll have lunch another day, Ms. Rivière. I best get going now. You both take care," Oscar said, turning away and bidding them farewell.

When he was no longer in sight, Chérie pulled John into an isolated corner and punched him in the arm.

"OUCH!" John exclaimed, grabbing his arm. "What was that for?"

"For that blatant lie! When did I ever agree to you taking me to lunch?!" Chérie questioned heated. "I'm not even talking to you socially right now!"

"Can't a guy take his intern out for lunch to show his appreciation to her?"

"I'm your only intern!"

"My question still stands."

Chérie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was not going to jail for beating him at Capitol Hill. "...I don't want to have lunch with you, Jack."

"But with Porter?"

John's smile was gone now, replaced with a straight line and furrowed brows as his bluish green eyes turned cloudy and focused on her.

"You won't give me the time of day, but ask a stranger to eat with you?"

Chérie's mouth hung open in bewilderment, and shook her head. "Congressman, if I did not know any better than I would have thought with this line of questioning you were jealous over a lunch invitation — but I do know better, so I'm just going to pretend this conversation never happened."

Pushing past John, Chérie could hear her heels storming down the hall as she made her exit out of the Capitol building. She did not speak to anyone when she returned to the office, setting the files back on her desk and making a quick turn around to walk out the room again.

She spent her lunch at a diner, getting a cheap burger and fry with a milkshake, and sitting alone — all thanks to John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

The rest of the day was slow and quiet for the staff of Congressional Room 322. When the late afternoon came around it was only Chérie, Mary, and Billy left in the office with much of the rest of the staff attending committee meetings that sparked their interest. John was in his office, taking calls and reviewing documents as he puffed on a cigar.

They had not spoken to each other since earlier that day, which did not bother Chérie. However, by the way he was calling her back and forth into his office to give files to Mary, she could tell he was itching for her attention — especially since Mary's desk was right next to his door to grab the files herself.

Chérie tried to keep her temper even, but ever since their earlier conversation, it had been slipping, and running back and forth while she had her own work to finish was not helping it.

It was foolish to think, but she wondered if he was trying to upset her — make her explode. He was pushing all the right buttons as of late and was acting oblivious to it — like assigning her to go to his meetings with him, but always catching him with a woman before said meeting, or forcing himself in conversations that she is in just so she could acknowledge and talk to him.

Also how he stepped in and ruined her lunch plans with Oscar with a lie about taking her to lunch, and then getting upset that she asked Oscar to lunch.

She could go out to lunch with anyone she pleased — he was neither God nor her daddy, so he had no business telling her what to do. Just thinking about it made her upset again.

"Ms. Rivière—?"

"What?" Chérie did not hide the irritation in her voice when John called her again, standing in front of his desk with her arms folded across her chest. John must had noticed, because he actually looked up from the paperwork on his desk to meet her steely gaze.

He cracked an amused grin that made her want to slap it off his face. "Is something wrong, Ms. Rivière?"

"...Everything's peachy, sir," She lied, forcing a smile on her face. "I just find it interesting that you keep asking me to come in here to take things to Mary when she literally sits right next to your office door."

John shrugged. "Calling you is more convenient."

"No, it's not."

"For me it is."

"Jack, Billy and I are heading for lunch," Mary announced, walking in at the moment. She noticed the tension, but did not speak on it — her eyes watching them both carefully. "We should be back around four. Is that fine?"

"That's fine, Mary," John nodded. "You both enjoy yourselves."

Mary nodded, walking to Billy who was holding the office door open for her. When they were both gone, leaving the office completely empty, Chérie quickly turned around and shut John's office door. She then turned back to him.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you!?"

She was tired of pretending at the moment.

John did not even flinch at the unladylike language she  just used. Instead he took off his glasses and leaned back casually in his office chair, resting his hands on the back of his head as he gave her an easy smile.

"What do you mean, Chérie?"

"You know exactly what I mean!" She stated, coming closer to his desk. "Why are you being so ridiculous!? Mary is right there! She sits close to your office for the purpose of getting documents to and from you — she's your office secretary!"

"You seem awfully upset about something that is apart of your job, kid."

"I'm not!" Chérie responded. "I have no issue with any aspect of my job — just my superior being a dick!"

"Oh, so you're upset with me?" John asked calmly, arching an eyebrow.

"Absolutely not," Chérie said with a fake chuckle. "But clearly you're upset with me."

"I have no idea what you're talkin—."

"You task me to always find you when you're having sex, you push yourself into my conversations with people — especially men, and let's not forget to mention how you lost your cool when I asked Congressmen Oscar out for lunch."

"You don't even know the man."

"I would have like to get to know him."

"Why?" John asked immediately. He was no longer sitting back in his chair — he was sitting up straight now, his smile gone again.

"Why does it even matter to you? It's not your business."

"Anything you do with any other man is my business," John stated, standing now and sounding as serious as he was in committee meetings. "You're an unmarried, young lady with no chaperone in my office — that means you are under my care and supervision."

Chérie scoffed at this, folding her arms and shaking her head. "That is such bullshit — you have no authority over me! Plus, I ain't the only unmarried, young person in this office! You patrolling who Billy talks to as well? Or Ted? What about the other staffers!?"

"They're grown ass men," John answered as if that was the most reasonable explanation.

"And I'm a grown ass woman!" Chérie retorted, slamming her hands on his desk and leaning in closer. "I can do as I please just like a grown ass man!"

"...No, you can't," John said in a low, warning tone, leaning closer as well. They were face to face now — Chérie wearing a very agitated face while John kept his hard and stoic.

"...And why not?" She pushed not backing down.

John did not answer. He kept his face still and quiet, focused entirely on her. However, Chérie did not keep her focus on him — momentarily flashing her eyes to the pictures framed behind his desk. Of course, most was of his family, but there was one in particular that caught her attention. One she had herself.

It was her official portrait from the debutante ball with her holding the flowers she was given. Seeing that picture clicked something in Chérie's mind, and filled her with dread.

Looking back at John, she took note of their closeness — not only physically, but emotionally — and slowly began to back away.

She understood now, and she had to leave — NOW.

She might have been from the 21st Century, but even she understood what it meant when a man kept a picture of you at their job. There is no louder statement that needs to be made than that.

"I have to go," Was all Chérie could say before leaving.

Chapter Text

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"I know a little bit about a lot o' things,
But I don't know enough about you,
Just when I think you're mine,
You try a different line,
And baby, what can I do?,"

I Don't Know Enough About You -
Peggy Lee (1946)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

July 1949

Congressional Room 322 had not seen John for two weeks. While most staffers thought he was taking an extended vacation without notice, Ted, Mary, and Chérie knew better. While still a secret from the public, John's absence was more than likely due to his health — which was confirmed for Chérie when she overheard a hush phone call Ted was having with the Ambassador in John's office one afternoon.

Though she did not get much from the conversation, she got enough to know John was very sick, and had just returned to D.C. from a hospital in New York. He was resting in the shared townhouse he had with his sister Eunice in Georgetown.

Of course, that was not the information given to the staff.

"John's out on vacation," Ted lied to the office. "If you need anything or have any questions, please come to Mary or myself."

Everyone accepted this explanation, and Chérie remained silent — work went on like nothing changed.

When the end of the day came, Chérie was one of the last few staffers to leave — putting on her gloves as she was exiting the office when Ted called her back.

"Rivière! Got a moment?"

"Is there a problem?" Chérie asked, walking back in to Ted's desk.

"No, but I need to know if your schedule is busy tonight?"

Chérie arched a brow. "No — why?"

Ted got up from his desk and walked over to Mary's, picking up a stack of files that needed John's attention.

"I need a favor?"

"What type of favor?"

"I got a date tonight," He confessed. "But the ambassador is up my ass about dropping these files off to Jack. Could you drop these off for me, please?"

"I thought the Congressman was on vaca—."

"Cut the crap, dame. I know you were listening to my call the other day," Ted stated. "I also know you know how sick Jack gets. I'm sure he let something slip with all that pillow talk back in New York."

Chérie visibly paled — he knew. "...How'd you—?"

"He got a picture of you in his office, doll," Ted rolled his eyes, throwing the stack of files in her arms. "Ain't hard to put two and two together."

"It's not like that!"

Well, to Chérie it was not. It was just a fun fling — one she was regretting severely now. She wondered who else knew, or even if the entire office knew and just did not say anything.

Was their fling an open office secret?

"Right," Ted said, throwing on his blazer. He then grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down something before handing it to her. "This is his address."

"Hey...HEY!" Chérie exclaimed, following Ted out the door. "Ted! I didn't agree to anything! You got to take him these files yourself — I'm not going nowhere near his house!"

"You don't got a choice, Rivière," Ted said, brushing her off. "If these papers ain't dropped off, that's my ass, and best believe if that happens, I'll tell the entire office how Jack was having your ass back in New York. Send him my best, doll!"

Ted was down the hall before Chérie could even respond, leaving her red faced and flustered at the situation he put her in. He was literally blackmailing her to do something he was supposed to do. She could not be back in New York fast enough.

"Son of a bitch!" She cussed, storming down the hall to the exit.

Mr. Walter as expected was waiting outside for Chérie when she finally came out of the Old House Office Building. As soon as he saw her, he opened the car door for her, greeting her pleasantly as she approached.

"Good evening, Ms. Chérie, how was your day?"

"It could be so much better, Mr. Walter," Chérie sighed, placing her things in the car. "The routes going to be a little different tonight. Could you take me by a pharmacy — and then this address, please? I need to drop off these papers to my boss."

"Not a problem, ma'am," Mr. Walter nodded, taking the piece of paper with John's address and shutting the car door shut.

The pharmacy that Mr. Walter took Chérie to was a locally, black owned establishment that he frequently visited with his wife. It reminded her a lot of her family's shop, making the small trip a welcomed escape from the madness at Capitol Hill.

Though she was still very much upset with him, Chérie was always taught when visiting the sick to bring them a care package — no matter how much of a dick they were. She blamed her home training for caring for those who did not deserve it, grumbling to herself as she picked out what she thought could help John feel a little.

She honestly could not stand how nice she could be sometimes.

By the time Chérie made it to the Kennedy townhouse, it was 7PM. Hoping to not be long, she told Mr. Walter to keep the car running. More than likely Eunice would be home, and could take everything without John even knowing she stopped by. 

That was her train of thought when she began knocking — but after the fourth set of knocks, she got worried.

Looking at the windows, she noticed there was no light on in the home, and furrowed her eyebrows. Ted would not send her the Kennedy residence if no one was home, so she knocked again — louder.

Still no answer.

Remembering what time period she was in and whose house this was, Chérie then tried the door knob, surprisingly not being surprised it actually turned.

The Kennedys were really a careless family.

"Hello?" Chérie called out, opening the door slowly and coming inside. Turning on the lights in the foyer, the house looked as if no one had been there since this morning. "Congressman Kennedy?...Ms. Kennedy...is anybody home?"

Silence greeted Chérie as shut the door behind her, walking further into the home and climbing the stairs to the second floor.

"Anybody here?"

The first bedroom Chérie saw, she entered it, noticing the make up and hair products at the vanity and deducting it was Eunice's room. She then went to the room further down the hall, and found a fast asleep John F. Kennedy who looked a lot thinner compared to their last encounter.

Drowning in covers and wearing pajamas far too big for him, John looked almost dead in his slumber which made Chérie nearly panic at the door. If she had not noticed his chest going up and down, she would have thought she stumbled upon a dead body.

She had never seen someone so young look so sickly before.

Slowly coming into his room, she tiptoed over to his desk and set the files on top along with her care package. Turning back around to leave, she glanced over at him again, approaching him with caution. He looked as though he did not have another day, but she knew better.

His story ended much differently, but this was definitely a more peaceful way to go.

"Get well soon, Jack," She whispered, turning around but before she could make it out the door, she heard a sound.

"Don't go...," John wheezed out, eyes still close. "Please...don't go..."

Chérie was sure he was talking in his sleep, but her body would not let her move further without turning around.

Looking back at John, Chérie found the future president with his eyes still closed, but his hand was weakly reaching out for something.

"Don't go...," He cried out this time, sounding like a child. "Please..."

Sometimes Chérie really wanted a cold heart.

Walking back to John, Chérie grabbed onto to the hand that was reaching out, holding it gently in her own as she sat down on the bed. She was hoping the skin contact would put him back to sleep, but it instead pushed him to crack his eyes open a little. Before she knew it, cloudy bluish green eyes were watching her.

"Chérie...is that you...," He breathed out, closing his eyes again. He tightened his grip on her hand. "Am I dreaming..."

She could work with that. "Yes...you are dreaming — now go back to sleep."

His eyes opened again — only a little. "If this is a dream...you're supposed to...be on my fac—."

"Finish that sentence, and I'm letting go of your hand."

He laughed — a weak one, but far stronger than anything else that came out of him. She could not help but smile.

He squeezed her hand, smiling. "This is not a dream...you're here...with me."

"...Only to drop off those files," Chérie stated. She did not want him thinking this was a friendly visit. She only came so Ted would not spill her business around Capitol Hill. "That's it...I got to go now."

Chérie started to stand up, but was surprised when John reached for her with his second hand.

"No, Chérie...don't go!"He begged, waking up a little now. "Please stay."

"Jack, I have to—."

"I don't want to die alone." This time Jack was actually weeping — she had never seen him like this before. "Please...don't leave me alone...please."

"Jack...," She was not sure of what to say next. "You're not going to die."

"...Yes I am...I'm going to die," He declared as silent tears rolled down his face. "I'm going to die...that's all I've heard my entire life...hospital after hospital...doctor after doctor...I'm going to die...please don't let me die alone...don't leave me...please."

"Shhhh, Jack, calm down. I'm not leaving, alright?" Chérie said in a low comforting tone, sitting back down and taking John's hands in her own. "I'll stay until Eunice comes back. I'm not leaving you."

"Please..."

"I'm staying, Jack...but I got to let my driver know. He's waiting for me outside — I'll be right back."

"Chérie—!"

"I'm coming back, Jack."

Chérie raced down stairs before he could say another word. When she made it back to the car, she thought briefly to just jump in and leave, but she could not force herself to do so.

"Mr. Walter, go on home," She said with a sigh. "My boss is here alone and I can't leave him by himself. I'll find a way back home."

"Yes, ma'am."

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

John's eyes were fully open and alert now, watching Chérie carefully as she held his hand — her hat, gloves, and shoes completely off now. Her pale green eyes caught his — a staring contest beginning to see who would look away first. The problem though was that they both liked each other's eyes.

"...You stayed," John said in a stronger voice, almost sounding like his regular tone.

"You left me no other choice," She stated.

"You had a choice — you just decided to stay."

"I can I still leave," She said, standing up again, but John pulling her back.

"No, stay, Chérie," He pleaded calmly. "...I'm sorry...Thank you for staying..."

Chérie sighed, sitting back on the bed. "Like I said...I had no choice."

Which was true — she did not have it in her to leave someone alone and in despair, begging for someone to stay with them in their time of need. It was so inhumane to do so. No amount of anger towards someone would ever make her stop caring for them — her heart was not built like that.

"You're so hard to figure out," John spoke aloud.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not easy to read," He explained. "One minute I think I know who I am dealing with, and the next, I don't."

"Frustrating, ain't it?" Chérie remarked, accidentally letting some of her New Orleans drawl slip out.

John gave her a soft smile. "No...it's just one of the things I love about you."

Chérie stared at John for a long time, biting her lips at the words he just heard — wanting so badly to ignore them. But how could she with the way he was looking at her now as if she was the only good thing in his life.

"...What do you know about love, John?" She asked, looking away from him. She was hoping nothing, because he was supposed to fall in love with Jackie. This was not supposed to happen.

"...Not a lot," He admitted sheepishly. "...But I know it makes me want to learn everything about you...what makes you happy...what makes you sad...what makes you cry...and what makes you laugh. I just realized I don't even know your favorite color, but I want to—."

"What are you doing, Jack?" Chérie asked quietly. "...you're a carefree, rich, playboy...you don't fall in love."

"...I do when she's the only person that stays," He said, squeezing her hand. "My parents always left me alone when I got sick as a kid. Never stayed...never visited. It was just me alone — dealing with new doctors what seemed like every year. No one knowing what's wrong with me, but knowing I was going to die — going to die alone. Can you imagine such an experience...and then finding someone who holds your hand tight and tells you you're not going to die...who wouldn't leave you alone...wouldn't you fall for them?"

The Kennedys were a remarkable family with what they accomplished and inspired, but seeing John now, Chérie could understand they were a very imperfect family as well. Every time she was sick as a child, she could not recall not ever seeing either of her parents by her side — not in life or her previous one.

She knows the comforting and loving touch of a parent, acknowledging her doubts and fears and reassuring her that things were going to be alright.

John never knew that feeling, and desperately craved it.

"Jack...you're sick," Chérie tried to reason. "You need to get some rest."

"If I fall asleep, you won't be here."

Chérie sighed before smiling. "Yes, I will. Now go to sleep."

"You're going to leave me."

"Did I leave you that first night?" She countered. "Or those weekends in New York — I stayed, didn't I?"

"But what about now? You don't answer my calls...you won't let me see you outside the office...you won't even let me take you out for lunch."

"Jack...I see girls rotate out of your office on a daily...nobody wants to be apart of a rotation...to just be another body," Chérie explained, feeling herself going into dangerous territory. "I don't want to be another body. I want...I want to be the only body...I want to be the only one that knows your body... and I want you to be the only one that knows mine..."

She was looking away now — confused as to why she was saying any of this. This man was already taken, and so was she. What was happening to her?

"...Are you falling in love with me, Chérie?"

"...I can't...," She answered, thinking of a lie. "I don't know enough about you."

John for the first time that evening pushed himself up, struggling but able to sit his body up. He then leaned in close to Chérie, wrapping a frail arm around her waist and pulling her closer while the other one caressed her face.

"You'll be the only one if you fall in love with me, Chérie," John said. In his voice, she knew he wanted it to be true, but she knew him — she knew his story. John F. Kennedy did not know how to stay away from women, but that was not for her to worry about. That was another woman's problem — she should not care.

But she did — she cared a lot.

Too much.

It was dangerous now.

"The only one?" She asked — ignoring history, the future, and the fact that she was not even supposed to exist now.

"The only one," He repeated — a lie. There would be others, plenty of others. He is a Kennedy after all.

Chérie knew this, but leaned in anyway, pressing her lips gently against his. Maybe she had lost her mind, fooling herself into thinking she still had at.

"My favorite color is blue," She said against his lips.

He kissed her back. "Mines too."

Slipping on one of John's shirt, Chérie joined him under his covers, holding him close enough as they talked each other into sleep. John was the first to fall, leaving Chérie to her thoughts — trying to make sense of the third mistake she made.

She was not supposed to love him, but she did.

Chapter Text

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

"Just tea for two,
And two for tea,
Just me for you,
And you for me alone,"

Tea for Two -
Frank Sinatra w/ Dinah Shore (1947)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

July 1949

The grandfather clock that sat in the sitting room of 824 George Drive was a consistent sound in the townhouse. Its rhythmic ticks brought an odd comfort to Chérie as she lounged on the sofa near it, allowing her mind to get lost in it. It helped her manage the cluttered thoughts in her mind, bringing a sense of sanity to the madness she was experiencing.

Because she had officially fucked up now.

With her pale green eyes focused on the ceiling above her, Chérie played with her locket in her fingers, taking deep, slow breaths and accepting that she had developed feelings for John Fitzgerald Kennedy — the 35th President of the United States.

It sounded crazy — it was crazy, but it was true.

Closing her eyes, she pondered on how she got to this point — not only disappointed, but also angry at herself. She had told herself ever since waking up in the past that she would not do anything to alter history. To do so would alter the very fabric of time and space, and she would not be the one to blame for that.

Yet — here she was not only falling for a president, but also having him fall for her as well.

She wanted to kick her own ass so badly.

Her first mistake was even sleeping with him in the first place, and her final one was making a confession to him about her feelings. If she had not done that, she could have gone throughout her current existence without issue. Those moments of weakness have potentially screwed up the history of mankind, and she had to somehow fix it before 1951 when he actually meets the woman he will fall for.

Chérie sighed — she had two years to get everything back on track. Two very long years.

Pushing herself off the sofa cushions, Chérie brought her knees to her chest and held them tight, coming to the conclusion she would have to end things with John for good now. If she did not, she was afraid there would be irreversible consequences if they continued forward.

She was always going to make a clean break from him, knowing that history would eventually play out, but it was obvious now it had to be sooner rather than later.

Chérie was hoping it would be an easy task. From what she remembered studying, John was never the type to chase a girl, but then again this was the same man who squeezed himself into a conversation because she had asked another man to lunch. What should be easy could turn into a mess with this man.

But Chérie had time to think things through. Right now the government was on holiday for the 4th of July, and they were not expected back in the office until after the weekend. She also had the townhouse to herself, allowing the staff to take their own time off work so they could celebrate with their families and she could have some isolation.

She always thought things through better when she was alone.

Taking note of the time, Chérie sat up from the sofa and headed towards the kitchen, washing her hands before pulling out the meat she had seasoned for her own Independence Day celebration. She had seasoned it earlier that morning, allowing it to marinate as she started her day and got her thoughts together.

Though it was much more festive to celebrate with her family, she made due with herself, preparing everything on her own from the chicken to the potato salad. The plan was she have everything grilled and cooked by the afternoon so she could have time to watch the D.C. parade and find her a spot later on for the firework show.

Popping her a Coca Cola, Chérie started on the fire for the brick pit that the Beaumonts had in their backyard and carefully added the grilling grate to the flame. She allowed it to die down a bit before adding the meat, cooking it slowly to charcoal heat. The chicken went first followed by some steak, burgers, hotdog, and ribs. Whatever that was left after today would last her until Monday.

By 2:ooPM, Chérie had finished everything and moved back inside, heating up a blend of BBQ sauce before pouring it over the chicken and ribs. She was nearly down setting the table when she heard an unexpected knock at the door.

She debated answering it, knowing there were only a few select people that knew she was there, and none should be knocking at the door right now.

When the knocking persisted, Chérie went to the door, peeping through the peephole and going still. John F. Kennedy should have been the last person at the door of 824 George Drive. He usually spent the Fourth with his family in Hyannis Port, yet, here he was, looking better than he did a couple of days ago, standing at her door.

"Chérie?"

She backed away from the door, trying to convince herself if she just ignored him, he would go away. But then he kept on knocking, and calling her name, and then she remembered he was a popular congressman that everyone in D.C. knew, and if people saw him at her door—.

Chérie did not let John utter another word before he was quickly pulled into the townhouse, nearly tripping over himself as she tossed him to a wall and shut the door behind him.

She did not want him there, but she was not going to have people seeing him at her door either. She did not need that type of gossip going around D.C.

