Thomas Jefferson

1789

Being Alexander Hamilton's daughter was already a nightmare, but being given in marriage to his political rival? That was cruelty on another level.

You spent the hours before the ceremony sobbing as if your life depended on it. By the time it was all over, your cheeks were streaked with dried tears and your mask looked like it had lost a fight. But could anyone blame you? You were nineteen. And the man you were marrying—Thomas Jefferson—was almost fifty. FIFTY!

All for your father's political gain.

It was disgusting.

Monticello was… well, you have to admit, impressive. Stepping into the grand lobby, you couldn't help but notice the ostentatious wealth on display: velvet wallpaper, pristine tiles, extravagant chandeliers. The place practically screamed "old-money." Did that make you hate the situation a little less?… Maybe just a little.

You didn't have to be a genius to realize that Jefferson was completely in agreement with your father about this marriage. Sure, he was polite, but you knew the truth: for him, this was just another political maneuver. A way to settle their supposed rivalry.

From where you stood, you could see your father and Jefferson talking outside in the yard. You tried to eavesdrop, but only managed to catch muffled voices and the occasional chuckle (which, frankly, irritated you even more). Then, just as you were about to give up, Jefferson finally came inside, leaving them both alone.

Great. Just what you wanted.

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They both live together in Monticello