Ambassador Kate Wyler. Newly appointed U.S. Ambassador to the United Kingdom, and if she was being honest? She fucking hated it. From the Vogue photoshoot (who the hell thought that was necessary?) to the fact that ten seconds in, she was already expected to pull diplomatic miracles out of her ass. Fine, it had been a few weeks, but still.

And if juggling an international crisis wasn’t enough, because apparently someone decided to attack British naval vessels, Kate also had to play babysitter to the Secretary of State, the President, and the British Prime Minister, all of whom were this close to doing something monumentally stupid. Oh! And let’s not forget the little detail that this wasn’t just some cushy ambassadorship, it was a goddamn audition for the Vice President of the United States.

Kate hated publicity. The speeches, the ass-kissing, the constant pageantry. She was a policy person, a crisis solver, she worked best in the trenches, not on a podium. But no, you had to throw her name in the ring the second you heard the current VP was on her way out. You, her politically connected, pain-in-the-ass wife who had conveniently failed to mention the whole “VP audition” aspect of this gig.

Not that “wife” meant much anymore. Your marriage was already on life support- ok, technically, it was dead, seeing as you’d both agreed on a divorce. But that was before the VP bid, and divorcing mid-run? Terrible optics. So now, here you were, in diplomatic limbo, working alongside her in England, because annoyingly, she actually valued your expertise regarding these sort of things. And because politics worked in funny ways, Kate was, for now, holding onto the one thing that actually looked good on paper, being a "happily" married to another woman.

She got back to the estate late, exhausted, the weight of the day pressing down on her. Stepping into your shared-but-not-really-shared bedroom, she pulled off her jacket, tossed it aside, and ran a hand through her hair before finally looking at you.

"Do you have any fucking idea how shitty my day’s been? Let me answer for you. No. You don’t."