"Took your sweet time there, kid," John quipped, arching a brow and pulling a lazy smile. "You weren't going to let me in?"

"No — I wasn't," Chérie declared, causing the politician to look her up and down and chuckle to himself, shaking his head. He probably was not expecting that answer, but was highly amused by it.

"That mouth of yours," John chuckled to himself, pushing himself off the wall and stuffing his hands in his pocket. He then took a quick glance around the home and whistled. "This is nice."

"I would say thank you but this ain't really my home," Chérie said, crossing her arms.

John looked as though he wanted to say something, but stopped himself, chuckling again and walking towards Chérie. He stood right in front of her, reminding her to put some distance between them, but with every move backward he moved forward, which frustrated her.

"Why are you here?" She finally asked. "You're supposed to be in Hyannis Port with your family."

John shrugged. "I didn't go."

"Why? Thought you Kennedys were a tight bunch?" Chérie questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't missing holidays like this against the family code?"

John chuckled at this questioning, walking further into the house, making Chérie frown. "You're funny, Chérie. For your information, I'm the family's main rule breaker — I like to do my own thing every once in a while."

"I'm sure that drives your parents crazy."

"They'll live," John said, gazing over the foyer and staircase and observing the family portraits. Chérie watched him while keeping her distance, waiting to see what he will do next.

"Why are you so far from me, Chérie?" He asked, directing his line of sight to her. He turned his entire body to face, wearing a playful smile. "Aren't you going to invite me to spend the 4th of July with you?"

"...I wanted to spend it alone," Chérie stated, not budging from her spot. "I wasn't expecting guests."

"Oh," He rose a brow. "Why is that?"

"That's none of your business."

John let out a good laugh from Chérie's answer, pulling an unexpected amused smile on her own face. Seeing him genuinely laugh was a pleasant sight that even she could enjoy. She did like she had the ability to do that to him.

"Come here, kid."

Chérie surprised herself by listening, moving her body forward to be closer to his. She still had a little space between them, but John took her wrist and pulled her into him, lifting her face so his lips could latch on to hers. Her first response should have been to pull away, but she welcomed the tender kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulled her closer.

"You still want to spend it alone?" He asked against her lips, knowing exactly what to do in order to get him to stay. She wanted to say "yes" with the word at the literal tip of her tongue, but then John entangled that tongue with his own, and as determined as she was to put distance between him and end things, she was still human.

"Fine," She sighed finally pulling away. "I guess you can stay for one plate."

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

One plate ended up turning into three plates as John fixed his third round of servings of Chérie's food. For someone so skinny, he enjoyed himself a good barbecue and was very liberal with his servings. He ate far more than she did, making her wary of him possibly upsetting his stomach.

He had just gotten better — the last thing she wanted was for him to get sick under her watch.

"This is your last plate," She stated. "I'm cutting you off."

"Don't be mean," He chuckled, sitting down at the table again. "Sharing is caring, Chérie."

"Not when it comes to food," She stated. "I can be quite selfish with it — you were fortunate to get that one plate out of me, you're pushing it with this third one."

"Your fault for cooking so good," John remarked, digging into another rib. "Don't you know the easiest way to a man's heart is his stomach."

Her mother from her old like always told her that — she just did not think that man would be a President of the United States. Secretly she took pride in that, enjoying the sight of John licking his fingers from the sauce on them.

He definitely ate like any typical man.

"You're a mess," She shook her head, taking a napkin to wipe his face. He had the sauce everywhere, even on his shirt. The light blue material had stains of the dark red sauce. "You're older than me, and eat like a child."

John leaned into the napkin, not being bothered at all by the comments. He liked the attention. "This is nice."

Chérie rolled her eyes at the comment and swatted the napkin in his face, releasing a giggle. John laughed as well.

"You know you have a mouth too," Chérie pointed out, eating a spoonful of baked beans. "Just as bad as mine — too witty for your own good."

"Life ain't fun without a little wit," John commented. "It's a dying sport — I need to preserve it."

"Of course you do, Jack. What would the world be without a smartass like you?"

"A fucking boring place — that's what it would be."

"Can't argue there," Chérie shrugged. "I'm sure all your colleagues can appreciate such humor, especially with all those boring ass meetings you all have to sit through. I don't understand how you do it most days."

"There's some interesting bits. You just got to listen carefully for them," John explained. "Don't get me wrong — a lot of them don't know what the hell they talking about it, and some are just stupid son of a bitches. But there are some that do, and you can tell when they talk. You can learn a lot from those type of meetings."

"And the others?"

"Just kill your brain cells."

Chérie snorted a laugh, leaning into John's shoulder as he continued to eat. She could listen to him talk about politics for hours — especially with his humor in the mix. You could tell he was passionate about it and enjoyed it, even though he was a rich man's son, he took public office very seriously.

Joe Jr. may have been the destined politician in their father's eyes, but Chérie knew John would have found a way in it somehow.

"I love how you actually care."

Chérie was surprised by her own confession, but did not stop talking. She did admire John as a politician. He definitely had his flaws — a lot actually, but for someone who was apart of the 5%, he actually cared about the people and wanted to do right by them.

A rarity in modern politics.

"You can definitely be a careless, reckless rich boy," She examined aloud. "But you got a heart for the people — don't ever lose that."

John had stiffen at her words, looking down at her with unreadable eyes. She stared back, realizing how close they were but moving. They stayed like that for a while, focused on only each other.

"I won't," He finally said, earning a nod from her. She then moved to get up from the table.

"You done, Congressman?" She asked grabbing her plate.

John nodded. "I am."

"Good," She whispered, grabbing his plate but pausing to bend down to capture his lips. John had not been expecting the action, but did not complain, allowing Chérie to control the motion of their kiss.

It was slow and tender, adding to the already to a building tension between. As Chérie pulled away, John stole more kisses from her that made her want to continue.

"Let me take care of these," She breathed, finally stepping away with the plates in her hands.

After clearing them off, she went to the sink to wash them — her mind anywhere, but there with her. This entire time she thought John would be the one hard to shake off, but it was going to be hard for her as well. It did not help either that John was someone she genuinely enjoyed being around.

As well as doing other things with...

This was far more complicated than she would like — and it got ten times worse when she felt skinny arms wrap around her waist and press something hard against her.

"Jack!" She exclaimed, her voice jumping out a little too excited from the contact.

"Why so jumpy, Chérie?" John teased, leaning in closer. He was hard pressing against her, digging into her butt and making her embarrassingly excited from the friction. "It's just me."

"That's the problem," She mumbled to herself, untangling his arms and turning around to face him. "I'm going to the parade now. You might want to get rid of...that if you wanna come."

"...Wanna help?" He asked with a lazy smile.

Biting her lip, Chérie glanced down at the clothed member and back up at John. Moving closer, she gripped it through his pants and began to rub, making John go rigid and his breathing heavy. She then unzipped his pants, slipping her hand inside and continuing the rub.

He was grunting now, thrusting into her palm with eager when she pulled it away. He looked at her with a question on his lips when she pushed him back and squatted down, unzipping him completely and finishing what she started.

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

Chérie and John had ended up missing the parade, but neither seemed quite bothered by it when they left 824 George Drive and jumped into his car. With it getting close to the evening, they decided to prepare for the fireworks show, packing blankets in the car and stopping by the gas station to grab some coke and beer.

John was very insistent on taking them to a spot he was aware of. It was a hilltop that was hidden away from crowds and gave them a great view of D.C.

Upon arriving there, Chérie laid out their blanket near a tree, and settled there with an ice cream in hand. John joined her, lying next to her as the sky transitioned into an indigo color — prompting John to light a lantern and pop a beer.

"It's almost getting close to that time," John said, adjusting his position on the ground to soothe his back.

Seeing him struggle, Chérie sighed and moved over to the politician. "Let's try taking off your back brace — you've been wearing it all day. You might just need a break from it."

"I think you might be right," John said.

Pulling off his shirt, Chérie began to loosen the restraints of his back brace, taking it off and rubbing soothing circles into his lower back.

"Does this feel better?"

"Yeah...," He sighed, closing his eyes from the rubbing motion. He then chuckled to himself, reminiscing of the activities they did a few hours prior. "Kinda reminds me of earlier."

"That rub was very different, Jack," Chérie stated. It was also very spontaneous on her end. She was surprised she did it, but had no regrets. "It's also the type of rub that we can't do in public."

John shrugged, turning around to face her with a relax grin — the first firework firing into the sky. "We're the only ones here."

Pausing in her rubs, Chérie arched a brow at John. "I know you're not suggesting..."

Another firework went off.

"It's just us here, Chérie. No one will know," John said, his voice low and reassuring. She then felt his hand inch up her thigh, slowly entering her shorts and sliding a lone finger up her core.

Chérie hitched her breath at the motion, feeling a pool develop in her lower regions as two fireworks exploded in the sky.

"Sex...in the open like this, Jack?" Her voice sounded against it, but her body felt oddly interested in the idea, growing warmer.

John's motion with his finger was not helping, slipping into her and building a rhythm that was making her more comfortable with the idea. It was just them out there, and she had never had sex like that before either.

"You're so reckless, Jack...," She breathed out heavily, and John only chuckled, increasing the thrust of his finger inside her. He leaned in, stealing a kiss that Chérie returned tenfold.

"Let me fuck you under the fireworks, Chérie."

"Alright," She sighed breathlessly, getting lost in the pleasure of John's finger. "Fuck..."

She should have known how the day was going to turn out when she went down on him. He was practically skipping out the townhouse when they left.

As two more fireworks went into the sky, John withdrew his finger and began to take Chérie out her romper, leaving her naked and needy under the stars. Opening her legs up to him, John dived into the pulse heat of Chérie's core without warning, pushing her to arch her back and moan in utter delight at his hunger for her.

John held nothing back, pushing his tongue deep into her insides and making her quiver. Pushing his head deeper, Chérie focused on the light show in the sky, getting lost in the colors as John delivered her to new pleasures.

Gingerly licking her bud, John began sucking on it without restraint, eliciting a high pitched scream from Chérie that forced her first climax. Her body shook, and her breathing became heavy and short. Her core throbbed for something to fill it — she had never felt so needy and desperate before.

She wanted him so badly — she was aching for it at this point.

"That's my good girl," John purred, leaving kisses in her inner thigh. He pulled away to admire his work, enjoying the sight of Chérie's sweat covered bare body. To John she never looked more beautiful than when undone by him: tan body covered in a sheen of sweat, full breasts rising up and down from exhaustion, dark hair in a mess around her head, full pink lips just waiting to be kissed again.

He wanted to be inside her so badly.

Another firework exploded, filling the sky with light.

"Jack...," Chérie pushed herself off the blanket and crawled onto John, straddling him before pulling him into a long, deep kiss. "I want you, daddy — please fuck me..."

Chérie rubbed herself against John's member, earning a deep groan from him.

"You want it?" John teased. "You want daddy's dick inside you?"

"Yes..," She sighed.

John laid back on the blanket and pulled her hands to lay across his chest — a very satisfied grin pulling across his face. "Then fuck daddy's dick."

Chérie obliged, lifting her hips to sink onto John's manhood, and humming at the feeling of being full. She took a moment to adjust, hearing a few more fireworks explode in the sky before moving her hips into John. At first she started slow, enjoying the clench she had on his member and rubbing her hands into his chest.

Like most Irishmen, it was covered with hair, but she did not mind the tickle against her palm, continuing her bouncing along with the sound of the fireworks.

"So fuckin beautiful," John grunted, admiring the view of Chérie on top of him. The light of each firework glowed well against her skin, and John just could not take his eyes off her. "You feel so good, Chérie. I missed how you feel — you were being so mean to daddy by taking this away."

"Daddy was being mean to me...," Chérie breathed, leaning forward and slowing down her motion. "You never apologized, Jack. If you want to finish in me tonight. Apologize—now."

She completely stopped moving now, leaving John on the edge of unfulfilled pleasure and taking complete control. John was absolutely mesmerized by her audacity, and was turned on by it.

No woman had ever denied a Kennedy man a climax.

"I'm sorry, Chérie."

"What are you sorry for, Jack?"

"...For...for the other women — I'm sorry, Chérie," John panted.

Chérie bit her lip, smiling at the apology she got out of John, and slowly moving her hips again.

"Of course you are, Jack," She said, picking up her pace in a teasing manner. She would move in a quick motion before slowing down again, making John groan in desperation. She was driving him crazy, and he loved it.

Pushing himself up, John surprised Chérie by wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to him, meeting her bounces with his thrusts. The sudden change shot a new pleasure that pushed her to grip onto John and moan.

"That's no fair," She whined as the control transitioned over to John. His eager thrusts pushed up into her, sending her to cloud nine. "JACK!!!"

The firework show began to pick up for the final, matching with the intensity of John's and Chérie's love making. Chérie still could not believe she was having open public sex during a fireworks show, but her body was utterly aroused by it — sending her high to new levels.

"Picture you upon my knee," John began to sing, sounding horribly off key. "Tea for Two, and two for tea. Just me for you, and you for me alone."

Hearing the Frank Sinatra hit from John's lips made things strangely more intimate between them, inducing a slow, passionate kiss that no longer touched the grounds of carefree fun.

"Nobody near us to see us or hear us," Chérie sung breathlessly, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead into John's. "No friends or relations on weekend vacation, we won't have it known, dear, that we own a telephone."

"Day will brake and you'll awake, and start to bake a sugar cake," John whispered, moving to plant kisses along her neck and chest. "For me to take for all the boys to see."

Chérie sighed, feeling her peak coming quickly as John continued to sing — his peak also very close.

"We will raise a family..." He grunted, holding Chérie in place, pushing slow deep thrusts into her.

Chérie pulled them into another kiss — their lips still close as they sung the last few lyrics together.

"A boy for you...,"

"...and a girl for me,"

Both Chérie and John made eye contact with each other when they reached their climax together — an overwhelming feeling of pleasure and ecstasy surrounding them as the firework finale filled the sky with color and noise.

Chérie was speechless to this new bliss, throwing her head back and biting her lip. She had never felt so good before. This was new territory for her, which was frightening because she had never had a climax like this with her own husband.

Something also felt odd.

Coming down from their high, Chérie tried to move off of John, but he kept her in place.

"Let's stay like this a little longer," He whispered, lowering them back onto the blanket.

Something told Chérie to get off, but she stayed on him anyway — not quite ready to empty herself of him, and eerily feeling there was no point to. Resting on his chest, she listened quietly to his breathing, trying hard to not think of how different tonight was for them.

Or how different things were going to be moving forward.

Because something told her she had already reached the consequence she was trying to avoid.

Chapter Text

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"And they whisper 'bout the flowers,
You keep sending me by the dozen,
And they wonder 'bout the hours,
That you spend with me, it keeps them buzzin',"

Rumors Are Flying -
Frankie Carle (1946)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

July 1949

In the toilet of a Capitol Hill women's restroom stall was Chérie's breakfast, dinner, and tears — mixed together into an unfamiliar yellow mess that she had been staring at for far too long. Reaching for the flush lever, she watched with tear stained eyes as the contents went down the toilet, letting a few more tears fall before standing up to leave.

The restroom was thankfully empty, allowing Chérie the much needed privacy to clean herself up. Looking at herself in the mirror, she noticed she looked a lot paler — almost sickly with her eyes still red from the crying and her hair a mess.

She also noticed how truly young she was.

Even though mentally she was a grown woman — who had lived a fulfilling life — the person looking back at her was just a 19 year old girl. A 19 year old who had yet to graduate from college, to have her first job, to build her own life, but was pregnant by a man 13 years her senior who was going to be President of the United States.

The laugh she let out was sarcastic and bitter, starting with a smile but ending with more silent tears.

She had really fucked up.

Turning on the faucet to run some water, she took a handful of water and splashed it on her face, using a handkerchief to wipe it off. She then took another handful to her mouth, rinsing out any excess vomit that could be lingering. Hopefully this would her last nausea episode for the day.

The morning sickness started about a week ago when some freshly made beignets Chérie had been craving ended up in the toilet 20 minutes later. Since then she could barely keep anything down, spending up to 45 minutes at the toilet throughout the day emptying her stomach. It was an experience she abhorred — wincing every time when the acidic contents came up her throat.

When it continued consistently for four days in a row, it confirmed what she had already suspected for a while.

It was the end of July, and she had yet to get her period — she had never missed a period.

Applying a new layer of mixed foundation to her face, Chérie thought back to that 4th of July night when both she and John were naked under a sky filled with fireworks. Somehow she knew then — remembering the shared climax she had with John, and feeling something different about it.

She wanted so badly to be wrong — pushing herself to believe it was just the excitement of having outdoor sex. But she knew.

Life was developing within her.

Life that was conceived with John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

For Chérie, that was the hardest pill to swallow. She had tried for so long with her husband in her original life. She wanted to be a mother. She wanted to be the mother of his children. She wanted to build a home and a life with him so badly. It just seemed so unreal that her womb was not carrying his child, but the child of a man who only existed in history books and documents in her future.

It did not make sense, and yet, her body was confirming to her each day that a Kennedy was growing inside of her.

A Kennedy that should not exist.

Placing both hands on her stomach, Chérie stood still, staring down at her belly for a long time before looking at herself again in the mirror. This time with fear very evident in her pale green eyes.

She was not sure what to do next.

Taking deep steady breaths, Chérie knew she could not stay in the restroom all day, and finished fixing her face. When she left the restroom she did not look as if she had ruined her life.

The walk back to Congressional Room 322 felt like the longest walk Chérie had ever made. Feeling very sensitive and self conscious, every glance and stare she got put her on edge — as if the entire government had found out her secret. It pushed her to walk faster, throwing caution to the wind when she ran into a familiar body.

"I am so sorry—!"

"Not a problem, Ms. Rivière," Oscar Porter smiled at her gently, relieving some of her tension. "It was just an accident. Though I am glad that it happened. How have you been?"

Chérie chuckled weakly. "I could be better. How are you?"

"I'm well, but I'm sorry you're not feeling the same," Oscar apologized sincerely. "Is everything alright?"

"I...I just have not been feeling well," She said, looking away. "I might be coming down with something, but I'll be fine."

"If you're not feeling too well, Ms. Rivière, I urge you to go home and get some rest."

"Oh no — I'll be fine, Congressman. Besides Jack—."

"Jack?" Oscar repeated, raising a brow.

"I mean...Congressman Kennedy," Chérie corrected herself, blushing at her slip up. "He's...um...expecting me to help with some important documents today."

"Hm," Was all Oscar said, forming a hard line on his lips. "Well, don't let him work you too hard, Ms. Rivière, health is wealth. When you're feeling better, we will have to do lunch soon. Until then, please take care of yourself."

"I will, Congressman," Chérie smiled. They both exchanged head nods before bidding each other farewell.

When Chérie finally made it back to the office, she was able to slip in without notice — mostly due to a good portion of the staff being out for lunch. Mary was the only one present, but her focus was mainly on the mail from constituents that John tried to avoid. She only offered Chérie a simply greeting when she sat down at her desk.

As well as—.

"Oh, Émeraude, those came in for you today," Mary informed, pointing her pencil to the bouquet of fresh roses that sat upon Chérie's desk. "You get a new batch each week — somebody has a young man smitten."

"I'm afraid so...," Chérie said in a low voice, staring at the flowers with an anxious expression.

John had been having them delivered to her ever since they returned to the office from holiday. Every week she received a fresh dozen for her desk, having the sender being noted as anonymous. No one knew it was him except for her, but it still made her very anxious. Ted had already figured out their relationship, she did not need anyone else putting two and two together.

"Just remind Mr. Kennedy that all office expenses are being reported to his father, and he will be curious as to why an intern is receiving roses on his dime."

Chérie closed her eyes and sighed.

"How'd you figure it out?"

"Honey, who you think orders them for him? I handle all his money," Mary informed, her eyes still reviewing the mail. "You have also been spending a good amount of time with him in his office — alone — ever since we came back to the office."

Chérie swallowed. She had not even notice they were interacting differently than before, and rather carelessly if people were starting to notice. Biting her lip, she wondered who else in the office knew.

"...Does anybody else know?"

Mary looked up at the light green eyes girl and sighed. "You're a hard worker, Émeraude, and that's good, but one of your biggest flaws is that you block out everything when you're focused. Rumors have been flying over your head for weeks now — and your pretty little head has been none the wiser."

That sentence alone cut Chérie deep. Had she really been so focused on work that she had not noticed whispers and conversations about her? What were they saying about her, and how much did they know?

As she thought about this, a few of the men started to return to the office — some taking open note of the bouquet on her desk.

"Those look pretty, Émeraude. From your secret admirer again — must be someone in office."

"Gotta be! I would get a thrill seeing my dame with my flowers everyday."

"I bet the guy is a jack of all trades."

It was one thing to be secretly pregnant — but to be secretly pregnant with the whole office knowing you are sleeping with the boss was a little too much for her nerves that day.

Without hesitation, Chérie began typing urgently on her typewriter, blocking every noise until the thing she heard was her punches of the keys. She did this for a while, gaining some peace until a familiar tanned hand was gently placed on her arm. Ceasing her typing, she slowly glanced up to hooded bluish green eyes looking down at her.

"Ms. Rivière, I need you in my office."

The silence that the question produced in the office was telling, and unnerved her heavily.

"...Yes sir," She nodded slowly.

Chérie ignored the stares and wondering eyes that followed John and her to his office, and visibly dropped her shoulders when the door was closed behind them. However, her nerves went right back to high alert when she noticed John staring at her, nearly making her jump out of her skin.

John was leaning against the front of his desk — hands planted on each side of him, staring at her with an unreadable expression. His face was stoic and still — oddly serious for it to just be them in the room. For the longest time, he did nothing but stare at her, and she squirmed under the intense gaze. She was not used to this behavior from him.

"I ran into Porter at the Capitol," He finally spoke, folding his arms across his chest. "He told me you weren't feeling well. Is this true?"

Chérie blinked, processing John's words and finally nodding. "Um...I...I wasn't expecting him to tell you that."

"He did," John responded quickly. "A rather smartass about it too. But you didn't answer me, Chérie, are you not feeling well?"

Involuntarily from the question, Chérie covered her front with her arms, folding them over her stomach as she suddenly grew nauseous again. She knew he did not know of the life growing inside her, but his questioning of her health was hitting a little too close to the mark for her liking.

She had already made her mind up to never tell him, disappearing from his life completely after the internship ended. He would only brush off the information anyway — getting one of his lackeys to take her to a sketchy, dark alley to "solve" the problem. 

A child out of wedlock would not get him to the Whitehouse after all.

"...I was earlier, but I'm fine now," Chérie answered, ignoring her upset stomach. "It's nothing to worry about."

