Page 29

SLOANE
Sloane soaked in a hot bath, which helped ease the stiffness and muscle spasms, and afterward napped for a few hours. The time it had taken to check the preparations downstairs and go over everything with Athena had exhausted her. She needed to be rested for tonight, when she would be the hostess, and not able to duck out early if she was feeling tired or sick.
In an hour and a half, their guests would be arriving, so she threw back the covers and reached for her robe. As she tied the sash, there was a light rap on the door.
“Yes?”
The door opened and Whit stuck his head in. “How are you doing? Athena said you were taking a nap. Are you feeling better?” He walked in and closed the door behind him.
“I am. How’s it going downstairs?”
“Everything’s all set up. Looks great. Athena’s got it all under control. Here,” he said, handing her a cold bottle of water. “Thought you might be thirsty.”
“Thanks.” Sloane unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. “How was your golf game?”
He grimaced. “Never got there. I got stuck at the office working on the figures for the appropriations meeting on Monday.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her lightly. “Anything I can do for tonight?” he asked, pulling away.
Sloane put her arms around his neck, kissing him back. “I miss you. I miss making love to you.”
Whit held her closer, kissing her neck. “I miss you too. But it won’t be long, sweetheart.”
She pulled away, sighing. “I know. It’s just…”
“C’mon. No brooding. You have a party to host. And lots of donors to thank.” Whit took her hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “When you’re well, we’ll go away for a long romantic weekend. Okay?”
“Yes, okay.” It angered her that her nightly tossing and turning was so disruptive that it had forced Whit into a guest room. He hadn’t complained or even mentioned it, but they’d had a vigorous sex life before she’d gotten so sick.
“Okay,” he repeated, and kissed her again lightly. “I’ll go now and let you get ready.”
By the time Sloane finished her makeup and hair, she’d pumped herself up for the evening. It was her favorite event of the year, and she reminded herself that tonight was about the work of the foundation and recognition to all those whose generosity in time and money had contributed to that work. She zipped up her dress and was surprised at how loose it was. She hadn’t realized she’d lost that much weight. Cocking her head as she looked in the mirror, she frowned. The dress definitely looked baggy at the waist. She began to pull belts from the drawers, trying and discarding them until she buckled the metallic Brunello Cucinelli. With that finishing touch, Sloane walked slowly downstairs just fifteen minutes before the first guest was due to arrive.
Athena had followed the plans to the letter, Sloane saw as she walked through the house. The soft lighting and flickering candles gave the rooms a warm, inviting feel. Sloane hated harsh, too-bright lighting at parties.
Athena rushed over. “Oh, Sloane, you look wonderful. I’m glad you got some sleep.”
“Thank you.” She was relying more and more heavily upon Athena, and she didn’t like it. Sloane wasn’t used to delegating things in her personal life. She knew Athena was only doing her job, but she was finding it difficult not to be resentful. She had to remind herself that it was temporary and forced herself to giveAthena a warm smile. “And thank you for managing all of this so beautifully. I really appreciate it.”
“I’ve enjoyed every minute. Come outside and see the tent. It’s dazzling.”
“People will be here any minute, and I need to greet them. I won’t stay at the front door long, just until the first few arrive, and then I’ll go take a look.”
As she reached the foyer, Whit came zipping down the stairs to join her, and the first guests began to arrive. For the next hour, wine and liquor flowed, and the house was filled with the sound of loud talk and laughter. The vice president and his wife arrived late and with great fanfare just as guests were being seated for dinner, but there was still no sign of Madelyn. Could this be her lucky day? Sloane wondered happily. She was about to take a seat at one of the tables when Whit came up to her and took her hand.
“Come with me, darling. The vice president and his wife are sitting in the dining room. We should both be with them.”
Sloane went along. Vice President Chester Bishop was a relative newcomer to Washington. When President Beckermann’s vice president died in office a year ago, Beckermann had nominated Bishop, the former governor of Illinois, to take his place. Bishop was a seasoned politician, however, who had served as inspector general of the Chicago Housing Authority, three terms in Congress, and finally as a two-term governor of the state. Sloane had met him only a few times at social gatherings and didn’t know him well, but Whit had formed a fast friendship with the new vice president. This was a good opportunity for her to get to know the man better, and she tried her best to keep her attention trained on the conversation around the table. It was informative and timely, but she couldn’t help her attention occasionally wandering to the front door as she kept an eye out for Madelyn’s arrival. To Sloane’s delight, however, when the meal ended and the guests moved to the tent for dessert and dancing, she still hadn’t arrived.
Before the band played, Sloane stepped gingerly onto the stageand took the microphone, leaning the other hand on the cane for support. “I want to thank every one of you here tonight for your generosity and great spirit of giving. You care about changing lives, and I love you for that.” She spoke briefly about the work that had been accomplished, and about her dreams for bigger things to come. “So, thank you from the bottom of my heart on behalf of all those you’ve helped. And now, let’s have a little music and dancing.”
The applause was boisterous, but soon drowned out by the band’s raucous rendition of “Celebration.” Sloane looked across the room at Whit, who winked at her and walked across the crowded dance floor to stand with her as they watched the dancers. And then Madelyn was walking through the crowd toward them.
“Mind if I borrow your husband for a dance? Seeing as you’re sidelined tonight?” Madelyn stood there, her scarlet lips spread in a wide grin, her breasts spilling out of a sequined bodice.
Before Sloane could speak, Whit said, “Excuse us, Madelyn.” Putting his arm at the small of Sloane’s back, he led her away.
“Ugh. That woman,” Sloane said between gritted teeth. “I need to sit.”
Whit pulled out a chair from the table and helped Sloane get situated, then sat down beside her. “Ignore her.” He leaned in closer. “Look, the vice president is leaving soon, and he and I want to have a private chat. We’re going to sequester ourselves in the library for a little bit. Okay with you?”