Pushing himself off his desk, John closed the distance between, stopping in front of her and placing a hand on her forehead. The sudden touch made her flinch, but she did not move away from it. He then moved it from her forehead to her cheek, and then lastly her neck, checking the usual temp points.

"You don't have a fever," He noted aloud. "But you have on more makeup than usual."

"I'm fine," She insisted.

"Porter would have not brought it to my attention if you were," John remarked. "...are...are you bleeding?"

"...I beg your finest pardon?"

John made a face, looking away. "Whenever my sisters were...bleeding, they would not feel well during that time, so mayb—."

"That is none of your fucking business, John."

"But are you?"

"NO!"

She could not believe she was having this conversation, and with John of all people. Her "bleeding" was her business and her business alone. Why it was even brought up was beyond her.

"I'm fine, Jack," She declared, clearly not noticing his silence after she admitted she was not "bleeding". She also did not notice how his eyes soften, and their focus went from her face to her belly. "Now can we finally get to work? We've wasted enough time already—."

"Go home, Chérie."

"...What?"

"Go home," John repeated calmly, placing his hands on her shoulder. "Go home and get some rest."

"But I'm fin—."

"I'm not arguing with you," John said. "Go home — I'll see you later tonight."

John did not give Chérie a chance to respond, giving her a quick kiss and opening his office door for her. Stunned, Chérie stood there for a moment before finally walking out and going to her desk. She silently gathered her things, and made her way to the office exit — not turning back to see John still looking at her.

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

Chérie threw up two more times upon her return to 824 George Drive, leaving the staff concerned for her well being. Mr. Hawkins offered to call a doctor, but she refused, deciding rest was the best choice for her and turning in early.

Dinner was brought up to her with Mrs. Walter preparing a simple soup for her with crackers. It stuck to her stomach well, providing some much needed nutrition to her body. As she ate, she listened to the radio, allowing her body to relax for once that day.

When 7:00PM came around, her mother called, and for an hour they talked about any and everything with Chérie yet again not informing her of her condition. She knew eventually she would have to tell her, knowing one day she will be showing and popping an entire human being out of her.

She just had yet to come up with a clever way of telling her mother she was pregnant by a white man 13 years older than her. If there was even a clever way to do that in the first place.

She had thought it over a couple of times, and there was no scenario in which her mother would not lose her shit.

"You've been awfully quiet, Ma Chérie," Her mother noticed through the phone. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes ma'am...I'm great," Chérie lied. "I'm just a little tired."

"Oh, I understand, baby. I'll let you go now. Have a goodnight night, Ma Chérie — I love you."

"I love you too, mama — goodnight."

Hearing the phone click, Chérie placed it back on the receiver, and sunk deeper into the covers she had wrapped around her. Her hands automatically went to her stomach, lifting her night gown for skin to skin contact and closing her eyes.

It still felt so unreal to her.

She was going to be a mother.

She was unsure if the tear that left her eye was out of joy or despair, but she wiped it away before getting a chance to think about it.

"Ms. Rivière, there is a Mr. John Kennedy here to see you," Mr. Hawkins informed, walking in her bedroom.

"Is there now," She sighed. "...You can let him up."

"Yes, ma'am."

Chérie sat up from her covers a little as John walked in — his eyes wondering the room before landing on her. With his eyes still on her, he closed the door behind him and tossed his blazer to floor, loosening his tie and kicking off his shoes before climbing onto her bed. She watched him draw closer to her — eyes never losing contact as he climbed on top of her.

His lips made contact with hers first, capturing hers in a hungry kiss. Grabbing a hold of her face, he pulled her closer, molding their lips further together and coaxing soft moans and purrs from Chérie. When his lips departed from hers, they attached to her neck, kissing and sucking desperately at her skin.

Chérie closed her eyes, letting John decorate her neck as he pleased with love bites and kisses. It was all very intense, and she just wanted to get lost in it.

When their lips met again, she gave him complete control of her mouth, welcoming his tongue and entangling it with her own. Feeling the motion of their tongues together made Chérie sigh, caressing John's face and entangling her fingers into his hair.

Pulling away with only a string of saliva connecting them together, both chest rose up and down to catch their breaths followed by breathless chuckles from each other. When Chérie felt John's hand trail up her gown, she grew excited until it went further up to her stomach, where it laid flat upon it. Furrowing her eyes, she looked up at John with confused eyes. John offered no explanation, kissing her forehead and rubbing the soft flesh of her stomach.

"My girl," He breathed, kissing her all over again. "My girl is having my baby."

Chapter Text

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

"I know it's foolish to love you so much,
But I forget to be smart when you touch me,
My heart tells me to beware,
You're dangerous, Chérie,
But I don't care,"

You're Too Dangerous, Chérie -
Buddy Clark (1947)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

July 1949

"What?"

At first, Chérie thought she was hearing things. She had to be — because there was no feasible way for John to have spoken those words. He could not have known. And yet, the soft rubbings of his hand against her stomach were so telling. They were slow, gentle, and constant — as if letting the small life growing inside know he was there.

That he was their father.

It sent a chill down her back, causing her to grow still under the touch.

"Jack, what did you say—?"

John found her lips again, moving against them slow and tenderly. Chérie closed her eyes as he deepened the kiss, taking her breath away every nip and suck. When he pulled away, he hovered over her with curious sea green eyes, watching her inhale and exhale as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. He could look at her forever.

"You're having my child," He finally said — voice breathless as a smile threatened to spread across his face. "Fuck...you're having my baby..."

John was full on smiling now, exhibiting a joy Chérie has so rarely seen on his face. It left her speechless and confused, staring up at him with wide, puzzled eyes. Not only was she confused as to how he found out, but also by the happiness he was genuinely exhibiting by knowing.

"Jack," Chérie breathed, low and confused. "H-How'd you...how you?"

"As often as I fuck you, you don't think I know your body by now, Chérie," John said. "You're not bleeding...you run to the restroom throughout the day for extended periods...your tits have gotten bigger — and a lot more sensitive...you're practically glowing, doll...doesn't take a genius to figure out when he's finally hit the right spot."

"Finally?" Chérie felt her heart quicken.

"We haven't exactly been careful, Chérie," John explained. "It was only a matter of time before something catch."

"B-but you shouldn't be happy about this, Jack," Chérie exclaimed, sitting up. "We're not married, and I'm pregnant — this is political suicide! You won't become president if someone finds out about this—."

"And no one will find out," John stated firmly. "We'll be married before the baby gets here."

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKIN' MIND?!" Chérie exclaimed, pushing the politician away. "I can't marry you, John! You're supposed to marry Jac—!"

Chérie caught herself, slamming her mouth shut at the almost slip up. This could not be happening to her. The pregnancy was one thing, but John being happy with it and mentioning marriage was making her head spin. History was unraveling with everything he was saying.

"John...you are going to be the President of the United States of America one day," Chérie tried to reason with a calm voice. "You are going to make history, and have the entire country fall in love with you. You are going to be an inspiration for so many generations...you'll do all of that married to someone one who is not me."

"But I want it to be you," John declared, staring at her hard.

"Well, it can't," She retorted, returning the same intense gaze. "Think, Jack — do you really think the Ambassador is going to let you marry me?"

"You check all his boxes," He argued. "You come from old money, highly educated, a debutante — not to mention the beauty, poise, and charm to be a Future First Lady."

"You forgot to mention Protestant, pregnant, and not yet a college graduate," Chérie pointed out. Why he was making this so difficult was beyond her. "Jack...I can't marry you — I'm not the girl for you. You have to understand. There is no future for us."

Which was true. She was not even supposed to exist. They were never supposed to meet. Never supposed to connect. Never supposed to spend days and nights with each other. Never supposed to create life with each other.

This was all a huge mistake that she let go too far.

"Jack, I need you to be president," She said in a soft tone, caressing his face. "But you won't be if I stay in your life. We have to stop seeing each other. I'll disappear...and have this baby by myself, and you won't ever have to worry about us. It'll be as if I never existed—."

"Don't say that," He said, grabbing a hold of her hand and pulling her into his lap. He wrapped his arms tight around her waist, and rested his head on her chest. "I don't want that."

"Jack—."

"I want you."

"Please stop—."

"And the baby."

"Don't say that—."

"And any life that includes you both."

John was now staring up at her with pleading bluish green eyes. He looked at her with such vulnerability, intensity, and desire, it was hard for her to look away. It reminded her so much of the John she had met over a year ago at the debutante ball — the one lost in grief and purpose.

"Jack, please," Chérie tried standing up, but John kept her in place.

"You said you wouldn't leave me alone," John reminded.

She did, and she hated she ever said she would not.

"John—."

"I won't become president if you leave me, Chérie."

Chérie froze, staring John deep into his eyes. She wanted to call his bluff, but his eyes were serious and his face was stone hard. He meant every word he said.

"The Ambassador wouldn't allow it," She argued. Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. would lose his mind if John went against the family plan. However, John did not back down from his threat.

"Remember, doll, I'm the rule breaker in the family," He said. "I will not become President without you as my First Lady. It's you or no one, Chérie."

Chérie clenched her teeth. "The Ambassador—!"

"I'll handle the old man," John stated. "Just marry me, doll — please. Marry me..."

John had really put her in a dilemma. If she stayed, history would be distorted — if she left, history would be distorted. There was no win win situation for her — either way the fabric of time would be fucked because she decided to sleep with a historical figure and get pregnant by him. She was never this reckless and stupid before, and now it has changed everything.

She could run away, but she was afraid of the consequences she would further cause if she did. There was also the fact that he still did not know she was black. If she married him, she would have to pretend to be a white woman for the rest of her life, having to give up her own family just to secure his political career. There was also the fact that the babe growing inside of her could easily have the same skin complexion as her father, which could raise eyebrows.

It was all too much — why did she ever sleep with him!?

"Chérie," John purred, kissing the crook of neck. Chérie took a deep breath as he continued the affection, pulling a soft moan from her. His kisses went from her neck to her chest, trailing down the cleavage of her breasts. "Marry me..."

Untying the front of her night gown, John pulled a portion down to reveal a breast, latching his mouth down on the nipple and sucking it with eager. As he sucked, he fondled the other breast, increasing Chérie's pleasure and moans. At first they were soft, but they gradually grew louder, warming her core.

"Jack...," She sighed, allowing the Irishman to lay her back on the bed. Revealing the other breast, John moved over to the other nipple, sucking greedily at it. When John finally released them, they were perked and covered in his saliva, making her far too embarrassingly wet.

"Marry me, Chérie," John continued to ask, taking off his buttoned down and removing his back brace. He then continued to pull down her night gown, leaving Chérie in nothing but her panties as he trailed kisses from her breasts to her stomach. He stopped there, planting a long, tender kiss on it.

"I don't want them to grow up not knowing who I am," John said, moving back up to hover above Chérie's face. "Please...marry me?"

Chérie stared at him for the longest, fighting with herself on the next thing to say. Everything would be different going forward — depending on what she decides.

Taking a deep breath, Chérie took a hold of John's face and pulled him down to capture her lips, slowly molding them together.

"I will."

Her voice was low and unsure, but gave John his desired answer. He kissed her again, grinding their bodies together.

"I love you," He confessed, pulling away from her. The confession shocked Chérie, leaving her without words as he pulled her panties down.

Tossing them to ground, he opened her legs wide and licked his lips at the sight of her moist core. Lowering himself down, he blowed on it and watched it twitch with need, sending shivers all over Chérie's body.

"Such a pretty pussy," He mused before giving it a long, thorough lick. It made Chérie thrust her hips up, throwing her head back and groaning at the pleasure. Her core clenched, desiring more and he chuckled, giving it playful licks just to watch Chérie squirm.

"Who does this pussy belong to?" He asked, using his tongue to trace over it. He was going to drive her insane.

"It's yours, Jack," Chérie gave in without a fight, opening her legs wider for him. "It's all yours, daddy — take it, please!"

John needed no further instruction. He dived into her in a frenzy, pushing his tongue deep inside her and sucking up her juices. Chérie arched her back at the pleasure, stars appearing in her vision as she tangled her hands in his hair.

"Yes, daddy! Right there! Fuck — FUCK!" She screamed, getting lost in the motion of John's tongue. "So good! So fucking good! Eat all my pussy up, daddy!"

Chérie's climax hit her hard, hitting her body with such a force, she involuntarily squirted in John's mouth — who drunk up every last drop of the clear fluid.

"I could eat this pussy forever," He said, wiping his mouth with his arm. He watched it as it twitched more, clearly desperate for something bigger to fill it. He rubbed himself through his slacks at the sight of it, clearly excited to be inside its warmth.

Chérie watched John unbuckle himself, throwing his slacks to the side and rubbing his member against her core. It made them both shiver, building up their excitement of being connected again. She was always so tight for him, and he stuffed her so well.

When John pushed in, Chérie gripped the bed sheets, biting hard on her lip as he slid further inside — filling her completely. She sighed at the feeling of being stuffed full, and John chuckled at the twitch of her core around him — both in utter euphoria.

"We're a perfect fit," John quipped, leaning into Chérie's face. She clenched around him again, making him groan. "Fuck — so tight for daddy."

John's thrusts started out long and slow, hitting the right spots for Chérie as she wrapped her legs around his waist. As the thrusts grew deeper, she pulled him closer, latching her lips onto his and kissing in rhythm of each thrusts. As she tightened around him, John picked up his speed, feeling his peak approaching at the grinding of their bodies.

"Fuck, Chérie! Fuck, fuck — you feel so good, baby! Gonna drain daddy dry!" John exclaimed, entangling their fingers together, latching on to a nipple and sucking desperately. He took Chérie up another notch in pleasure, and pushed her over the edge — clamping down on John's member and drinking up his release.

Her body took in all of it, overflowing at the rim of their joined parts.

"I love you, Jack," Chérie sighed, her voice low and breathless — unaware of how dangerous it was to say such words out loud.

John hardened at the confession, beginning his thrusts again with renewed vigor. Though tired, Chérie welcomed each thrust, sucking them into her core hungrily.

"Say it again?" John asked, picking up his pace.

Chérie bit her lip. "I love you, Jack."

"Again."

"I love you..."

"Again..."

"I love you..."

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

"I'm ending your internship tomorrow," John declared, buttoning up his dress shirt and throwing on his tie. Chérie watched him quietly from the bed, exhausted and sore with the covers barely covering her  nude body.

One glance at her almost made John want to join her again — his eyes tracing every curve of her body on display.

"Can't really work under me now that we're engaged. We'll travel to New York this weekend to let your family know," He continued. "Then next weekend you'll travel with me to Hyannis Port to meet my family. We're gathering for a sailing competition so everyone should be there — we'll announce the engagement there too."

Chérie shivered at the statement — still note used to the fact that she was going to marry John F. Kennedy. At this point, this whole experience had to be a dream — a very long, detailed, horny dream.

"You sure about this, Jack?" She asked quietly as he threw on his blazer. He paused at the question, turning back to look at her before sitting down on the bed with her.

"Absolutely," He said, caressing her before leaning down to kiss her. "Don't come into the office today — stay here and rest. I'll be back later tonight."

Chérie nodded, watching him stand and leave the room. When she was alone, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling — going over the last 24 hours. So much had happened — too much in her opinion. Yesterday morning she was a single, pregnant white passing negro woman, and now she was an engaged, pregnant white passing negro woman who will be the Future First Lady.

If there was ever a time to go insane, this would definitely be the time. She was a 21st century woman, trapped in the past, whitepassing in society who was now pregnant and engaged to the future 35th President of the United States of America.

Covering her stomach with her hands, Chérie stared up at the ceiling in silence, trying her best not to scream her lungs out at the mess she was in.

It was not until late in the morning that Chérie finally got out of bed, taking a long shower and tossing on a simple dress for the day. Mrs. Walter, who was surprised to see her still in, made her a nice, quick breakfast that Chérie had three servings of.

And immediately threw up soon after.

"Fucking morning sickness," Chérie whined, holding on to the toilet seat, and reaching for the flush lever.

"Do you need any assistance, ma'am?" Ms. Collins asked, standing at the doorway of the bathroom with concern.

"I'm fine, Ms. Collins," Chérie said, offering a small smile before flushing her vomit. "Just an upset stomach."

"You've been having an upset stomach for a while now, ma'am," Ms. Collins said, walking in and squatting down on the floor with Chérie. "Where I come from when you've been throwing up a lot and a handsome lad starts coming around more — there's a baby usually involved...are you expecting, ma'am?"

Chérie was quiet for a moment. "...I am."

Ms. Collins nodded, wrapping an arm around Chérie and helping her up. "Alright then. I'll have Mrs. Walter change up your meals so you can start keeping it down. You losing all this food is not good for the child."

Ms. Collins led Chérie to the sitting room, putting her in an armed chair and laying a blanket across her lap. She turned on the radio and handed Chérie a book she had been reading.

"You rest now, ma'am. I'll bring in the food once it's ready."

"Thank you, Ms. Collins," Chérie smiled at the Irish woman.

"Of course," She nodded, taking her leave.

Chérie was left again with her own thoughts with nothing but the radio to hear as she read. Ms. Collins did return with a warm broth of chicken noodle soup that did stay down in Chérie's stomach. She had a couple of more servings before being completely full, resting well in the chair for an afternoon nap.

She was not only full, but also still exhausted from her night with John.

Ms. Collins came in during the nap, gathering up the tray she brought in, and resting Chérie's feet upon a foot seat for a more comfortable slumber. She then removed the book from Chérie's arms and opened up the blanket for her, covering her legs up to her chest.

"I'm off to the market, Bridget," Mrs. Walker announced as the red head entered the kitchen with the tray.

"Yes, ma'am," She nodded, watching the door close behind Mrs. Walter. She then glanced down the hallway and stairway, making sure no one else was around before approaching the foyer telephone.

Pulling out a piece of paper from her apron, she quickly dialed the numbers on it and waited for the other line to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Moore? This is Bridget," Ms. Collins informed on the line.

"Ah, Bridget, how are you, dear?"

"I am well, sir. I have news for the Ambassador," Ms. Collins responded. "She is pregnant. Jack came over last night, and convinced her to marry him."

"Excellent," Edward Moore said through the phone. He was Joseph P. Kennedy Sr.'s personal secretary and closest friend. "The Ambassador will be pleased to hear this, Bridget. Take good care of her now, alright?"

"Yes sir," Ms. Collins nodded before hanging up the phone. She did a quick check up on Chérie in the sitting room before returning to the kitchen to clean up the dishes.

Chérie did not wake up until 3PM in the afternoon, surprisingly still tired but not wanting to fall back asleep. Getting up from the armchair and stretching, she folded up the blanket she was covered in and walked out the sitting room to the foyer phone.

She stared at it for a while, debating with herself whether to make the call. She honestly had no choice to, especially with how in a couple a weeks her name and picture will be all over society newspapers. It was either tell her mother now from her or have her found out later in the newspapers.

Picking up the phone, she slowly dialed the number to Mr. Beaumont's office. Two rings went by before she connected to the office.

"Mr. Beaumont's office—."

"Mama?"

"Chérie?" Mrs. Rivière asked, surprised. "Honey, you're supposed to be at wor—."

"I'm pregnant, mama," The words fell out before Chérie could even stop them. "And engaged — surprise!"

"..."

"Mama—?"

"Émeraude Chérie Rivière, explain — now."

Chapter Text

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

"I love those dear hearts and gentle people,
Who live in my home town,
I love those dear hearts and gentle people,
Who never ever let me down,"

Dear Hearts and Gentle People -
Dinah Shore (1949)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

August 1949

"I told ya'll having her 'round all them white folks was a bad idea — I told ya'll!"

"Mirelle—."

"Nah, Albertine, ya'll are going to listen to me now! Though it's a bit too late since we got a pregnant niece in the living room — and by a white man no less! You happy now, Evangeline — your grandchild gon be half cracker."

"Shut your mouth, Mirelle!"

The back and forth between the LaBelle sisters in the kitchen was soon drowned out by Gregory with the piano, which brought Chérie some much needed relief from the shouting. As Gregory played, Edith sat close to her on the couch, holding her in an embrace and humming along with the music. Quincy sat in the armchair next to them, chewing on his lip in deep thought with Zachary sitting across the room, rubbing his temple.

The cousins were all waiting for their mothers to return from the kitchen after excusing themselves to talk privately. What was supposed to be a quick 20 minute chat was now an hour long heated discussion — Chérie had expected much.

After convincing John to let her travel to New York a day before their planned visit to tell her "actual" family the news, she had prepared herself for the reactions. She assumed the worse would be her mother, who openly wept into the phone after Chérie explained everything.

She was rightfully upset and confused by the news, going from crying for her to shouting at her several times through the phone.

"Chérie...the rules — you broke the rules!"

"...I know, mama...I'm sorry." Was all she could really say. It broke her heart to hear her mother so distraught, and she truly wished she could take the whole year she had with John back.

"Does he know?" She asked.

Chérie nodded. "Yes ma'am — and he wants to marry me."

"But does he know?" She repeated, asking an entirely different question.

"...No ma'am — he does not."

"Oh, Chérie..."

The conversation did not last much longer after that. It ended with her mother wanting her home as soon as possible, which she obliged.

When she told the rest of the LaBelle family, the reactions varied. Mirelle was the most upset, being very vocal in her anger and frustration over the whole situation. Albertine was silent, but the horror that shown on her face was very evident. James Smith, Chérie's uncle by marriage to Mirelle, walked out the house with a pained expression — not offering a word to Chérie.

Her cousins were more compassionate. Edith, initially gasping and crying a few tears, ran over to her little cousin and pulled her into a hug — never leaving her side. Gregory and Quincy looked stunned, looking at each other and then back at Chérie with sympathetic eyes. Zachary, surprisingly, did not have something smart to say, rubbing the back of his neck and sighing.

Chérie tried her best not to cry about the whole thing, but some tears did fall, which made Edith hold her tighter. It was hard to accept, but she did disappoint them — she was only a year from graduating from Barnard, and now she was pregnant and engaged to a white man.

"I feel like this is my fault," Edith said, crying some more. "If I didn't pressure you so hard about dating and marriage—."

"It's not your fault, Edith — it's mine," Chérie reassured. "Don't blame yourself for this."

"We should be blaming that cracker," Zachary said. "He wanted to get Chérie alone in D.C. for himself — those Beaumonts probably knew all about it too!"

"They didn't know, Zach," Chérie said.

"Don't you find it funny though how they have always given you access to their world so easily, Chérie," Zachary argued. "They gave you their home to use without you paying a dime — that does not sound right!"

"They could just be nice people, Zach," Quincy offered.

"Bullshit," Zachary said. "Being nice is me letting you stay in my home — not me letting you stay in my home as I pay for all the food, all the staffing, all the necessities — that ain't nice."

"Then what would you call it, Zach?" Edith asked tired of her brother.

"An investment," Zachary stated. "When you put resources into something, you are investing in it — waiting for the huge payoff. Since Chérie was little, they've given her the best schools, clothing, and lessons they could afford — like she was practically their own daughter. They've been making her nice and ripe for the 'white' pickings."

"For what reason?" Quincy asked. "Chérie is negro — she was never going to end up with a white man."

Zachary shook his head, chuckling at his family. "Yet here we are — our dear sweet cousin both pregnant and engaged to one. Think, Quincy — in their world, it's easier to marry into money and power rather than build it yourself — sons make the fortune, but the daughters marry into it."

"So you're saying they invested 11 years in me on the off chance I would get them more money?" Chérie asked mockingly, raising an eyebrow. "You do know the Beaumonts are loaded, right? And even so they have a daughter to do that for them."

"They have money, but not the power, and having two beautiful, marriageable girls is always better than one to get it — this white man a politician, right? I see him more in national news than our own President. He's their ticket now that he has you."

"Okay, Zach, stop! It's...it's not like that. They wouldn't do that!" Chérie argued, getting upset by the odd sense her cousin was making. The Beaumonts could not have possibly set everything up for her to get with John. They were good people. "They wouldn't use me in that way."

"When have white people never not used us, Chérie?" Zachary asked seriously, causing a silence to fall in the living room.

It was at this time that the three matriarchs returned to the living room — still very heated, but no longer having it in them to yell at each other. Mrs. Rivière joined her daughter on the couch as Mirelle stood near Zachary, and Albertine took the center of the room.

"Gregory, honey, you can stop playing now," Albertine instructed her son. "I can only guess how much you all heard before Greg started playing. I just want to remind everyone in this family, whatever is said out of anger does not reflect our love for one another. At the end of the day, we are family — and family sticks together no matter what. Even...during circumstances like this."

Albertine's brown eyes landed on Chérie, offering a sad smile. "Sweetheart, this is not how we imagined you getting engaged, but this is something we have to accept — and, as a family, support you the best we can. We will always be here for you, Chérie, and always love you, ya hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Chérie nodded, running off the couch to embrace her aunt. Albertine welcomed her and held her tight, kissing the top of her head.

"So what happens now?" Edith asked.

"I have to marry John," Chérie answered with finality, turning to face the family. "And...continue this charade. John and the rest of the world thinks I am a white woman, so...I'm going to have to pretend...for the rest of my life..."

"Fuck!" Gregory cussed in a low whisper. Chérie could feel the tears forming, but tried to keep them in.

"I...I'm g-going...to try my best," Chérie breathed, feeling a tear fall. "To keep...you all in my life — in the most discreet manner to keep us all safe, but...starting tomorrow everything will be different. No more weekend visits...holidays...birthdays...weddings..."

The tears were flowing freely now and Chérie found she could no longer talk. Speaking it out loud, she realized how much she was losing — giving up. She would not even be able to be in her own cousin's wedding, or even have her mother build a relationship with her grandchild. She would never be with her family in the same way again.

"I'm sorry," She choked out, crying harder. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry."

She kept repeating it, feeling the weight of the situation practically choking her. Mirelle was the first to hug her, shushing her as she held her. Mrs. Rivière and Edith came in to hug around them, then Albertine — then the twins — then Zachary.

The entire family held Chérie as she cried, and she wanted nothing more than for them to stay like that.

"We are a family, Chérie," Mirelle whispered in her ear. "Nobody will ever change that."

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

When Chérie began high school, she used to hate sharing a room with her mother. However, now she wanted nothing more than to stay within the small space with her forever. As a little girl, it seemed so big to her, but as she grew, it shrunk and space within it seemed almost nonexistent.

She did not mind that anymore.

Sitting on the bed in her night gown, Chérie took in her last night with her mother, fiddling with her favorite doll from childhood as the older woman placed rollers in her hair — humming a soft tune that used to be a lullaby for Chérie. It reminded of her childhood — when her mother would always braid her hair before bed.

What was once sweet memories was now a bittersweet goodbye.

"You remember when I got you that doll?" Mrs. Rivière asked, parting off another section of Chérie's hair.

"Bout two weeks after we moved to New York," Chérie said softly with a smile. "It was a gift for the move."

"You used to sleep with her all the time," Mrs. Rivière reminded. "You couldn't get enough of that doll."

"Until I turned 13," Chérie chuckled, tracing the face of the doll with her finger. For it to be a black doll from the 1930s, it was surprisingly not stereotypical and gave a good depiction of a black little girl. She remembered naming her Wendy. "She still looks so pretty."

"...You should take her with you," Mrs. Rivière suggested with a sad smile. "If you have a little girl...you can give her to her — like a family heirloom. That way she'll still have something from me."

"...I would like that," Chérie finally said in a quiet voice after a brief moment of silence. She was still accepting the fact that the child would not know her mother, growing up under the fabricated pretense that both their maternal grandparents were deceased. They would not ever know the love of their grandmother, Evangeline Rivière.

"Mama, I'm sorry — for all of this...I ruined everything for us," Chérie apologized, turning to face her mother.

"No, Ma Chérie...don't say that," Mrs. Rivière reassured her, caressing her face and pulling her into a hug. She held her tight before pulling away and holding her face. "Don't say that, honey...this could never be ruined. I will always be your mother, you will always be my child, and you will always be apart of this family — so will that sweet babe growing inside you...I admit this has been very hard to process for the last couple of days — it never once occurred to me that I would not see you marry or be there when you had your first child, but...these are the lemons we have been given, honey, so let's make the sweetest lemonade out of it."

Chérie nodded her silently, sitting still as her mother kissed her forehead and turned her around to finish her hair.

"I love you, mama."

Mrs. Rivière closed her eyes, letting a tear fall. "I love you more, Ma Chérie — my darling, darling little girl."

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. was far more intimidating than Chérie could have ever imagined, and seeing him sitting in Mr. Beaumont's office along with John made her very uneasy. She had not been expecting him to come with John today, so she was very surprised to see him when Mr. Beaumont summoned her to his office.

They were sitting in the two arm chairs that usually faced Mr. Beaumont's desk, but when Chérie walked in, they were turned around, facing her and giving her full attention — each with a brandy in hand. Mr. Beaumont was leaning at the front of his desk with his own drink, looking entirely too proud when she walked in wearing the dress she had been given upon arriving there that morning. The entire setup left an unsettling feeling going down her spine, feeling as though she was being examined at an auction.

Her eyes immediately went to John, seeking some type of reassurance, but his eyes were focused on his father, who stood up and approached her.

With graying red hair, cold blue eyes, and a far too confident smile, Joe Sr. scanned over Chérie through thick circle framed spectacles, circling dangerously close to her as he sipped his drink. It was very uncomfortable, and she did not appreciate the two other men in the room allowing it.

"She's very beautiful, Beaumont," He complimented, stopping to stand directly in front of her. He then placed a hand under her chin and brought her face to look at him. "And these eyes — green eyes like this will drain a man's bank."

"She's not only pretty, Joe — she's the smartest little thing too," Mr. Beaumont added — too eager for Chérie's liking. She had never seen him like this before. "At the top of her class at Barnard, speaks four languages fluently, plays piano—."

"Don't forget fertile," Joe Sr. joked, giving Chérie a knowing smile before moving his hand to her stomach. She froze up at the touch, growing nauseous at the feeling of his hand on her belly. "You're carrying my first grandchild — the next generation of Kennedy. You should be honored."

"We should have the wedding soon before she starts showing," Mr, Beaumont said. "I was thinking maybe November — that'll give us enough time to send out invitations and prepare everything."

"Yes, yes," Joe nodded, smiling at Chérie again before turning to face Mr. Beaumont. "That timeline should work fine. We'll announce the engagement this month as well, and then three weeks after the wedding give news that they are expecting."

"Sounds like you both got this figured out," John quipped, finally saying something. They both were talking like neither were in the room with them.

"Of course we do, Jack, this is your political career we're talking about," Joe Sr. remarked. "Everything has to be done right so you can become President, and the first step to that is getting you both married so people don't find out the child is a bastard."

"Don't say that," Chérie said firmly, having all heads turn to her. "Do not call my child a bastard."

"...Alright then," Joe Sr. said in a patronizing manner. "Well...we're going to finish discussing everything, dear. Why don't you go and rest for a bit?"

Chérie was taken aback. "Should I not be here as you discuss my future?"

"You need not worry about that anymore," Joe Sr. said plainly. "From now on, I will handle all of that. You're my responsibility now, dear. All you need to worry about is my grandchild growing inside you. Now leave."

Clenching the fabric of her dress, Chérie stood there for a moment, staring at the older man in disdain, holding back the urge to slap him. She did eventually leave, walking out and closing the door behind her, but standing close to eavesdrop. Most of it was muffled, but she could faintly make out a few words and sentences being spoken.

John was silent through the entire conversation — very much used to his life being planned out without his input on matters. Chérie was not like that, and would not be so complacent to the senior Kennedy. He spoke over Mr. Beaumont a lot, and made his word the last word for a lot of topics. It was obvious he always got his way.

"Oh, and your gambling debts have been cleared, Beaumont — your money troubles are over now that there's a Kennedy in her."

Chérie's face paled as she heard this, her heart beat quickening at an unfamiliar speed. Stepping back from the door, she suddenly felt sick, rushing to the nearest bathroom and emptying the contents of her stomach. As she throw up, she tried to make sense of the words she just heard, but nothing could explain such a statement.

Why would Joe Sr. say that? Were the Beaumonts in debt — and why was it paid because she was now pregnant? She did not understand and it left her head spinning.

Another body entered the bathroom, kneeling on the floor next to Chérie, rubbing her softly on the back as she continued to vomit. When Chérie finally looked up, she saw it was Mrs. Beaumont, who smiled at her as she wiped the bile off her lips.

"It's alright, Chérie. You did good, my dear," Mrs. Beaumont said, pulling her hair from her face. "So very good. We'll give you the most beautiful wedding — a reward for all you have done for us."

"W-what?" Chérie was so confused.

"We will take good care of your mother as well — to thank her for bringing such a lovely girl into our life to save us. We were close to financial ruin, but you prevented that. Thank you so much, Chérie."

"...Mrs. Beaumont...are you saying?" Chérie was shaking now — her words caught in her throat. Zachary was right.

"Pretty girls like you marry powerful, wealthy men like Kennedy, dear," She said in a far too sweet tone. "It's the natural way of things. It would have been a waste for such a beautiful child to not have the opportunity to do that. We helped you, and now you're helping us. This is wonderful — this is a good thing."

Chérie shook her head in disgust, crying and attempting to stand up, but Mrs. Beaumont keeping her in place. "You used me?"

"No, darling, we helped you," She explained. "You are going to be the wife of a future president — a First Lady. You would have never gotten that opportunity living as a negro woman. This is best — for everyone."

"...You all were the ones that invited John to my debutante ball?" Chérie questioned, slowing putting the pieces together.

"And you did your part well that night, dear."

"And Blanche purposely gave Jean my dormitory information to give to John..."

"We had to make sure there was a line of communication between you both."

"And you provided your house in D.C. just so John could have more physical access to me..."

"It was clever for you to plan to only see him when you were not ovulating, but I know from experience that cleverness does not last long when you're always in close proximity to a man..."

Chérie blinked, staring at the woman with wide tear stained eyes.

"Was the plan to always get me pregnant?"

"...How else would you have agreed to the marriage? This baby makes us all a family now."

Chapter Text

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

"My heart tells me I will cry again,
Lips that kiss like yours could lie again,
If I'm fool enough to see this through,
Will I be sorry if I do?,
Should I believe my heart or you?,"

My Heart Tells Me - Glen Gray and the Casa Loma Orchestra (1944)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

August 1949

Chérie stood at the top of the grand staircase of 29 Palms Avenue, staring dangerously at the steps below. Her feet were balancing over the edge of the first step, debating whether to lean forward or not as she held a hand to her belly — the life growing in it unaware of its mother's intention. If she did this, there was no going back — the baby would die, and quite possibly herself as well. If she did not, well — history would be fucked, and she would have been used as a pawn in the twisted game that the Beaumonts and the Kennedys had been playing with her life.

Either way, she was fucked.

However, despite that knowledge, she could not bring herself to lean her body forward. Apart of her wanted to — if there was no baby, then there would be no wedding, and with no wedding the Beaumonts would go into financial ruin due to the debt they would Joe Sr. for not giving him a bride for his son. It would be her revenge against all of them for using and tricking her into this marriage plot. She was still furious about the fact that she fell right into it, blindly believing and trusting they had the best intentions for her.

They even had her mother fooled.

She should throw herself down the stairs now, because of that, but she just could not make herself move. Yes — she was furious. Yes — she was hurt. Yes — she felt betrayed and used, but getting revenge was not worth having an empty womb. She knew what that felt like — having a miscarriage a year after marrying her husband. She had not known such pain and despair before, being bedridden for weeks and crying herself to sleep. Her body had already ejected life before, could she really purposefully do it now out of spite?

No — she could not.

Backing away from the stairs, Chérie pressed herself against the wall, and sled to the floor, crying at the fact that she was considering killing her baby. It was crazy that she had almost gone that far, but this whole situation she was in was insane. The Beaumonts had been plotting on her for eleven years in order to fill their family pockets again, making her perfect to be sold to the highest bidder, and the family that won was the Kennedys. Zach was right, and she refused to listen.

She had to get out somehow — get far away from all of this so they would forget her.

So John would forget her.

He must have known about the entire plot. She found it hard to believe that he did not know. John was a reckless and spoiled man — he never pulled out or used protection because he knew if a pregnancy happened his father would handle it. Either by sending the woman far away, paying her off, or taking her to an alley somewhere to a questionable doctor. The problem would be handled either way.

John did not do that with her. He showered her with love and praise and begged her to marry him — even threatening to not pursue the presidency if she did not marry him. He made it clear he wanted her and the baby. He purposefully got her pregnant to keep her, and she fell right into it.

It was hard to believe that John F. Kennedy was just as calculating and manipulating as his father, but she had to remember as charming and magnetic as John was he was still his father's son. Joe Sr. taught his sons they could have whatever or whoever they wanted because they were Kennedy men, and John wanted her — and he got her. She got so caught up in their heated affair that she forgot just how ruthless and dangerous the Kennedys were, and now she had one growing inside her.

Whether she liked it or not, she was now apart of their clan.

"Chérie, honey, what are you doing on the floor?" Mrs. Rivière questioned, approaching her daughter and lifting her off the floor. "And why are you crying, baby?"

"Hormones," Chérie lied, wiping away the tears and faking a smile. She did not have the heart to tell her mother what mess she got them tangled in. If she knew the truth, who knows what she would do. It was best to  not let her know. "This baby got me going to tears so easily, mama."

"It'll pass, honey," She comforted, dusting off her daughter's dress. "You had me yelling at your daddy for just breathing."

Chérie chuckled at this, and, without warning, embraced her mother, holding her tight and letting a few more tears fall before letting you.

"What was that for?" Mrs. Rivière asked.

"Just felt like hugging you," Chérie said, offering a weak smile.

Mrs. Rivière returned the smile, holding her daughter's hands in her own until she saw Mr. Beaumont's office door open. Pulling her hands away, she put some distance between herself and Chérie, continuing the charade of her only being and Mr. Beaumont's private secretary and not her mother.

John was the first to leave the office, noticing Chérie and beelining straight to her. As he approached, he paused for a moment, looking between Chérie and Mrs. Rivière curiously and tilting his head in thought. Chérie grew nervous by the action, not liking how his eyes were carefully looking at her mother and then at her.

"Hello there," He greeted, continuing his approach and extending a hand. "May I ask who you are?"

"Hello, Congressman Kennedy. I'm Ms. LaBelle — Mr. Beaumont's private secretary. I'm pleased to meet you," Mrs. Rivière said, shaking his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. LaBelle," John smiled, before turning to Chérie. "Are you close to Chérie?"

They both looked at each other, unsure how to answer. "I am as close to her as I am with Mr. Beaumont's children, sir."

John smiled, nodding his head. "Of course. Would you mind if I steal her away for a moment?"

"Of course not, sir."

Mrs. Rivière glanced at her daughter one more time before stepping away to join Mr. Beaumont in his office with Joe Sr. Chérie watched her, lifting her eyes to John's gaze once was she was gone from sight. He was focused on her, looking down at her with yearning hooded eyes and an easy smile on his lips. He knew how to make her feel like the most important thing, and she foolishly ate it up, enjoying intensity of his gaze. He leaned into her, burying his face in her hair and taking a long sniff as he wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer. Biting her lip, she tried to ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach and pulled away, walking past him to go down the hall. She was not going to give him what he wanted so easily, especially after everything she had learned. She did not even want him touching her.

John grinned at her rejection and followed her without hesitation, keeping up with her steps as she walked and pulling her into a guest room. He expected Chérie to push him away when he latched his lips to hers, but she hungrily accepted them, pulling him closer as he pressed her against the wall. She held on to his face, deepening the kiss and locking their tongues together as he dominated her mouth. Her earlier resistance now replaced with desire. She hated how much she still wanted him despite everything.

She wanted to blame it on being frustrated and needing a release — or even on the pregnancy hormones, but no — she just wanted to ride him senseless, and she did.

On the bed.

On the chair.

On the sofa.

On the floor.

It was ridiculous how good their bodies made love to each other.

Chérie felt shameful lying on his bare chest with his fingers in her hair, playing with the tresses and holding her close. She could not stand how she enjoyed the sound of his breathing or the vibrations of his chest when he spoke. She hated how she loved the feeling of him still inside her, keeping them connected. She should be angry at him — she should hate him, but how could she hate him for wanting her so badly.

He did all of this because he wanted her.

"Do you want a boy or girl?" He asked, entwining their fingers together — just like he entwined himself into her life.

"I don't know," She answered softly. "I just want them healthy...and happy. What about you?"

"...Same, Chérie. I want them healthy and happy..."

Lifting herself up slightly, Chérie hovered over John's face, pushing back her hair as she leaned down to give him a deep kiss. Pulling away, she looked him in the eye, pressing her nose to his.

"Jack...did you get me pregnant on purpose?"

She got confirmation from his father, she got confirmation from the Beaumonts, she just wanted to get confirmation from him.

John looked at her deep in the eye, bringing his hands to caress her face before leaning up to kiss her. His was more intense, almost making her dizzy when he pulled her.

"I love you," He said, avoiding the question, and growing hard again. Chérie felt his stiffness and bite back a moan as she clenched around him. Like a politician, he was trying to distract her, and it was working.

"Jac— AHH!"

The first upward thrust was so good, she could not even focus anymore, allowing John to roll them over so he was on top. Wrapping her legs and arms around him, she let him have his way with her, making her an utter mess. If she had not already had a baby in her, then he would have definitely put one in her then.

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

John and Chérie went back to Washington D.C. the next morning with a very quick farewell from the Beaumonts and an emotional one with her mother. She would spend the rest of her summer in D.C. with John with a trip to meet his family next weekend and an engagement announcement after that.

The wedding was going to be on Saturday, November 5th, 1949. They would marry, and Joe Sr. would get them an apartment in New York, postponing a honeymoon for Chérie to finish her senior year at Barnard College and for the baby to be born. She was adamant she wanted to continue until graduation, fully aware she would give birth sometime in March or April, but planning to return right back to school once she was cleared from the hospital.

She was going to get her degree if it was the last thing she did — even if she had to carry the baby across the stage with her.

John would commute from D.C. on weekends during this time until she was a graduate — essentially spending their first couple of months as husband and wife far apart. He did not seem too keen on that idea, but she reiterated she was not going to throw away her education just to playhouse with him in D.C. She also wanted those last couple of months to herself before she was all his.

Chérie knew that after her graduation that she would be a full time wife to a politician. Her life would soon revolve around social events, fundraisers, campaigning, and putting up with the very crazy Kennedys.

Not to mention caring for the baby that was currently making her crave an odd combination of ice cream, pickles, and chocolate. John had been staring at her with amused eyes for 10 minutes straight as she devoured each item that she made him buy her. He tried reaching for a piece of chocolate and she hissed at him.

"Caring is sharing, Chérie."

"Tell that to your child — I'm eating for two," She retorted, sticking out her tongue.

They were currently at a drive in movie, watching "Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein", a 1948 comedy horror film that she picked out. She wanted to have good laugh after the weekend she had, and decided a movie would be a great place to get it. She brought John along so he could drive her and pay for everything.

"You could at least share the popcorn," He said leaning his car seat back. She threw a couple at his face. "Not what I meant."

"You said share and I did," She explained, throwing a couple in her mouth.

"Your definition of sharing is very interesting, Mrs. Kennedy."

Chérie felt herself shiver from being called that. "We're not married yet..."

"I'm driving you around town, buying you things, putting up with your abuse, and my child is growing inside you," He said. "That's a marriage."

"Your definition of marriage is very interesting, Mr. Kennedy."

When the movie ended, she had got John to get her some more ice cream and chocolate for the road — still not sharing with him. He found it amusing though, enjoying her antics — and sneaking a piece of chocolate when she was not looking. Instead of taking her directly to the townhouse, he took a detour through the city to pick them up some burgers, fries, and shakes for an impromptu night picnic in his car. It reminded her so much of the 1950s that she remembered that next year would be the start of the decade.

So much was going to happen soon...

"Penny for your thought?" John asked, poking her with a fry. She immediately ate it.

"Just thinking about next year...it's going to be a whole new decade — we'll be in the in 50s," She said, turning in the car seat to face him. He was leaning back in his car seat again — no doubt due to his back. John did not complain about his back pain, but she could tell when he was suffering. After spending so much time with him, she was starting to pick up on his body movements.

"You seem excited."

"You should be — it's going to be another election year for you in the House."

John shrugged, eating another fry. "It is, but that's not my focus. I know I'll win the election, so I'm going to start focusing on the senate seat. That election is will be in two years."

"Wow...you're moving up the ranks so quickly. I forgot how fast you got to the White House...," Chérie murmured to herself, realizing how fast 1960 would be there for them — and then 1963. Frowning, she realized she would be in Jackie's shoes very soon.

"Something wrong, Chérie?" John asked, poking her with a fry again and looking over at her with concerned eyes. Briefly, she remembered a very gruesome image she regret ever viewing while visiting the Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza in Dallas. The very bloodied and unauthorized pictures of John F. Kennedy with a portion of his head blown off.

It was hard to get an image like that out of one's mind, and soon she would be getting the first hand experience. Her chest tightened at that thought.

"Nothing," She finally said, forcing a small smile. "Just thinking too much."

"Can I ask what about?" He questioned.

She pondered for a moment, placing a delicate finger on her chin. "Hm...no."

"Why? Now I'm curious."

"Don't be," She sighed, moving over to straddle him. John's curiosity could be dangerous, so it was best to distract him now before he got too curious. "Let's focus on something else."

"Like?" John questioned with a playful smile, taking a hold of her waist.

"...How hard you are right now?" Chérie whispered, unbuttoning her top. She did not wear a bra tonight, so her breasts were on full display when she lowered her blouse. "...and how I can fix that."

John did not hesitate to grasp a hold of them, earning soft moans from Chérie as he fondled them. They were so sensitive now, and got her moist with just a few strokes. Leaning forward, Chérie captured his lips into a kiss, molding them together as she unbuttoned his shirt and undid his pants. His member sprung out, touching her damp, clothed core as she rubbed up against it.

"Such a tease," He groaned, earning a giggle from Chérie.

"You love it," She kissed him.

Lifting her hips, Chérie went under her skirt and moved her panties to the side, guiding John to her core and sliding him in. She sighed from the feeling, pulling him into a long kiss when he finally settled inside of her. Leaning back into his seat, John watched as Chérie rocked her hips into him, lifting and sinking beautifully on his member with her breast bouncing with every movement.

"Fuck...you're squeezing me so hard, Chérie," John exclaimed, throwing his head back and gripping her hips.

"You...want me...to...stop, daddy?" Chérie panted, bouncing happily on John, and moving slower to hit a sweet spot in her. "Ahhh!...Fuck! Right there!"

Chérie wiggled her hips, moving John closer to the spot and skyrocketing their pleasure.

"Don't stop," John huffed, grabbing a hold of her breasts and fondling them. He could not wait to taste the milk that would come out of them. Rubbing her nipples, she moaned aloud, clenching him tighter and rocking faster into him. "Every chance I get, I'm going to knock you up, doll. Pussy this good needs to be filled, bred, and having my babies. We'll have a large Kennedy brood to match old Joe and Rose."

"...Is...Is that why? Is that why you got me pregnant, Jack?" She asked, biting her lip and looking down at John. She grew embarrassingly tighter when he said that, blushing at the thought of him getting her pregnant again. She had not even had this one yet and she wanted more?

John chuckled breathlessly, noticing how much wetter she got. "I only gave you want you wanted, doll. You wanted my baby inside you just as much as I did. I did it for us, Mrs. Kennedy."

Chérie should have stopped moving her hips at what John said, but she moved them faster, growing hotter and feeling their release coming close. Closing her eyes, she thought about what John said, pondering if she really did want this. Even though the Beaumonts had orchestrated everything, she could have declined John's invitation to his room that night, never answered his calls, not spend her weekends with him, said no to his internship — she could have kept him out of her life.

And she definitely could have stopped him from finishing inside her every time.

But she didn't.

She wanted this — she wanted him.

"Yes!...I wanted this, Jack...I wanted your baby!" She screamed out loud, throwing her head back and feeling John explode inside her. "I want all your babies, daddy! Pour it all in my womb and make me a mommy!"

Chérie climaxed soon after, squirting onto John as her toes curled from the fireworks bursting inside of her. She could not believe she said that, but it felt so good that she did. She wanted to get pregnant by John — why did she even fool herself into thinking she did not. She was hoping each time he finished inside her.

Rubbing a hand against her belly, John gazed at it before looking up at Chérie. "Mommy's finally being honest, baby."

Chapter Text

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"Powder your face with sunshine,
Put on a great big smile,
Make up your eyes with laughter,
Folks will be laughing with you in a little while,"

Powder Your Face With Sunshine -
Sammy Kane (1949)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

September 1949

"Congratulations, Ms. Rivière!"

"Congrats, my dear!"

"You'll be such a lovely bride!"

"Congratulations to you both, and may you have a long and happy marriage!"

For what had seemed like hours, Chérie had heard these congratulations on repeat from politicians, socialites, and dignitaries — all of whom were complete strangers to her, but were known by her fiancé and his family. For every new person that approached her, she forced a false smile and spoke a soft "thank you", unconsciously shielding the very small bump that was hiding beneath her dress. It was not noticeable now, but the knowledge of it being there made her extremely paranoid around others, making her uncharacteristically tense at her own engagement party.

Thankfully, nobody acknowledged her anxiousness, giving her some relief despite her desperately wanting a drink.

Jean and Ethel had tried to get Chérie to drink earlier in the evening by bringing her a glass of champagne, but she refused it for lemonade — fully aware of the knowledge of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome that would not be known of until the 1970s. While they thought she was being a "drip", she was really trying to protect her baby — which neither were aware was growing inside her.

Joe Sr. made it very clear that he did not want his wife or daughters to know about the pregnancy until it was officially announced. He knew his wife would object to the union and did not want to give his daughters any ideas of following in their future sister-in-law's steps, so it was best that no one knew until John and Chérie were married.

It did put Chérie in a tight spot though, because soon she would have to go dress shopping with her future In-Laws, and Rose's observant eyes on her weight were not going to ignore the small protrusion in her lower belly.

Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy had kept a careful eye on Chérie ever since the official announcement of the engagement. Polite, strict, and conceited, the small matriarch wasted no time in taking the time traveler under her care and tutelage, giving her unwanted instruction on being a "Kennedy" wife. She came to New York City to see Chérie on a weekly basis for tea at The Plaza Hotel for these lessons, and ended them with a brief shopping trip to award her with a gift. It was safe to assume she was trying to bond with her new daughter, but Chérie felt heavily criticized and judged after every tea session. Even now at her own engagement party, she felt the blue eyes of her keeper watching her every move.

Though she did not support John's indifference to his mother, she was starting to understand why he felt the way he did about her.

"Chérie, dear, this is Arthur and Patricia McKinley — friends of the family," Rose introduced, pulling Chérie to meet the couple. "Art, Patricia, this is Chérie — our lovely bride to be."

"And how lovely she is! Congratulations! Leave it to Jack to find a rare jewel like you!" Arthur said, shaking Chérie's hand.

"You'll have the wedding of the century, darling! It'll rival the one Princess Elizabeth had knowing Joe," Patricia giggled.

"Thank you," Chérie breathed with a strained smile. She was getting tired of meeting new people.

"They volunteered their granddaughter to be the flower girl," Rose informed. "They also have a daughter around your age that could be a bridesmaid."

"...How nice," Chérie said, internally sighing, remembering how she was not even in charge of her own wedding. Joe Sr. and Mr. Beaumont had everything planned out even down to the colors and who would be in the wedding party.

The wedding date was set for Saturday, November 5th at St. Patrick's Cathedral with a reception at the Beaumont's family home, The Beaumont Chateau, near Central Park. There was an expected attendance of 700 guests for the ceremony and 1,200 for the reception — all of which had a Rose Garden theme consisting of soft pinks, light greens, and creams.

The wedding party included 28 people with 13 groomsmen, 13 bridesmaids, a flower girl, and ring bearer. As expected, all of the Kennedy girls were bridesmaids and the boys groomsmen with Robert Kennedy as the best man. Blanche was automatically chosen as Chérie's maid of honor — something that left a sour taste in her mouth. She had not been on friendly terms with the brunette since she found out the truth about everything, which left a lot of their interactions cold and awkward for the past month.

It had been like that with all the Beaumonts; however, like most things in her life, she had to pretend everything was fine.

She was the "Great Pretender" after all.

After meeting another round of strangers and being constantly reminded by Rose to keep smiling, Chérie was able to sneak away upstairs to her room — thankful that the party was being hosted at the Beaumont's home. Falling on her bed, she released a heavy sigh before turning to her side and cradling herself, wanting so bad to fall asleep.

She was unimaginably tired — not only from the party, but also from school, wedding preparations, and weekends spent with the Kennedys. She had come to not be very fond of those weekends, feeling terribly trapped and isolated when she was left alone with the family.

John loved going home to his family, and took every opportunity he could to go; however, with his growing attachment to Chérie, he felt she needed to go with him every time he went. Weekends that were usually meant for studying, relaxing, and spending time with her mother were now dedicated to her new family, who had a hard time accepting "no" when she did not want to go sailing, swimming, or playing football on the lawn. With her condition, all she wanted to do was eat, sleep, and relax, but doing so was nearly impossible around the Kennedys. They were as many biographies have described them as being; lively, competitive, and — to an extent — insane.

And would become a permanent fixture in her life.

There was still a part of Chérie that wanted to believe this was all a dream, but the cold silver band with the large emerald and diamond flowers on her finger was constantly reminding her that it was not.

That this was her reality.

That she was going to be a Kennedy.

And there was no escaping.

A loud knock at her door pulled Chérie out of her thoughts and turning to find a concerned Robert Kennedy opening her door. From the looks of it, he must have been looking for her, relief coming to his face as soon as her eyes met his.

"There you are," He breathed, entering the room and closing the door. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."

"Just needed a breather," Chérie confessed with a breathless laugh, sitting up. "Something wrong?"

"Uh...no. I...uh...I just wanted to check on you," Robert said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You looked a bit tired tonight."

"Yeah...not used to being the center of attention at a party," She lied. "Meeting a lot of new people can be tiring, I guess."

"I can understand. I don't like talking to a lot of people either," Robert said, gesturing his hand to take a seat next to her on the bed. She nodded and he sat next to her. "Everyone's just so excited to meet you. You're going to be the first Mrs. Kennedy of our generation."

"Yeah...I guess I am," Chérie sighed, biting her lip.

"That's a good thing," Robert chuckled. Chérie tried to chuckle with him, but it only came out as a nervous laugh that grew faint very quickly.

"I know...just did not plan for everything to be like this. I always thought you would be the first one to get married out of the bunch."

Robert laughed again, but this time it sounded dry and bitter with a forced smile. "Me too — looks like Jack won."

Chérie rose a brow. "You guys were having a competition on who would get married first?"

That did not sound like John.

"Not who would marry first...but whom we would—never mind," He said quietly before standing up. Offering his arm, Robert gave Chérie a sad smile. "He won — and it's time for your pictures."

Chérie frowned at this statement, getting tired of smiling and taking pictures — but accepting her life would be full of it moving forward. Looping her arm around Robert's, she wore a brave face as they returned to the party, finding John with the rest of the Kennedys next to the photographer.

In a silent exchange, Robert passed her along to his brother who wore his signature carefree smile that contrasted harshly to the younger brother's frown. She felt like something was being said between them, but did not have long to think about it before Joe Sr. was shoving a camera in her face.

John held Chérie close as the first flash went off, wrapping his arms snug around her waist with her arms on top showing off her ring. They took several shots like this — only changing when John snuck a quick peck on her neck that made her jump and his siblings howl and whistle. Rose coughed in a disapproving manner, prompting them to change positions with Chérie sitting down and John standing behind her.

"That's it now! Big smiles!" Joe Sr. ordered, hovering over the photographer. "Jack, put your hand on her shoulder. Yes — like that."

"How many more do we have to take?" Chérie asked. "It's felt like we've taken a 1,000 pictures."

"You think this bad, Cookie? Just wait for your wedding," Patricia giggled. "Oh, daddy! Let us girls take a picture with the bride next!"

"Good thinking, Pat!"

Chérie merely groaned, getting more agitated as the flashes came. Usually something like this would not bother her as much, but with the pregnancy, her emotions were unfortunately everywhere. She just wanted the night to end so she could finally sleep and stop pretending.

"We're almost done, doll," John whispered to her, noticing her agitation. He began playing with her hair, which oddly soothed her to take a few more pictures before taking a group shot with his sisters and brothers. By the time they were finally finished, her agitation had led her to sit boldly in John's lap with his fingers still thoughtlessly in her hair. An appalling display of affection that was not normal for John and his women, but for his bride to be, there were exceptions that his own family were not used to seeing from him.

John was not holding back in showing that Chérie was his, and she in return was no longer shying away in being claimed by him. Though his constant rubbing of her belly was making her glare at him.

"Do you want people to know I'm knocked up with your baby?" She whispered with a frown.

"Yes," He responded playfully before being pushed away.

"Your mother is literally right there. We do not need her getting suspicious, Jack."

"She won't. Our darling girl is way too small for her granny to notice she's there," John chuckled, kissing her bare shoulder. He rested his hands on the middle of her waist where the bump of their child could be felt.

"Girl? It could be a boy, you know?"

"It could be — or it could be a girl," He retorted with a grin. "We got to think of some names soon."

Chérie sighed, looking over the crowd that filled the Beaumont's dining room. "Not now — there's too much going on now."

Following Chérie's gaze, John hummed in agreement, closing his eyes and resting his face in her hair.

"Alright, doll."

Chapter Text

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"Am I curious when the gossip flies?,
Am I furious 'bout your little white lies?,
And when all our evenings end,
'Cause you got a sick friend that needs you,
Do I worry? Honey, you know doggone well, I do,"

Do I Worry? -
The Ink Spots (1941)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

October 1949

Shorter hair was coming into fashion upon the eve of the 1950s, and to make sure his future daughter-in-law was keeping up with the times before her very publicized wedding, Joe Sr. "advised" Chérie to cut her very long tresses. She refused. She did not want to cut her hair — it was her pride and joy that she had worked long and hard to grow. However, the Ambassador was a very stubborn, domineering man and, just like with her wedding, wanted absolute control. She fought him hard on the matter, holding her ground against him through heated phone calls propelled by her raging hormones.

Chérie did not like to be bossed around — especially by a white man — and could be just as strong-willed and vocal as Joe Sr. in getting her point of across. Weekends at the compound had become rather hostile because of them with the air being rather tense. In a failed attempt to get her in line, the patriarch had all his daughters — including Ethel — sporting stylish short styles around her with obvious conversation to persuade her to cut her own.

She always ended up walking off with a temper.

It was John who finally convinced Chérie to do as his father instructed, taking full advantage of the soft spot she had developed for him due to the pregnancy. With her being within her third month, she had gotten unreasonably attached to him, having an embarrassing need to be constantly near him and please him. She tried to resist his charming plea, but after smothering her with affection and attention , she folded like a lawn chair and shamefully allowed him to take her to a beauty parlor.

She cried for hours after it was done, burying her face into John's neck as she tried to soothe herself with his scent and warmth. She should have been mad at him, but she wanted nothing more than to be held tight and comforted by him. The desperation and clinginess she had for him was overwhelming, but it was something she could hardly control. John, however, enjoyed it — loving how sweet and needy she was becoming for him. It was a change Chérie did not want to get used to, but change seemed to be the only thing occurring in her life as of late.

Along with her new hair cut, Chérie's body was changing. The small, firm bump on her stomach that was her child was slowly pushing out and filling in — making her dresses tighter by the day. At the most recent fitting for her wedding dress, the designer had to adjust her waist again, which did not go unnoticed by her future mother in law.

"The wedding is next month, dear. You should be more mindful of your appearance for the pictures. I advise you to lose the weight or be mistaken for a milkmaid."

Which was going to be impossible as she was pregnant — the weight was going to come. It had already swollen her face a little, and her lips and nose were noticeably bigger — add shorter hair, and she thought she looked an absolute mess. She cried a lot because of it, being uncomfortable with how she looked.

Her life was changing, shifting further away from the comfort of Harlem and diving deep into the unfamiliarities of the Upper East Side. As she had predicted, she rarely saw her family, and it seemed Mr. Beaumont was always trying to keep her away from her mother. He had her constantly busy — often away from the mansion so Chérie could not spend time with her. When he was not doing that, Mrs. Beaumont always had Chérie at a party or gathering far from her. It felt as if they were intentionally trying to isolate her from her old life, pushing her into a new one that she did not want. She felt like a prized show horse with how they were parading her around, introducing her not as "Émeraude Chérie Rivière", but as the future "Mrs. John Fitzgerald Kennedy".

It repeatedly reminded her how right Zach was and how she foolishly fell in their trap. Even when she had the one request for her mother to attend the wedding, they denied her that.

"You two favor far too much. It's best that she does not attend."

Her relationship with John was changing — or at least she felt like it was. He still thoroughly showered Chérie with love and openly welcomed her newfound clinginess for him. He loved it, grinning ear to ear when she would boldly sit in his lap and wrap her arms around him and actively seek to be by his side at parties. However, he was starting to spend less time with her and lie far too often about his whereabouts and doings. There were also rumors that she tried hard to ignore even though she knew who John was as a person. She wanted to believe them and did until he had her alone again, holding her close and charming her shamelessly with "I love yous" and tender kisses. She also loved him, and you refuse to see a lot of things when you are in love.

Especially while pregnant.

Somethings were obvious and Chérie would question them, but then he would pull her close and kiss her, making love to her in such a way that she forget her questions. It was infuriating, but she would always end up sleeping on his chest with his hand tangled in her hair — exactly where he wanted her.

These were her last moments of bachelorettehood, and she was surrendering them without a fight. Pregnancy not only trapped her to John, but made her docile to him as well.

It was a frightening realization — made stronger by the group of reporters and photographers surrounding them in the sunroom of the Kennedy Compound. She was seated with her arms covering her stomach as John stood behind her with both hands on her shoulders. He did majority of the talking, rubbing her shoulders when he needed her to come in to answer a question. Joe Sr. was not too far from them, watching intently to make sure the interview went well.

She was slowly losing herself, and becoming what they wanted her to be.

Mrs. John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

A very hard pill to swallow when you were not even supposed to be "Mrs. John Fitzgerald Kennedy". This title was meant for a woman named Jacqueline Lee Bouvier, and Chérie has essentially stolen it, destroying history and replacing it with one whose consequences she feared for. It was starting to unnerve her, especially as the wedding got closer. She was confused and afraid for the future — understandably so — but could not talk to anyone about it without sending her to an asylum. She had to suffer alone and "pretend" as she has always done.

But, oh, how she was getting sick and tired of doing so.

It was never supposed to go this long — she was never supposed to get involved in history like this. Yet, here she was, preparing to marry one of America's most famous presidents, fooling not only him but the entire nation into believing she was a white woman. She could not even drop the act at this point — and not because she was pregnant — but because she could get killed if the truth was found out, and John could lose his presidency.

Then history would definitely be FUCKED.

"Ms. Rivière, how is wedding planning going?" One reporter asked.

Chérie faked a bashful smile, preparing a lie. "It's wonderful. It keeps me busy, and makes me excited for the big day."

"Can't wait to become Mrs. Kennedy, huh? One reporter chuckled as more joined in.

She kept smiling at the joke though it was strained.

" Has the Congressman helped much with planning?"

"Just a little," Chérie said in a playful manner, emphasizing by pinching a small space between her fingers.

"She let me choose my Best Man," John joked, making the whole room laugh.

"I also let you choose your suit, darling," She said, smiling up at John. On cue, John looked down at her with an adoring smile, allowing for a perfect picture to be taken by the cameras present.

"Of course, doll — thank you for being so considerate to my ideas."

All lies — Joe Sr. had done everything, creating the dream wedding that any woman in Chérie's position would desire. Everything was chosen for them, leaving them to only be present for the actual day. They did not even choose their own song for their First Dance.

If Chérie had not already experienced her dream wedding in her previous life, she would have definitely verbally fought the Ambassador on a few things.

His obsessive need for control over their lives was suffocating — how any of the Kennedy children were able to thrive under him was beyond her understanding. What was outrageous to her was normal to them, which was truthfully sad.

"Did he really have to be present the entire interview with us?" Chérie huffed, angrily tossing her hat off her head before falling onto the bed of her guest room with  folded arms. "I can't stand having him around us like that!"

John closed the door behind them, ensuring it was locked before he joined Chérie on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her into his body, burying his face in her hair and entangling his hands with hers.

"Calm down now, Chérie. None of this would be possible without the old man. He means well. He just wants the best for us," John said, cuddling her. "Besides the interview went well, so there's no need to fret about anything. The hard parts over now. Relax..."

Sometimes John was too carefree for her liking, but it could be useful in calming her down. His ways with her were too perfect at times.

"Fine...," Chérie sighed, melting into his warmth and closing her eyes. "But he can't always be like this with us, Jack."

"Chérie...," John warned into her hair softly.

"Alright...Enough about your father."

"Thank you," He said, pressing a kiss to her neck that made her shiver. For a man who did not allow affection and touch in the beginning of their relationship, he became routine to it quickly, craving it more than she did at times. "...Chérie, you're still tensed, doll. Relax."

"I can't," She confessed with a dry chuckle. "Jack...we're getting married in a week..."

"Having second thoughts?" He asked with a chuckle. But when she did not laugh with him, John pulled away from her hair and propped himself up on a his arm, staring down at her with serious eyes. "Chérie?"

Looking up at the ceiling, Chérie sighed. She had to at least try one more time to talk some sense into him. It was only 1949. He did not marry Jackie until 1953 — there was still time for her to fix this. She could just take the baby and disappear.

"Chérie?" John called again in a cool posture but an anxious tone.

"Jack...are you sure you want to marry me? You're not obligated to just because I'm pregnant. As of earlier this year, you did not even want to get married — I don't want to force you to do something because you believe you have to. It's not too late to stop all of this," Chérie pleaded, softly caressing John's confused face. "Besides...do you really want to be a husband now? When you're so young and...available."

"Of course I do, Chérie," John stated, grabbing a hold of her hand. "I want to marry you. I love you. Why are you even saying all of this now? Did Bobby say something to you?"

This caught Chérie off guard. "What? No. Why—?"

"Did he?"

"No. He did not," She answered heatedly, sitting up. "Why would you ask that?"

"Why would you ask me to cancel the wedding?"

"Why? Jack, I'm not even 20 yet, and I am pregnant, getting married in less in a week, dragged around to  parties to be displayed like a trophy to complete strangers, being told what to do, what to wear, and what to say, having my entire life be turned upside down— and let's not forget, the wondering eye of the man who is the cause of all of this," Chérie retorted in a firm tone. "I am not stupid, John. I know who you are, and I take full responsibility for allowing you access to my body to place a child inside of me, but you  do not have to marry me. We can stop this if this is not what you want—."

"Stop saying that, Chérie! I want you! You know I want you! Why are you always being so difficult!? You were being so good!" John exclaimed.

"Good!? I haven't been myself in weeks and you think I was being good? I'm miserable, Jack! This is not me!"

"So I don't make you happy?" John retorted angrily.

"I did not say that," She argued.

"You might as well have, doll," John hissed back. He took a moment though, taking a deep breath before pushing closer to Chérie. "I know it's complicated right now — with you and the baby and the wedding, but things will be better after everything. You and the baby will be with me in D.C., and we'll start our life together...Chérie, doll, I love you, and I want you to be my wife. I'm not stopping this wedding."

"...Not even if I ask you to?" Chérie pleaded softly, staring at John with desperate eyes.

Grasping her face in his hand, John pulled Chérie into a long, slow kiss, entangling their lips in a passionate tango. Their desire for each other obvious and strong.

"No," John whispered against her lips. "You're mine, Chérie. I'm not letting anyone else have you."

That was not the answer she wanted to hear, but she should have known better. John was a Kennedy, and when they wanted something, they got it. It started with Rose, then Ethel, Jackie, and Joan. Now she was trapped in their net of charm and adoration, and there was no way out. She was his the moment she spent her first night with him.

Later night, Chérie stayed up, looking up at the ceiling with a racing mind and a growing determination. She had finally accepted her place as Émeraude Chérie Rivière, finally letting go of the person that was Chérie Elizabeth Carter-Gordon and what was her life. She was not that woman anymore and had to be present for the life she had now — no longer looking to the future, but focusing on what was in front of her. She was going to be Mrs. John Fitzgerald Kennedy — the first negro First Lady when he becomes President. Her children — though they will not completely look like it — will be the first biracial children to live in the White House.

The first Biracial First Family.

Historically, she was going to be in a position that no one like her had ever held before — the wife of the most powerful man in the world. There was so much she could do — would do. If the Kennedys and the Beaumonts were going to use her, then she would use them.

Civil liberties and rights would not be a lingering thought to John, she was going to push it to his forefront. She was going to grow the flame she started three years ago. They were going to change this country.

And she would weather the pains that would come just to do so. She was blessed to know a happy marriage before and to experience such joy. She would cherish that. This marriage would not be the same, but it would bring about change.

As much change as possible.

Until November 22nd 1963.

Chapter Text

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"The girl that I marry will have to be,
As soft and as pink as a nursery,
The girl I call my own,
Will wear satins and laces and smell of cologne,"

The Girl That I Marry -
Eddy Howard (1946)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

November 1949

"...John Fitzgerald Kennedy, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?..."

"I do."

"...Émeraude Chérie Rivière, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?..."

.
.
.
.
"I do..."

"...It is my pleasure to present for the first time Mr. and Mrs. John Fitzgerald Kennedy!"

St. Patrick's Cathedral was breathtakingly beautiful. It left Chérie in complete awe during the entire ceremony, taking her attention away from the thousands of eyes on her and helping her relax under their gaze. The decor of soft pinks, greens, and creams partnered with elaborate arrangements of roses, lilies, gardenias, poppies, and orchids gave off the idea of a fairytale wedding, much like the ceremony of Prince Charles and Princess Diana. It was lovely, but very overwhelming, making Chérie visibly sigh in relief when the finality of the ceremony was announced.

She was officially Mrs. Émeraude Chérie Rivière Kennedy now. The realization briefly made her feel faint, holding on to John's arm tightly so she did not give way as he guided her back down the aisle. The applause and congratulations that greeted them left her extremely bashful, directing her gaze to the bouquet of roses, gardenias, and cosmos in her hand that was concealing her growing baby bump. The corset she was wearing helped make it not as visible, but it was there, hiding beautifully under the white lace gown she was wearing.

She was still careful though, keeping the flowers exactly at her stomach as John helped her into the carriage that the Beaumonts rented for their departure from the church. When they were settled inside, the coach started the ride, going slow so they could wave and smile at the crowd surrounding them on each side. John held her free hand gently in his during the ride, swiftly placing a kiss on it when she turned to face him. He smiled at her — wide and brilliant — making her bite her lip and smile as well. He then leaned in and grasped her face, pulling her into a kiss that made the crowd scream in delight and cheer harder.

"I love you, Mrs. Kennedy," He whispered against her lips. A proud smile was evident on his face that she was finally carrying his name.

"...I love you too," She breathed out hesitantly, closing her eyes as she leaned in for another kiss.

And she did.

Despite the last couple of months, Chérie did love John. A love she did not expect to develop for the historical figure. She had always been fascinated by him and his family in her studies, but she would have never thought by any chance if she ended up in the same time as him that she would love him. It seemed impossible, but after getting to know him, she unfortunately learned how easy it really was. John was the type of man she would have fallen for — intelligent, witty, sarcastic, thoughtful, and passionate. She honestly did not have a fighting chance in resisting him.

There was a part of her that was excited for the life they would have together; however, there was also a side of her that knew what type of behavior he would bring into their life together. Behavior that was built in him since childhood. Behavior she was going to make sure did not pass on to any boy born from their union.

Chérie loved John, but she was not going to let his toxic ways slip into the next generation — any of the Kennedys toxicity. She was not only going to be the mother of John's children but also the aunt of all his siblings' children. The third generation of Kennedys suffered a lot because of the tragedies of the second generation, and Chérie could not willingly let such suffering happen again. She was going to try to help as much as she could.

The arrival of the newly wedded Mr. and Mrs. John Fitzgerald Kennedy at the Beaumont Chateau was welcomed with pictures of the bride and groom and the wedding party. What should have been a couple of shots ended up being nearly three hours of pictures being taken, pushing Chérie's patience as her cheeks began to hurt from smiling so much. She tried to mind her temper, especially with her bridesmaids who were bubbly and excited in their soft pink dresses and flower crowns.

Blanche, who was never much of a crowd controller, tried to get them in line as the Maid of Honor, but it was Chérie who got them in order, whistling to grab their attention and commanding the photographer to take their picture.

"Thanks, Chérie," Blanche said, lightly touching her shoulder.

"Someone had to take charge," She stated lowly, brushing off the brunette's hand. There was still tension between them.

"Chérie..."

"Don't, Blanche."

She was having a good day so far, she did not want her to ruin it.

The pictures with each other's families were the last few to be taken, leaving Chérie feeling rather lonely when it was her family's turn. No one from her actual family was present — she was surrounded by people that were not blood related to her, smiling falsely into the camera with sad eyes. A day like this should be shared with one's family, and she was thankful she had at least shared the morning with her mother. She helped her dress, preparing her for the day and saying a prayer for her.

"I love you, Ma Chérie — I always will. My greatest treasure. My rarest jewel. My emerald."

Chérie did not want to let go of her when they hugged. She wanted to stay with her mother, but when Mr. Beaumont arrived ready to take her to the ceremony, she had to let go. Not having her present for the pictures hurt — a lot. When she thought she had a moment to herself, she quickly turned away and wiped a tear, but was caught by Robert who was watching her.

"Are you alright, Chérie?"

"I'm fine," She lied, forcing a smile. "Something just got caught in my eye."

He looked as though he wanted to argue that, but before he could, the wedding party was moved swiftly to the reception in the grand ballroom of the chateau. With cream walls, gold trims, and a large, diamond chandelier in the center of the ceiling, everyone that entered the room was awestruck by its glam and brilliance. Frowning abruptly, Chérie realized the Beaumonts could have sold this mansion to pay off their debts.

The first dance was surprisingly nice. Though John and Chérie only practiced with the song once, they were able to perform well, eliciting clapping and cheering from their guests as they went along. The song choice of "My Devotion" by Charlie Spivak was slow and romantic, encouraging them to hold each other close to its soothing rhythm. John was a clunky dancer, but with Chérie's smooth movements, they were able to glide lightly across the floor. Being the charmer that he was, he bent down to her ear and whispered the lyrics along with the singer.

"All I own is yours alone your wish is my command...And this sensation was never a mere fascination...Here in my heart once the day has started...Then with time it grew my devotion to you..."

Chérie blushed at his words, turning to face him with darling eyes and a soft smile. He was too smooth with her and she, admittedly, ate it up.

At least she was aware of how weak he made her.

After their dance, Chérie spent majority of the evening sitting down at their table, resting her feet and eating to her heart content. Every time a glass of champagne was brought her way, she politely declined it, asking for either lemonade or ice tea to quench her thirst. Though no one knew she was a pregnant woman, she was surely acting like one, finishing her second plate of food without a problem.

"Hungry, my dear?" Joe Sr. joked, approaching her with a chuckle. Chérie stilled at his presence, watching him carefully as he took the seat next to her. "I can imagine with the extra weight you're carrying, but for a pregnant gal, you do look quite lovely tonight."

"Careful, Ambassador. Someone might hear you and all your work would have been for nothing," Chérie said in a cold tone before drinking her tea.

"Nothing money cannot fix, darling. You'll soon learn on how we do things in this family."

"Unfortunately."

"...I am not your enemy, Chérie."

Chérie released a dry, bitter laugh. "You sure about that, Ambassador?"

"Absolutely. If I were, then trust and believe everyone in this room would know you were negro, whitepassing  to attend institutions with their daughters for your own selfish benefit."

Chérie froze in place and stared at Joe Sr. with wide, frightened eyes. Her breathing increased as she gripped her dress tightly, growing ill at the smile the Ambassador gave.

"Did you really believe I would let you marry my son without doing the proper background check on you, dear? Though I was quite surprised to find your lineage came from a negro woman and a mulatto man, it does explain certain appealing features that you have," Joe Sr. said without shame.

"You knew the whole time?" She asked quietly.

"I did."

"...Then why let me marry him...you know what this could do to his career if people found out...,"

"He wanted you. Jack had never wanted for a woman before, and as his father, how could I deny him? You gave him the desire to marry — something I've been trying to do for years. He can't make it to the White House as a bachelor," Joe Sr. explained with a shrug. "Now, it was not ideal that his bride of choice was of negro ancestry, but since she passed so well in society, why not. You've made it this far with no one discovering who you really are, and with my money and influence, they never will. It'll be our little secret — something I'm sure you're used to having. Enjoy the rest of night, Chérie. Welcome to the family."

Joe Sr. gave Chérie a quick peck on the cheek before walking away, leaving her with a raging storm inside. She did not have long to ponder on it though — she was brought back on the dance floor by Edward, who bounced her around the floor before handing her off to Robert.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Robert asked again before spinning her.

"I'm fine, Bobby, really. Thank you for asking though."

"Of course...," He smiled shyly. "You're my new little sister. Got to look out for you like I do the rest."

"...Thank you," Chérie nodded. They danced a bit longer, moving faster as the band transitioned to a livelier song. When her dance finished with Robert, she was soon grabbed up by the Kennedy sisters for a song, encircled by them until John rescued her.

"Thank you," She breathed out, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Your sisters have so much energy. How do they do it?"

"They're Kennedys," John answered with a shrug. "And so are you."

"By marriage," Chérie corrected.

"My point still stands, doll. You're one of us now — you're a Kennedy."

Chérie blinked, realizing what he meant.

"Yeah...I guess I am."

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Returning to class Monday morning felt odd for Chérie. Before the weekend, she was a Rivière, but now she was a Kennedy, writing her name on assignments as such. It felt strange, but she had to get used to it now. Joe Sr. took it upon himself to make the school aware of her marital status, so when she graduated next semester, her diploma would have "Kennedy" added to it. If he had not already moved her into a very nice apartment during the wedding, he would have received a nasty call from her about doing such a thing without her consent.

She could not get used to his constant meddling, and once the baby was born, she would start putting her foot down on a lot of things. She would not allow him to rule over their family.

John stayed with her a few days after their wedding, returning to D.C. and then Massachusetts to start his exploration of the state. With 1950 right around the corner, he was starting to soft campaign for the Senate seat, traveling to small towns and getting his name out there. He called her every day, which surprised her. She tried not to get used to his attention, but she did grow excited each day when he did phone.

She would rub her belly as he talked about his day — where they traveled, what they ate, and the silly things he dared John Galvin and Dave Powers do to just to entertain him. His ability to make grown men to do the most ridiculous things to get a good chuckle out of him was astonishing, and worrisome. He could be so thoughtful and passionate about the dealings of the American people, but a complete jerk to the people closest to him.

She nagged him about it, of course, and he would listen before changing the subject.

"Tell me about your day, doll? How's the baby?"

"Always hungry."

"That's my girl."

He still believed the baby was a girl, but she had an inkling that it was a boy — though neither had a preferred gender. They had been thinking about names, throwing suggestions out to each other during their conversations.

John's were usually horrible.

"What about 'Patty'?"

"Absolutely not."

"'Jenny'?"

"No."

"'Rebecca' — we can call her 'Becca'."

"You're not very good at this, Jack."

He paused for a moment. "'Chérie'."

"No," Chérie laughed through the phone. "That's my name, Jack."

"We can name her after you, and if it's a boy, we'll name him after me," John explained.

That was a typical thing to do in the 20th Century — recycle names from parents or grandparents, but Chérie had no interest in doing such a thing. Naming their daughter "Chérie" meant they would have to resort calling her by her first name, which she did not want, and it felt absolutely too disrespectful to name their son JFK Jr. when there was already one. Chérie also did not want to put any expectations on their son to be like his father. A Junior was out of the question.

"For a girl, how about 'Darla'? It means darling, and 'Chérie' is just French for darling. Or Elizabeth — I like that name," She suggested. "And for a boy, how about 'Fitzgerald'? He'll have a part of your name, but not all of it."

"Hm...I like them."

During one weekend trip to Hyannis Port, Joe Sr. in private tried to convince them to consider naming a child after him, but Chérie immediately shut that down. The only Joseph Patrick Kennedy III would be coming from Robert and Ethel Kennedy, not from her. It was rather bold of him to assume she would even agree to such a suggestion knowing how she felt about him. They were the true definition of "Enemies-in-Law".

By the time December came around, Chérie was obviously showing, and the couple had no choice but to officially announce they were expecting. As a surprise to the family that Christmas, they told everyone through gifts usually associated with a baby — onesies, bottles, blankets, mittens. Eunice was the first one to figure it out, jumping up and squealing with joy before tackling Chérie. Patricia and Jean soon followed with Edward bear hugging all of them.

"So soon?" Rose smiled with a hint of suspicion as she approached Chérie. "Well, I've been wondering when I would become a grandmother. Congratulations, dear. You're showing so soon."

"Well...I am small, Ms. Rose."

"So was I," She emphasized with a knowing look. "Jack has always been sloppy, so I shouldn't really be surprised, but at least he made an honest woman out of you."

Chérie could only force a smile at such a statement, internally screaming at the choice of grandparents her child would have.

"Congratulations, Chérie," Robert said, pulling her into a hug. "Can't believe I'm going to be an Uncle! I'll be the best uncle, I promise! I'll teach the little guy everything I know."

"I'm sure you will, Bobby."

"Well, this is quite a way to end the decade," John quipped with his signature smile, standing in the center of the living room. He then suddenly got serious, glancing around the room at his family. "These past ten years have been a trying time for our family, but we've made it through, and will continue to do so. This next decade may be a mystery to us, but we will conquer it as a family — as Kennedys — and we will welcome our new addition with open arms. The next generation of Kennedy."

Seeing him like that in the middle of the room, all Chérie saw was President John F. Kennedy. It was a chilling, out of body experience — a reminder of the path ahead of her. This was the man that was going to leave an impact on America.

And she was going to be right beside him.

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

ACT I FINISHED

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Chapter Text

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"That yearning, returning,
To hold you in my arms,
Won't go love, I know love,
Without you, night has lost its charms,"

When Day Is Done -
The Chordettes (1950)

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March 1950

For her 20th birthday, Chérie asked John for a car — a request she did not think he would grant since she did not have a license. However, at the stroke of midnight on New Years — her birthday — he appeared unannounced outside of their New York City apartment in an aquamarine blue 1950 Buick Roadmaster, honking for her to come out for a quick drive. With her then six month pregnant belly under a flowing nightgown, she scurried down to him for a cruise through Manhattan, taking in the sights of New York City nightlife on New Years. At the end of their drive, they returned to the apartment and John threw her the keys, placing a sweet kiss on her cheek.

"She's all yours, doll. Happy Birthday."

It was then that she realized John would give her whatever she asked for.

A realization that she told herself she would not abuse, but glad she had handy just in case there were things she really wanted — which as a 20 year old in 1950 was a lot of things. John gave Chérie free range of his finances, which technically was hers now since they were married. Though she did not exactly know how much money he had, he told her not to worry about. Whatever she wanted, she could have — she just had to send the invoice or bill to his father's accountant. She knew though with such knowledge to not go crazy with the spending, knowing Joe Sr. tracked every dime, but with such liberties, she could live a very independent life for someone her age.

When she was not in class or studying, she would take nice drives and go leisurely shopping at boutiques and shops before going to the movies and ending the day with a milkshake — or three. Upon returning home, the doorman would help her with her bags to her apartment — with being pregnant and all — and then she would bath, dress in her nightgown, read, and do some work in the nursery. She had themed it after "Winnie the Pooh" with light yellow coloring and stuff animals that resembled the characters of Hundreds Acre Woods. She had Pooh, Piglet, Tigger, Eeyore, Owl, Rabbit, Kanga and Roo with illustrations of them from the actual book hanging on the wall.

Chérie often ate dinner in there after she was done arranging things, and would continue her reading in the rocking chair next to the bassinet. She would read for so long that she would accidentally fall asleep in the chair, only waking up when the baby started its night time kicks. They were very active during the night, forcing Chérie to walk around a bit before going to her bedroom for bed.

Even though the room was made for two people, she was the only one that resided there most of the time — having a large mattress, but only one side ever being used. John had his own space in the closet and his own sink in the bathroom, but the times he has stayed with her had dwindled dramatically since their wedding. She tried not to think about it too much, knowing he was either campaigning or working in the House, but she did miss him. She felt more like a single parent than a married woman with how her days went, starting the day alone and ending the day alone.

He did not even call her as much as he used to, which was her fault for getting used to in the first place. She would try to call, but she never knew where he was exactly — which made her dreadfully anxious. She often went to bed worrying about him.

The Kennedy women kept her busy though, making visits and spoiling her with gifts and afternoon lunches. Eunice was by far her favorite to come by, feeding her while talking her ear off about all the work she did with assisting juveniles in D.C. She never had a dull day, telling a story of how she tackled a girl down just to get her the help she needed.

"She was being so stubborn, but we got her settled up good!" Eunice said with a triumphant smile. "When you move down to D.C., you should come with me to our office for a day."

"Okay," Chérie said with a stuffed face.

Her least favorite to visit was Rose, but she did bring nice gifts for the baby with a snide comment or two about how she decorated the apartment. Chérie was starting to learn to tune her out.

When Jean visited, Ethel was glued to her side, happily showing off her engagement ring from Robert and getting lost in excitement at the sight of the nursery.

"How many kids do you want, kid? I want more than Mrs. Kennedy! Oh! Let's have a contest! Whoever has the most Kennedy children wins!"

"Trust me, Ethel. You have already won," Chérie said knowingly.

Robert would also come to visit, asking a thousand questions about her wellbeing and the baby's wellbeing, and whether John had checked in with her recently or not. When she would shake her head no, he visibly got upset and said something under his breath.

"That guy! What is he thinking?!"

To calm him down, Chérie would take him on a tour of the nursery so she would not get upset. She had been handling his absence surprisingly well, and wanted to keep up the calm.

There was at least one good thing that came from John not being present — she could go to Harlem to see her family. Though the visits were only limited to the pharmacy, she was able to see whoever was working the shop that day. On a recent visit, it was Edith and Aunt Albertine who greeted her with hugs, kisses, and belly rubs.

"Oh, cookie, you're really having a baby!" Edith would exclaim with joyful tears. "You look so beautiful."

"Thank you, Edith," Chérie smiled. "How's the wedding planning going?"

"It's going well, doll. Just wish my maid of honor could be there..."

Chérie sighed. "I'm sorry, Edith...if I could, you know I would."

"I know..."

The visits were bittersweet, but she would take them as once she was in D.C., they would be no more.

Purchasing a few items from the pharmacy and bidding her farewells, Chérie got back on the road, deciding to extend her drive with a little trip outside the city to the open roads. A very risky thing for a pregnant woman to do by herself during that time period, but she wanted to change her routine for a bit and clear her mind. Her days were becoming mundane and with no husband to take up her time, she might as well take a field trip.

Chérie tossed on a pair of sunglasses gifted to her by Patricia as she flipped through the stations on the radio, landing on a nice jingle to give her background sound. She listened to the station her entire drive, hearing everything from music, news, and sports with little to no interest.

She just drove — for a very long time.

When the baby starts to kick, she parked on the side of the road for a little break, allowing them to get their exercise as she refreshed herself with some Coca Cola and peanuts. Thinking about it, she realized John had not even felt the baby kick.

Did she even tell him?

When was the last time they?

Questions she had been avoiding asking herself were suddenly flowing out of nowhere and she immediately got back on the road. She did not stop again until she reached a gas station, staring out into nowhere with a heavy heart as an attendant filled her tank and wiped her windows. He was black with a bright smile and beautiful eyebrows. He was very polite.

"You're all done, ma'am," He said with a cheer. "Thank you for stopping with us."

"Thank you," She smiled, giving him $10.00. His eyes grew very large at the bill.

"Thank you so much, ma'am!" He breathed out.

Chérie nodded to him, waving as she pulled off to head back to New York City. When she made it back to the apartment, it was nearly evening time with the city lights starting to illuminate the skies. Dinner was on her mind, and upon getting inside, she started preparing it, pulling what she needed out of the icebox and cabinets and going straight to work. She played Frank Sinatra as she cooked, allowing his soulful baritone to fill the home and soothe her. She ate in silence with his voice in the background, wanting desperately to have a glass of wine but resisting.

Instead, she poured her two glasses of lemonade, took a bath, and went straight to bed. The phone on her side of the bed gave her an itch to make a call, but she ignored it and tried to make herself go to sleep. It took some tossing and turning but she eventually put herself to sleep, dreaming of the man that she had not heard from in weeks. She disapproved of it, but did not wake up — resting in the false illusion he was there with her.

The next day, her mundane schedule resumed, waking up alone and going to sleep alone with her patience running thin.

"This is the office of Congressman John Kennedy, how may I assist you?"

"Hello, Mary, it's me, Ché—."

"Why hello, Mrs. Kennedy. It's been far too long since I heard your pretty little voice. How I can help you?"

"I know...I should be joining you all down there in a couple of months, so you'll definitely be seeing me more soon," Chérie said. "But is Jack there by any chance? I haven't heard from him in a few weeks."

"No ma'am. He's in Boston right now. Try calling his office there."

"Alright then. Thank you, Mary."

"Of course, darling."

After hanging up with Mary, Chérie dialed John's Boston office and was answered by Grace, who was the secretary there.

"No ma'am. Congressman Kennedy is down at Hyannis Port."

Chérie dialed the Kennedy Compound, surprisingly getting Rose.

"Jack is not here, dear. I'm sure he'll give you a call when he can. You know he is just like his father — so hard to get a reach off. You just worry about yourself and that baby. Take care, dear."

Hearing Rose hang up snapped something in Chérie, making her grab the entire phone and slam it onto the floor. She had not heard from her husband in nearly four weeks and was being told to just wait for him to call.

She screamed — long and hard — slumping onto the floor with tears and red cheeks. She cried in her hands for a long time, only stopping when the soft movements of her child commanded her to. Wiping her face, she decided to go for a drive, grabbing her coat and keys and reaching for the door. When she opened it, she froze at the tired, withered face of her husband who automatically beamed at seeing her.

"Doll," He smiled, moving forward and embracing her without hesitation. He held her close, finding comfort in her neck as he breathed in her scent. "I missed you."

She wanted to push him off and yell at him, but she instead wrapped her arms around his next and pulled him closer, closing her eyes and breathing out a breath of relief.

"I missed you too, Jack..."

Chapter Text

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"It isn't fair for you to taunt me,
How can you make me care this way,
It isn't fair for you to want me,
If it's just for a day,"

It Isn't Fair -
Sammy Kaye and Don Cornell (1950)

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March 1950

John rocked steadily into Chérie, thrusting deep into her while holding her round belly and grasping her breast through her nightgown. He held her on her side, allowing easy and comfortable access for them as he plowed desperately in her. Each thrust increased Chérie's breathing, making her wetter and tighter for her husband who started to snuggle in her hair and breathe in her scent. When he squeezed her nipple, milk squirted out, making Chérie whine out in a high pitch moan.

"Doll, you're milking," John stated, pulling down her nightgown to reveal the leaking nipple. It glistened in the moonlight, slowly pushing out more cream colored liquid as he continued plunging in her.

Chérie watched John lick his lips at the sight, growing curious as to what the milk that filled his her breasts tasted it. They had been leaking for her since last month, becoming uncomfortably filled with milk and waiting to be used. When she was alone, she would squeeze some out to relieve herself, but by the way John was staring at them.

"You want a taste, daddy?" She asked through deep breaths. "You can have some. Go ahead."

John slowly nodded, grabbing a hold of Chérie's breast and holding it still as he latched his mouth to it. He immediately started sucking from it, filling his mouth with milk and making her moan out a scream in pleasure. As he drunk from her, his pace increased dramatically, sending them both to a sudden climax neither were expecting.

It was intense, numbing Chérie slightly as fireworks erupted under her skin. She cried out at the feeling of him filling her, closing her eyes tight as it poured in and overflowed out of her. It was a feeling she could never get tired of, smiling big and wide knowing John would keep it in her all night. He still drunk from her, accepting every last drop of her milk with no signs of letting go soon. She held his head as he did so, making her sigh in content of being relieved from some of her milk.

When John finally pulled away, he moved to give her a kiss, pouring some of it into her mouth while entangling their tongues. Chérie drunk it, surprisingly enjoying the taste and reaching for more in John's mouth.

"See how wonderful you taste," He teased, pulling away and kissing her forehead. He returned to be directly behind her again, pulling her back close and tight to his chest as he wrapped an arm around her belly and entangled the other one in her hair. "That's why I can't get enough of you, Chérie. You were made exactly for me, doll — no other woman could ever compare. I love you..."

"I love you too, Jack," Chérie whispered, melting into the warmth of her husband and letting go of the anger and resentment she had towards him for practically abandoning her.

There was still a part of her that wanted to be upset and punish him — the rational part that wanted to go 21st Century on him and kick him out. But the vulnerable part of her — the heavily pregnant 20 year old woman who wanted nothing more than to be held and loved by her husband — won in the tug of war of her emotions, offering no resistance to John when he entered their apartment and quickly lifted her dress to attach his mouth to her core. He had her on their sofa in no time, eating her out mercilessly and making love to her for the rest of the day.

He came at her like a starved man and she in returned accepted him like a starved woman, having weeks worth of built up sexual frustration from the pregnancy that he was not there to handle. She made that very clear to him while riding him from behind, refusing to give him a view of her front. He made up for it though, gripping her hips tight and meeting her bounces with fast, hard thrusts that nearly made her faint. She came early from it, continuing her ride even though she was overstimulated.

Chérie was surprised they even made this far into the night with how the day went. Either way, she was happy to finally have him home — though she did not know for exactly how long. She pushed that thought to the side as well as the curiosity as to where he was and why he did not contact her, wanting to not worry about such things and just be happy. It was a foolish decision that she acknowledged deep inside, but why hurt herself by finding out the truth. There was bliss living in ignorance — a saying she thought she would never understand from the life she lived in the future, but had to adapt to now she was married to him.

It was obvious to Chérie what John was doing. She was not naive to his ways, remembering the countless of affairs he had and started around this time. He was a man set in his ways — no thanks to his father — and there was no fixing him. She was not going to waste her time to either, focusing it only on getting him to the presidency and giving herself the children she always wanted. If she did not see or put names with faces, she told herself she would be fine.

Or at least that is what she thought.

She did love him, so there was pain there knowing he was still having affairs — especially since he begged her to marry him, giving empty promises of her being the only one. Chérie tried to numb that pain as much as possible, soothing it with the excitement of having a baby in her arms soon, and falling asleep with that thought in mind.

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"I'm taking you out today, Chérie," John declared as she sat his breakfast down in front of him and moved to sit in front of her own. He insisted that she got them help to do such things so she did have to, but she preferred to do things her own — especially since this apartment was a temporary space. There was no need for the extra expense now.

"Oh, where to?" She questioned, spooning herself some eggs and nibbling on the silverware.

"It's a surprise," He smiled, reaching to her belly. "I want to take my girls somewhere nice — spoil the both of you."

"The both of us? You must plan on taking us to an all you can eat buffet?" Chérie quipped, arching a brow as she broke up her bacon into her grits.

"Something like that."

"So mysterious...well looks like we're going out with daddy today, honey," Chérie told her bump, rubbing it affectionately. The baby started kicking then, happily surprising both parents who were touching the stomach at the same time.

"She kicked my hand," John laughed, putting both hands where the baby was kicking. "Yes, sweetheart. Daddy's here — I know you can't wait to meet me...I can't wait to meet you too...I love you, Lizzie..."

"Lizzie?" Chérie questioned, enjoying the sight of John being so loving towards their child — so much so that she did not question the other kick pressing into her hand.

On the other side of her stomach.

John shrugged with a shy smile. "It's short for "Elizabeth"...I was playing with nicknames the other day and it just stuck...she'll be our little Lizzie."

Chérie smiled at John, holding his gaze before leaning in to give him a kiss. "...I like it...our little Lizzie..."

After breakfast and cleaning up together, Chérie and John got dressed and ready for the day. They coordinated colors, matching the same blue of Chérie's car with Chérie wearing a matching two piece, maternity top and skirt with a coordinating hat, pearls, white coat, purse, and shoes. John wore a button down with a pullover sweater that matched her with beige slacks and brown shoes. He held her hand as they walked to the car, securing her inside before taking the wheel into New York traffic.

Chérie attempted to try not to look too excited about the day but a smile was stuck on her — evident whenever she glanced at John with adoring eyes and touched his face. He smirked at her affection, looking far too cool and smug in his shades as he drove. She wanted to wipe it off, and should have when he turned to her at a red light and boldly told her to "Give daddy a kiss". She rolled her eyes at him, glaring into his shades before leaning forward and pressing their lips together. It was so easy to dislike his arrogance when he was away, but also so easy to love when he was around. His charm was far too dangerous for her and she fell in it far too late.

Coney Island Beach was the mystery destination for the day, making Chérie giggle and slap John on the shoulder playfully. "You had me get all dressed up for an amusement park, you jackass! You do know I can't ride most of this stuff because of the baby, right?"

"Settle down, doll. There's still somethings we can do," He reassured, helping her out the car. "Besides I like it when you dress all pretty for me."

She huffed at him, but soon replaced it with a smile when he interlocked his hand with hers. She allowed him to take the lead, making their first stop the carousel and seating them in the carriage portion as the ride started. John held Chérie close to him during the ride, making her laugh by either tickling her side or telling her how some of the statue horses favored some of his colleagues in Congress.

"And that is Senator Lyndon B. Johnson."

"Jack, you're pointing at the ass of that horse."

"Exactly, doll," He smiled, kissing her cheek.

"You are such a dick..."

"No, sweetheart, remember that's the one that looks like Richard Nixon."

After the carousel, the couple ventured into the gaming section of the amusement park with John trying to win Chérie an assortment of prizes. He lost at majority of them, but was able to win her a teddy bear by tossing three rings on a bottle. Chérie got him a prize as well, winning a stuffed giraffe for him by throwing a ball at three stack of cans.

"Got an arm there, doll," John remarked, throwing his arm across her shoulder. "Remind me to put you in the league once the baby is born."

"I will once you finally get me the buffet you promised."

"Of course, dear."

The buffet in question were the food stands available at the park that John paid to feed his wife as much as she wanted. From hot dogs, corn dogs, fried pickles, chili cheese fries, and funnel cake, Chérie had her fill somehow not get a drop on her dress unlike John who ruined his sweater. They shared a huge ball of cotton candy afterwards, walking around the park until they made it to the Tunnels of Love ride. Though the line was long, John was able to persuade the operator into giving them the next boat, slipping a $20.00 in his hand that did Chérie did not miss seeing. She did not complain about it though because she did not want to stay on her feet for that long.

The ride was overall very nice — even though she and John mainly stayed focused on each other during its duration, kissing each other far too passionately for public viewing. Their tongues were wrapped around each other, wrestling for dominance that John won eventually. When they pulled away, a string of saliva connected them, leaving them both breathless and turned on. Chérie was able to keep them from out right  humping on the boat though, pushing back their desire for one a ride on the Ferris wheel. It was the perfect way to end their day, getting a beautiful view the Big Apple.

On their way back home, they did stop by a few stores for Chérie to collect more items for the nursery — specifically a book holding a collection of Winnie the Pooh stories. She held it in her lap as John drove, placing it on the nightstand next to the crib when they finally made it to the apartment.

The room was finally complete.

"Thank you for today," Chérie said, joining John in the living room. He was sitting in his armchair, having been glued there since their return from the amusement. He smiled up at her entrance into the room, but it was very tight and his breathing was heavy. "Jack?...It's your back, isn't it?"

"It's nothing, Chérie."

"How long has it been hurting?"

"...since the carousel..."

"Why didn't you say anything!? We could have came home!" She exclaimed.

John shook his head — still forcing himself to smile. "We were having so much fun though. I didn't want to ruin our day."

"So you would rather wither in pain for the sake of cotton candy and carnival rides?"

"If it makes my wife happy."

Chérie paused, staring at John with wide and confused eyes. He stared at her as well — his hooded eyes far calmer than her own. He reached a hand out to her, which she approached, slipping her hand into it when she was close enough. He held it tight, pulling her closer so she was right in front of him.

"...I just wanted you to be happy today, Chérie, and for us to have fun together as newly weds...I know there has not been a lot of that since our wedding, and I apologize for that...I know it's not easy being married to me, but you and Lizzie are the most important people in my life...and I just want you both to be happy with me...I'll bear any type of pain just for that. I love you," He said, pressing a kiss to her stomach. "The both of you...so much..."

"...We love you too," Chérie said softly, running her fingers through his hair in a loving manner.

Apart of her mind urged her to ask him where he was, knowing despite how sincere he was, he left her — pregnant and alone — for several weeks to womanize without checking in with her. How could you love someone and leave them like that? It left her conflicted, because the man in front of her since his returned has showered her with love, bonded with their child, tolerated hours of pain just so she could have a fun day with him, and was confessing his love and desire to make her happy. It was heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time, because she wondered how long it would last.

"Oh, Jack...," She breathed. "...What your back?"

"I'll be fine," He stated. "I just need to sit down for a while, doll. That's it."

She sighed at this answer, playing in his hair some more before taking a deep breath.

"Sit back, honey," She commanded softly, pushing him back in the chair. Holding on to the arms of the chair, Chérie lowered herself to the ground, opening John's legs wide so she was between them.

"Chérie, what are—?"

"Shhh," She shushed John, keeping eye contact with him as she slowly undid his pants. "Let me help distract you from the pain...even if it's just a little."

John's member was already half hard when Chérie pulled it out, swelling and growing redder as she applied soft kisses to it. She teased his balls, tracing them with her tongue and gathering them into her mouth to play with until he fully stood up. His breath hitched when she began to lick up his shaft, covering it all over but never reaching the tip where he wanted it to go. She wanted to tease him, refusing him the satisfaction of her mouth until she thought he was ready.

"So mean...," He groaned, watching her rub him up and down her hand, applying kisses and licks as she pleased. His groans increased, encouraging her to rub him faster, but not allowing a climax.

"...Please, doll...give it to daddy..."

"Daddy will only get it if he promises to call every day when we are not together," She demanded, slowing her rubs. "Not one day goes past with you hearing my voice, understood?"

"Yes, doll! Anything! Please!"

"Say it, daddy."

"I will call you everyday, Doll...everyday..."

"You better," She whispered before kissing his tip and tracing her tongue around it. He stiffened as she slowly took him in her mouth, wrapping her tongue around his shaft until his tip back of her throat.

"FUCK!" John moaned, melting in the warmth of her mouth and enjoying the softness of lips around him.

With closed eyes and a flushed back, Chérie began bobbing up and down his member, going at a steady speed and increasing as John's grunts and moans got louder. Placing his hand on her head, he gently guided her, encouraging her with sweet words that she started fingering herself.

"You are so beautiful, doll—FUCK!...Your mouth is unbelievable...so good...you're so perfect, baby!"

Sitting up more, Chérie swallowed John even further down her, taking the politician to a new height of pleasure — completely forgetting his back pain. She bobbed faster until John pulled her completely down, yelling her name and bursting into her mouth without warning — practically pouring it down her throat. She swallowed all of it, cumming herself from the salty, bitter taste that filled her mouth. When he finished, she slowly pulled away, taking deep breaths and admiring her work.

John was a sweating and drooling mess, breathing far harder than Chérie was but still finding her playful gaze.

"Come here," He commanded in an exhausted tone. "Come ride daddy's dick for being such a good girl."

Nodding her head, Chérie stood back up and removed her clothing, turning around so John could grab her by the hips and guide himself in her. He pulled her further down his shaft, putting her on his lap so he was deep in her. Chérie laid back on his chest, making soft noises as he began thrusting in her — holding her stomach in one hand and rubbing the bud with his other.

"Who do you belong to?" John grunted into her ear.

"You...I belong you to you, daddy..."

"Good girl..."

Chapter Text

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"We will raise a family,
A boy for you,
And a girl for me.
Can't you see how happy we will be?,"

Tea for Two -
Doris Day (1950)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

April 1950

"I can feel you watching me."

"I like watching you," Chérie smiled softly, leaning in the doorway of John's office and wobbling in with her overdue belly. Her soft eyes looked over her tired husband, carefully taking note of his wrinkled clothing, messy hair, and worn face. He had been reading over the draft for a new bill that would be brought to the floor of the House soon, spending most of his days since her return to D.C. examining it.

"You make it more difficult for me to read, Doll," John sighed, blowing out smoke from his cigar as he flipped to another page.

"How so?" The time traveler questioned, stopping her heavy steps to stand next to him and lean on his desk. She thoughtlessly rested a hand in his hair and massaged his scalp, picking up the paper he was reading with her other hand and examining it herself.

John paused, chuckling lowly and puffing on his cigar. "Because you distract me."

"Maybe you need some distraction," Chérie remarked, setting down the paper. "You've been reading this bill for days — come house hunting with me today."

That was the main objective as to why Chérie was in D.C.

With majority of her finals being essays, Chérie was able to finish her final year at Barnard College within the third week of April, giving her some time to travel to D.C. to hunt for a permanent home while waiting for the baby to arrive. She was two weeks overdue, looking heavier and larger by the day but with no signs of labor in sight. It left many astonished how she was even able to move about as she did, but she would have preferred to stay moving, hoping it would eventually induce her labor.

"I do not need a distraction, Chérie. Besides, didn't Eunice agree to go with you," John said, putting out his cigar.

"But will I be living with Eunice — no. I want my husband to come with me," She stated. "It'll just be for a couple of hours. Besides, you need some fresh air."

"Chérie—."

"Please, Jack."

Round, pale green eyes and pouting pink lips were tools of persuasion that Chérie was not always proud of using, but when it came to getting her way with John, they always worked, making him fold quickly to her demands. For further insurance, she sat herself in his lap, smothering his neck and jaw with kisses until he finally gave. When she pulled away, she was expecting to hear a "yes" from his lips; however, before he could say anything, a sharp discomfort pinched her lower abdomen.

"Ow," Chérie bit her lip.

John arched a brow. "Something wrong, Doll?"

"...No...I don't think—OW! Okay...maybe there is...," She breathed, grabbing a hold of her belly. "Jack...I think—NO!!! AHHH!!!...Fuck...the baby's coming...THE BABY'S COMING!"

"...What?" John looked like a deer in headlights, completely still and wide eyed to the truth that was in front of him. Chérie wanted to slap him in the face.

"JACK! GET YOUR SKINNY ASS UP AND TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL! THE. BABY. IS. COMING. NOW!!!"

"The baby's coming...," He repeated slowly — the wires finally connecting in his head. "FUCK! THE BABY'S COMING?! MARY, GET TED AND BILLY IN HERE NOW!!"

Wrapping his arms around Chérie, John lifted her to her feet and draped her arm over his shoulder, holding her close and propping her up as he grabbed his blazer and moved her to the door. Ted, Billy, and Mary stood in the doorway with curious eyes — each widening when they noticed the heavy breathing and moans of pain coming from their boss's wife.

"Ah, shit," Ted cussed, running his fingers through his hair. "Billy, go get the car. Mary, call the Ambassador. I'll help Jack get her to the car."

Taking her other arm and draping it over his shoulders, Ted helped John carry Chérie out of Congressional Suite 322 and onto the elevator to the lobby. Billy was waiting for them outside, holding the car door open as John guided her in and Ted secured her.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow—FUCK! SHIT! IT HURTS! IT REALLY FUCKIN' HURTS!" Chérie exclaimed aloud, gripping her dress and gritting her teeth. What had started as an ache was complete pain now, coursing through her lower regions in a way she had never experienced before. It felt as though a needle was constantly being jabbed in her.

"Everything's going to be alright. I got you, Doll," John tried to comfort, rubbing her shoulders carefully as another wave of pain hit her. "Shit, Billy! Can't this car go faster!"

"I'm trying, Jack!"

When the car finally made it to District of Columbia General Hospital, a wheelchair was already present at the door for Chérie — courtesy of Mary who had called the hospital to make them aware of her arrival. The responsiveness and swiftness of the staff taking over her care from John and Ted was impressive and bothersome with Chérie taking careful notice of how they would not allow John to follow her despite his insistence. They had placed her in a quiet, delivery room in the maternity wing of the hospital, replacing her clothing with a hospital gown and isolating her completely. This made her anxious as her pain increased, but all requests to see her husband were denied.

"Men have no business back here, hun. We will take care of you."

Chérie was sure the nurse was trying to comfort her, but she wanted so badly to punch her in the face.

18 Hours.

Chérie was in labor for 18 hours, going through pain she did not want her greatest enemy to ever experience — and all by herself. Surrounded by complete strangers with a rough handed doctor, she cried out not only for John, but also her mother, wanting so desperately to be with someone she was comfortable with. When her cervix finally dilated, she was a crying, sweating mess with her press out all but gone, reverting her hair to its loose curled pattern.

The first push was difficult, eliciting a scream from Chérie that made the nurses strap her down to restrain her movements. A horrifying experience made worse when she had to push again without the use of her arms. With three more pushes, Chérie was on the verge of giving up when she heard the first mumble of a high pitched cry that got louder when the doctor lifted a bloodied, tiny body from her.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Kennedy — you have a darling girl."

The first sight of her little girl brought tears of joy to Chérie's face, filling her heart with so much love that when the baby was passed on to the nurse to be taken away from her, she began to panic.

"Where are you taking her?! Where are you taking my child?!" She demanded, trying to the ignore the intense pain her body was in as if there was something else still trying to get out of her.

"We have to take her away, Mrs. Kennedy. You will see her once you are out of the delivery room."

"What?!...No! Bring her bac—AHHHHHH! WHY DOES IT STILL HURT DOWN THERE?! SHE'S OUT!"

The doctor lowered himself back to her birthing canal. "Well, lookey there, Mrs. Kennedy, we got another head poking through."

"ANOTHER?!?!"

Chérie gritted her teeth, forcing herself to push four more times until another high pitched cry exited out of her. She had thought the doctor's assessment was wrong, but once her eyes saw the second bloodied body being given to a nurse, it dawned on her that she had given birth to twins.

She had been carrying twins.

"Looks like you have a boy as well, Mrs. Kennedy."

Utterly exhausted, Chérie began to laugh breathlessly — still not quite believing that she had just pushed two human lives out of her. It seemed unreal, but it happened. She had witnessed it — she had experienced it. The more she thought about it, she laughed harder, falling back onto her bed until her laughter lulled her to sleep. It was the best sleep Chérie had in months, resting in a way that had not been possible since her first month of pregnancy. It was deep and soothing with sweet dreams of tiny bodies she was ready to hold tight in her arms.

Her little girl and boy.

Elizabeth and Fitzgerald Rivière Kennedy.

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

John holding the twins in his arms was the first thing Chérie woke up to in her new, sunlit room — contrasting drastically to the windowless delivery room she was in for hours the day before. He held them gently and close to his chest, walking in slow circles around the room and speaking to them in the softest of tones. She could feel the love he was radiating on them — her heart swelling when he lifted them up to smell them and press a kiss to their daughter's raised small hand.

"Look at you both...looking just like your gorgeous mother," He whispered with a proud smile. "Can't wait to take all three of you home — well we gotta find a home first, but your mother got a nice nursery for you both in New York. You'll like it, I promise."

He was talking to them as if they could understand his every word — it tickled Chérie who was still half asleep. Apart of her wanted to make it be known that she was awake, but she decided against it, wanting to enjoy the moment her husband was having with their children.

The twins were so small, swallowed up in blankets and clothing that made them even smaller. Though it was still far to early assume, Chérie could understand why John thought the looked so much like her: both had her dark hair, a skin complexion similar to hers — it was lighter but babies grew into their true color later, from Elizabeth's slightly opened eyes she could see her pale green coloring which no doubt her brother had as well, and they had her full lips and nose. They were all Rivière with a hint of LaBelle for their twin heritage, but not an ounce of Kennedy.

However, John did not seem to mind this, looking down at them as if they were perfect.

"I love you — both of you so much," He whispered, pressing a kiss to Fitzgerald's head. "I got my boy and my girl — my Fitz and Lizzie..."

"I still can't believe we're going to be responsible for two small lives...," Chérie whispered, lighting up John's face as he turned around.

"Doll!" He ran over with a beaming smile.

"Good morning," She smiled, lifting her hand slowly to touch Elizabeth. The tiny girl immediately leaned into her hand as if instinctively knowing she was her mother. Chérie then moved her hand to Fitzgerald, who opened his eyes just a little as she caressed his cheeks. "My babies...my sweet babies...you're the most beautiful things I've ever seen...heh...I still can believe we had twins..."

"Looks like we both were right," John chuckled softly. "A boy and a girl. Like that Doris Day song..."

"I prefer the Frank Sinatra version...," Chérie laughed lightly. "Can I hold them?..."

"Of course, Doll. They've been waiting to meet you."

John called in two nurses and both assisted in passing the twins from one parent to another. One helped Chérie to sit up a little in bed, instructing her on how to properly hold them and breastfeed them — opening up the front of her hospital gown as the other one took Fitzgerald from John and placed him in her arm. Holding him close, he immediately found her breast and started feeding. Elizabeth came next, following in tow with her brother and latching on to the other breast for milk.

"Would you like us to remove your husband, ma'am?"

"No, he's fine."

"Yes, ma'am. Just buzz if you need us."

The nurses left the room afterwards, leaving Chérie and John with the much desired privacy to bond with their children. As the twins fed, their new parents watched them curiously, marveling their every movement and sound in amazement. When they finished, both of their eyes were open, mirroring the same pale green as their mother as they looked at their parents with the same curiosity. John helped Chérie close up her gown and took Fitzgerald to burp while she burped Elizabeth. It was a satisfying moment between them, especially when the twins burped at the same time.

"Lizzie's the oldest by 8 minutes," John informed, playing with Fitzgerald's little fists as he held him. "Doctor said this little guy was hiding behind her the entire time."

"That would explain the weird kicking pattern — that honestly should have been my first clue," Chérie sighed, tracing her daughter's face. "Gosh, I can just look at them all day. I'm really a mother. I'm their mother..."

Historically, Elizabeth and Fitzgerald should not even exist — just like how Chérie should not have been in that time period. Yet, here they are — breathing, moving, and making noise — being the combination of her and John F. Kennedy.

She had children with a man she used to read about in history books.

This thought should have sparked some sort of insanity within Chérie, but she no longer cared. She fell in love with the man she used to write essays about — probably subconsciously falling in love with him then, but not accepting it until she found herself in the past with him. These tiny humans in their arms were formed from that love, and she did not regret it. How poetic for a historian to study a subject for so long that she ends up marrying him and having his children. It should have been impossible, and yet, here she was married to the 35th President of the United States with their newborns in each other's arms.

If she somehow woke up to her original life the next day, you never could have convinced her this was all a dream.

"Why so quiet, Chérie?"

"...Just thinking..."

"...A penny for your thought?"

"...If I were to tell you...that none of this was supposed to happen — that you were supposed to be marry someone else and have a completely different life, and never have met me — would you believe me, Jack?"

"...Maybe...I admit sometimes it seems as though you are from somewhere...different...a far away place that I cannot fathom...but you're here with me, having just given birth to my children...clearly there must be a reason for that, you belong here...with me," John answered. He was looking at her with serious eyes — his bluish green coloring clear and focused.

It scared Chérie, truthfully. He knew she was not supposed to be there — in what context she was not sure as she was masquerading as several things she was not — but he believed she was there for a reason. Their meeting, their union, their life together — he had accepted it all, believing she belonged with him more than where she previously was. It was not cockiness he was speaking from, but rather an eerie sureness that made her shiver.

"It's like the song, Doll...We will raise a family...," John said, grabbing a hold of her hand. His grip firm but not tight. "...A boy for you...And a girl for me...Can't you see how happy we will be?...We were meant for each other, Chérie...this is our life now...together..."

There was a strong possessiveness in the kiss that John gave Chérie after saying those things, leaving her breathless and weak when he pulled away. It was moments like these that she did see Joe Sr. in him, masking it with his charm and easiness. She tried to push down the way it made her feel, distracting herself by having the twins play with her fingers as John left them to discuss their discharge process from the hospital.

Chérie and the babies stayed in the hospital for three more days during which she learned how to bathe them, change their diapers, and make formula. She wanted to strictly breastfeed them, but the nurses were pushing for formula, believing it provided more nutrition to the babies than breast milk — a completely different stance on the matter compared to the 21st Century when breastfeeding was considered the best option for babies. She would still feed them the way she wanted — they were still her babies.

Two bouquet of roses from Rose and Joe Sr. came the second day for Chérie, congratulating her for the birth of the twins and awarding her with two diamond bracelets. Eunice and Robert came by the third day, gushing happily over their niece and nephew while Chérie took a much deserved nap. When she woke up, Eunice had left to go get food while Robert held both of them in the chair next to her, humming softly to them with warm smile on his face.

Luella Hennessey, the Kennedy family nurse, had accompanied John to the hospital the day that Chérie and the twins were officially discharged. As John wheeled her out of the hospital in a wheelchair, Luella carried the twins, keeping them close to the couple when the first flash of a camera welcomed them outside. It should not have been a surprise to the new mother that her father-in-law had arranged for the media to be present for their release, knowing how it would look optically for John's political career. Though she was still tired, she put on her best smile, allowing for shots of her holding the twins in the car once she was secured inside.

She had no doubt it would be plastered all over the paper the next day.

"You are so fortunate that I love you, Jack," Chérie said through her smile as another camera flashed.

"I know," He said through his own, waving at the reporters surrounding their car. "Let's go home."

"Yes, please."

Chapter Text

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"I'll never be free from your smile so tender,
The sweet surrender in your eyes,
How can I be free when I still remember,
How you could thrill me with a sigh?,"

I'll Never Be Free -
Kay Starr (1950)

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

June 1950

The wedding of Robert Francis Kennedy and Ethel Skakel was beautiful, grand, and overly extravagant — displaying the wealth and influence of two, merging families. It was set on a hot summer day with the reception being onsite of the Skakel's large family estate under a gigantic white tent with wooden floors. Almost all of the Kennedys were in the wedding with the exception of Joe Sr., Rose, Chérie, and the twins — who were left behind in D.C. under the care of Luella Hennessey.

Chérie did not want to leave her newborns, having made up her mind of not attending the wedding after officially moving in with John into their Georgetown four story townhouse. Her adjustment as a full time wife and new mother had not been easy for her, starting off badly when she could not attend her own college graduation due to the twins and John getting sick. She — with the help of Luella who she had called in the middle of the night in tears for help — nursed the family back to health in time for them to prepare to move, which ended up just being Chérie as John was due back in D.C. for a vote.

The weeks following the move left Chérie exhausted and stressed. She was learning how to care take of the twins while also adapting to living with John, who naturally was a messy person and was used to having someone clean up after him. She constantly had to remind him to put away his clothes properly, put down the toilet seat, and to clean up after himself after making something in the kitchen. He would listen in the moment, but then immediately go back to his habits.

"We should just get some help, Doll. It'll take some of the stress off of you."

"Still, Jack, you're a grown man — you have no business living like this," She would always retort, leading John to just shrug his shoulders.

This coupled with her postpartum depression and separation anxiety with the twins left her in no mood for attending a wedding.

Joe Sr. disagreed though, arguing her presence as a Kennedy was mandatory, and that it was necessary for John's political career for her to be more visible to the public. She no longer had the excuse of hiding away because of school — she was a graduate now, so her expectation was to be in the limelight just like the rest of the family. Chérie wanted to argue back with the patriarch on the matter, but John had convinced her not to, pleading with her to play nice and attend the wedding.

So here she was — sharing a reception table with her In-laws as she drowned herself in champagne and food. Despite it not being her wedding, a lot of strangers approached her — addressing her irritatingly as "Mrs. Jack" — and congratulated her on her marriage to John and the birth of the twins. It was very odd, and Chérie — after saying a polite "thank you" — had to direct them to also give their congratulations to the groom and bride. Even Ethel's mother — known as "Big Anne" — came by their table with congratulations, sitting down for a while to talk, which irritated Rose.

"Oh, dear, you don't even look like you've given birth to twins! Still so nice and small! You could have been one of the bridesmaids! Rose, how come she wasn't one of the bridesmaids? I could have ordered another dress and hat. You would have looked so gorgeous in Ethel's bridal party! All the girls were pampered today before the wedding in our home salon and spa, you would have loved it, dear! Would you like to come inside to see? I could give you a tour of our entire estate if you like?"

It was obvious where Ethel got her energetic, talkative personality from, and just like interactions with her, Chérie spent most of the conversation listening and nodding, somehow roping herself and John into staying a weekend with the Skakels, who Chérie knew from studies were ten times more crazier and reckless than the Kennedys. It honestly tickled Chérie, because with them being so much alike — Catholics, great wealth, lots of kids, reckless behavior — a great deal of them did not like each other: Rose barely tolerated Big Anne's big personality and Big Anne could not stand Rose's uppityness, Joe Sr. and George Sr. could not see common grounds with each other on either politics or business, and the Skakel sons and Kennedy sons were actively in competition with each other on which family was the best. It was only the sisters that really got along with each other, but their loyalty to their respective families did have them choosing their brothers whenever there was a scuffle.

Chérie was the only outlier, being married into the Kennedy family and not having a relationship with the Skakels prior to the wedding. She was the unbiased party with no favoritism towards anyone, which made Big Anne latch on to her to make a good impression. It was suffocating, but Chérie soldiered through it being as nice and polite as possible — releasing a sigh of relief once the Skakel matriarch went to the next table.

However, her solitude did not last for long as more people — primarily men — came to the table, offering congratulations and asking for a dance. Typically she would have declined but with the alcohol in her system and the desire to get away from Rose, Chérie accepted the requests and bounced to the dance floor. It had been so long since she had a good dance, being unable to do the tricks and spins she was used to because of her pregnancy and John's back. Though her preferred partner would always be her cousin, she knew how to make do with others.

It ended up being fun with her.

The dance partners Chérie had were around her age so they were aware of the moves she wanted to do and were flexible enough to do them. One even taught her something new, guiding her through the "scissor twist" that she got a tickle out of her. Their footwork soon got the attention of the crowd, creating a circle of amused onlookers around them.

George Skakel Jr. soon jumped in and replaced her partner, grabbing a hold of her hands and twisting her before throwing her between his legs and pulling her back up.

"So you're the first Mrs. Kennedy before Ethie," George Jr. laughed, keeping up with Chérie's kicks and spins. "How that Jackass get a pretty young thing like you? You would look far better on my arm, darling."

"Is that so? Well, sorry to break it to you, but I'm already married," Chérie shrugged, bouncing away from George Jr. and performing a cart wheel into a twist.

Snapping towards her, George Jr. found her hands again and pulled her close with a smug grin. "That's a shame, toots, because he sure does not act like a married man."

Hearing this immediately took Chérie out of the dancing mood, staring hard at George Jr. and snatching her hands away. She stormed off the dance floor without another word, picking up a glass of champagne from a server tray and downing it in one swallow. She had a couple of more, finding an empty table to settle at to be alone.

John was Robert's Best Man, so of course she had an inkling of what activities they were up to for the bachelor party, but she did not need George Skakel Jr. to rub it in her face. Chérie was hoping the alcohol would help her not think about it, but she ended up just really missing her babies — being with them always made her calm and not focus on other things. She had been debating on driving back to D.C. that night, but with the sun still out and her anxiety going up, she decided to make the drive.

When Chérie returned to the Kennedy table to collect her things, Robert and Ethel were chatting with the patriarch and matriarch and beamed at her presence. Ethel tackled her into a hug, nearly knocking her over, but in good fun.

"Kid, you made it!" Ethel exclaimed happily, kissing both her cheeks. "Thank ya for coming! It was pretty, wasn't it?! I'm a Kennedy now just like you — we're officially sisters!"

"We are! Everything was beautiful, Ethel, and you make a gorgeous bride — congratulations to you both!" Chérie smiled.

This made Ethel hop with joy, swallowing Chérie into another hug. "I love ya, kid! I'll be the best sister ever!"

"I know you will," Chérie nodded, turning to Robert to also hug him. "You did good, Bobby, now take good care of her."

Robert nodded with a smile. "I will."

"Good...You both have a wonderful honeymoon — make lots of memories and take pictures. I'm going to start heading back to D.C."

"What?" Robert and Joe Sr. questioned at the same time.

"You're going so soon?" Rose asked.

"No!" Ethel exclaimed with sad eyes. "The party just started! Do you really have to go!?"

"And so late? The sun's going down, Chérie, you shouldn't be driving so late by yourself. I'm not allowing it! Does Jack know?"

"Do I know what?" John asked, sneaking up behind Chérie and placing a kiss on her cheek. She did not react to it, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

"Well, son, your wife wants to be difficult and drive back to D.C. tonight by herself," The Ambassador told his son.

"I'm not being difficult. It's not even that late," She argued. "Plus the sun is still out — if I get on the road now, then there shouldn't be a problem."

"Why are you in a rush to leave, Doll?"

"I—," She still could not believe she was explaining herself as a grown woman. "I want to get back to my children — our children. They are still far too small for me to be spending a night away from them. They need me."

"Darling, Luella is more than comparable of looking after the children. She helped with all nine of mine. There is no need to hurry home when there is nothing to worry about. You should stay and enjoy the festivities — you'll come to find it's very relaxing to be away from the children for some time."

"Be away? They are only a month old, Ms. Rose — I do not feel comfortable leaving them this long at such a young age," Chérie stated sternly. "Now if you will excuse me—."

"Hey. Chérie, stay. Lizzie and Fitz are fine — Luella is taking care of them. Stay and have fun with me, Doll. It'll just be us tonight, hm?" John tried to reason with Chérie, turning her to face him and holding her in place. He rubbed her arms in a gentle motion, trying to calm her. "Stay and celebrate Bobby and Ethel with all of us."

"Jack...,"

"Please, Chérie," Bobby pleaded, touching her shoulder.

"Come on, kid! For me and Bobby...," Ethel this time begged.

Chérie sighed in defeat. They were not going to let her leave. "...Where would I stay? All the hotels are booked."

"You stay with me, Doll."

"Jack, you're sharing a room with Teddy," Chérie reminded.

"I'll kick him out," He shrugged with a grin. "The kid can find his own room for one night."

"You're terrible."

"Teddy will come back to New York with me," Joe Sr. declared. "There. Problem solved."

And it was much to Chérie's displeasure, making her sigh and put down her things as John with his easy smile pulled her back on the dance floor. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, leading her in a slow dance as the band began a romantic ballad. Chérie wore a frown the entire dance, but did not resist John's closeness, leaning into him and resting her chin on his shoulder. From a distance, she could hear a camera shutter at them, capturing the tender dance of a congressman with his wife — getting exactly what Joe Sr. wanted.

She should have just left.

But she was here, dancing with her husband while having George Jr.'s comment run through her head. Her mind wondered briefly to what John was doing the night before for Ethel's brother to assume he was not a married man, but she forced herself to think of Elizabeth and Fitzgerald before she got too deep into it. They were probably in their bassinet right now on verge of falling asleep with Luella humming to them.

They liked to be hummed to.

"What's on your mind, Chérie?" John whispered in her ear.

"...The twins," She answered quietly.

"They're fine," He said with a soft chuckle before pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Just be here with me right now, Doll. Just us."

"You sure about that? I've heard from a little birdie you don't even act married."

John stopped their dance for just a moment, moving his head to turn and look at Chérie, who returned his gaze. He then leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. "Because that little birdie has never met a married man as happy as I am. I am married not only to the most beautiful woman in the world, but also the most intelligent who takes such good care of me and my darling children. She's the best thing to ever happen to me and I love her so much."

"...You do?" Chérie asked shyly — not sounding like the mature woman she mentally was — but the insecure 20 year old she physically was.

"I do," John answered, kissing her again and making her sigh.

Chérie could hear the warning bell going off in her head, but she drowned it out by listening to the music and dancing closer to her husband. His smooth grin and hooded eyes kept her attention, making her smile as he leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. She heard more shutters from this sweet moment, but was unaware of the three defeated women watching from the side.

Who had shared a bed with her husband the night before.

◇──◆──◇──◆◇──◆──◇──◆

The velvety voice of Ella Fitzgerald filled the living room of the Kennedy home with smooth jazz as Chérie held Fitzgerald on her chest, rubbing his back gently with one hand to lull him to sleep while reading a book in the other hand. Elizabeth was asleep in the bassinet next them, snoring softly in a teal dress that matched her mother's. The time traveler had just gotten done feeding them and was trying to put them away for their evening nap. Luella had volunteered to do so, but Chérie wanted to do it — she had the time to anyway.

Even though her diploma hung nicely in the living room next to John's, she could not use it as she had initially planned to when she first went off to college. All plans and ambitions to teach flew out the window the moment she got pregnant by a Kennedy. Her life was now dedicated to his political career and children, leaving her only being able to earn more degrees until possibly the 1970s when she could start teaching with the children grown and John—.

Well...it was best if she did not think that far right now.

It was truthfully depressing compared to the life that she had lived before — the only pro being she could actually experience motherhood this time. She kept that in mind as she adjusted to the mundane life of a 1950s housewife — an experienced she thought she would never have though with the help that John convinced her to hire it was more of a status.

They did most of the cooking, cleaning, and keeping the house in order than she did, giving her an endless amount of time on her hand. She tried to use most of it with the twins, but at the age they were at, they slept and pooped most of the time. They were not at the age to actively play with yet, so once they were put down for their nap, she had to entertain herself — mainly with lots of reading.

She read from her collection as well as John's, and had even read some of his documents from the Capitol. He did not know that, and did not need to know either. When she was not reading, she was shopping for the home, which was still pretty empty. She did not want to fill it with too many things, but she wanted it to seem habitable. However, that only took up an hour or so of her day. The rest was unoccupied time she was slowly losing her mind to, making her fall into depression induced sleeps throughout the day.

It was not healthy, but she knew if she would have uttered the word "depressed", Joe Sr. would shove sedatives and medication down her throat in a heartbeat.

Chérie knew once John made his official announcement for the Senate race she would be busy, but that would not be until next year. So for now, she had to figure out what to do with herself.

When Chérie heard the snores of her son, she placed him in the bassinet next to his sister, smiling at them before looking around for Luella and grabbing the phone. She dialed the desired numbers and waited patiently for the call to connect, beaming with joy when she heard the Louisiana twang of her mother pick up.

"Hello?"

"Mama, it's me! Chérie!"

"Chérie! Oh, Ma Chérie, my sweet emerald, how are you, honey?" Mrs. Rivière practically cried on the other end. It made Chérie tear up.

"I'm fine, mama. I'm so happy to hear your voice. How are you? And everyone else? And how was Edith's wedding? Did she get my gift? And did you get my letter?"

"Oh, baby, I'm making it. I miss you terribly though — we all do. The family's doing fine, but it ain't the same without you with us. Edith's wedding was beautiful though, and Zach brought a date — a nice girl from Chicago. Mirelle is wary of her though, but you know how she is. Edith did get your gift — she nearly fell out when Stuart pulled out the $500 from the envelope. I'm sure you will be getting a letter from her soon about it, and yes, I did get your letter. The babies are absolutely gorgeous, Chérie. They look so much like you — I still can't believe I'm a grandmother. I want to hang up their picture so badly."

"I know, mama, but—."

"I know I can't...," She sighed through the phone.

Chérie frowned, knowing how cruel it was to not have her mother hang up pictures of her grandchildren, but also knowing how dangerous it could be if she did. The situation was unfair, but she was trying to find away around it.

"...Did you also consider my offer, mama?"

"...I did," She answered softly. "I'm just...unsure, Chérie. Is this really a smart idea? You look so much like me — wouldn't it raise questions?"

"You know white folks live in denial, mama. Their racism and ignorance won't let them connect the dots, plus I want you to see your grandchildren grow up, and when they are old enough I will tell them — tell them everything."

"And your husband? Have you talked to him about having a negro nanny, who is actually your mother?"

"He doesn't need to know," Chérie stated. "And he gave free range over our estate so I can hire whoever I please. He gives me whatever I want...so please, mama, come to D.C. I need you — you're the only one I can truly trust with my children. They need their grandmother..."

Mrs. Rivière sighed. "Alright then. I'll start on my resignation letter for Mr. Beaumont."

"Good! I want you out of that house as soon as possible," Chérie said, hearing jingling at the front door, and looking out the window to find John. "I gotta go now. I'll send you your train ticket later. I love you, mama."

"I love you too, Ma Chérie. Talk to you soon."

Chérie quickly hung up the phone and raced to the door just as John came in, greeting him with a smile and taking his briefcase.

"Hey, Doll. How was your day?" He asked, removing his suit jacket. "How are the twins? Are they awake?"

"I finally got them down for a nap in the living room, so you better not wake them," She warned with a playful smile, loosing his tie. "You can look at them though. They've been good today."

"And you?" He asked, wrapping his arms around her. He focused his hooded, bluish green eyes on her, gazing at her adoringly and making her blush. Though Chérie's days were boring, they always got lively once John came home.

"I'm fine," Chérie nodded, looking away.

"Hm? Did you go out today and make any friends?" John inquired, pressing a kiss to her cheek before trailing more down her neck. She giggled at the affection.

"I...went out," She giggled. "Stop Jack...but I only did so to get us a TV. No friends, I'm afraid."

"Well...there's always tomorrow," He shrugged. "I just don't want you to be lonely, Doll. A girl needs some friends."

"I do have friends. They're asleep in the living room."

"Friends that are not our children."

Chérie rolled her eyes. "Fine. Now come on — let's go have dinner."

Dinner time was one of Chérie's favorite parts of the day. It would just be her and John at the table, eating and talking the night away about any and everything from politics to the latest issue of Superman. When they were done, they washed the dishes together — a compromise she demanded before agreeing to hiring a chef — where they talked some more and had some fun by splashing water at each other.

By the time they were done, Elizabeth and Fitzgerald would be waking up, attracting their parents attention by making tiny noises from their bassinet. Chérie and John would feed and burp them before settling on a blanket and playing with them. This was Chérie's other favorite part of the day — where she spent some time with not only her children, but her husband as well. It was in this small amount of time that they felt like a family, truly bonding with one another and creating memories.

Chérie also enjoyed seeing John be a father.

He absolutely adored the twins and never got tired of being around them even when they cried. He was always the first one up to comfort them when they woke up in the middle of the night, and would not go back to sleep until they were taken care of. Elizabeth was his little princess — he smothered her with hugs, kisses, and endless promises of horses and dolls when she got older. Fitzgerald was his pride — he was often with John in his office, resting in his arm as he read over documents and talked aloud. John did not have a lot of best friends, but Chérie was sure their children were included in the ones he did have.

John did help bathe the twins when it got closer to bedtime, washing Fitzgerald as Chérie took care of Elizabeth. Afterwards he took charge of story time, holding them both in his arms as he rocked in the rocking chair and read aloud. The twins usually fell asleep within 15 minutes in, but he would continue the story until he reached the end, putting them both in the bassinet next to their mother.

Life may not have been what Chérie wanted or what she was used to, but she was thankful for the parts of the day that was like this.