Page 3

Robert’s face hardened. “Now just a minute…”
“He’s lying, Robert.” Peg was sobbing now. “The only reason Idrink so much is because he treats me like shit! He’s never home. He tries to make me think I’m crazy.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks and looked daggers at Whit. “I hate you!” she shrieked.
“If you hate me so much, why are you still here?”
“Where am I gonna go? You took my best years!”
But there had been no best years, he thought. The woman he’d married turned out to be very different from the one he’d romanced. He couldn’t take it any longer. “My best years too.” Whit’s voice was flat. “I can’t waste any more of them. I want a divorce,” he said without looking at her.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let her have you.” Peg’s hand dug under the couch cushion, and suddenly she was moving toward him. Whit’s eyes widened when he saw what she was holding: the Colt double-action revolver that had belonged to her grandfather.
“Peg, what the hell?” Whit shouted, springing up from his seat. “Put that gun down!”
“You used me to get close to Robert and help your career. Now that you’re a big senator and you don’t need me anymore, you’re going to throw me away like a piece of trash?”
Robert’s face turned white. “Peg, don’t do this! Give me the gun.”
Peg’s eyes were bulging, and she was screaming obscenities at Whit, frantically waving the gun at him. “Say goodbye, Whit. I hope she was worth it.”
“No!” Robert yelled, jumping in front of her. Whit watched as if in slow motion while Robert grabbed her.
“Get out of the way!” she yelled, struggling with him.
“Peg, stop!” Robert reached for her hand, and the gun went off. Peg stood, frozen, her mouth wide in horror as a scarlet stain spread across Robert’s shirt. He staggered back, falling to the floor, and she began to scream, a loud wail that pierced the silence.
“Oh my God, what have you done?” Whit knelt on the floor next to his friend, helpless as he watched the pool of blood spreadunder his body. Peg was sobbing hysterically, and as Whit looked up, he saw that she was still gripping the gun. “Peg, give me the gun.” He jumped up, grabbing her arm in an attempt to get his hands on the weapon. He struggled to wrest it away, but her grip tightened, the gun dangerously close to her face. The second shot was deafening, and he recoiled in horror. Peg slid from his arms and fell to the floor next to Robert, whose body was still. Whit heaved, unable to hold back the vomit rising from his belly as he picked up the phone and called 911.
“Hurry, please. There’s been an accident. My wife. Oh, God, my wife. She shot her cousin, Senator Chase!” His voice broke with a sob. “Then she turned the gun on herself. Please hurry!”
- 3 -
SLOANE
Two years later
Newlywed Sloane Montgomery slipped the vintage Balmain evening dress over her head and gently ran a hand through her thick chestnut hair, fluffing it back into the salon blowout she’d gotten that afternoon. She was looking forward to the evening at the White House, but the anticipation was tinged with sadness. The last state dinner she’d attended had been with Robert, and she felt once again the sharp pang of loss as an image of her late husband filled her mind. Even after twenty-four years together, he had still been able to make her heart beat a little faster when he gave her that smile reserved only for her. They’d never lost the passion and desire of their early love.
Leaning closer to the mirror, she applied a light dash of clear lip gloss and stepped back to appraise herself. She’d been told that she looked younger than forty-eight, her face still smooth and fresh-looking, and the small laugh lines around her blue eyes only accentuating the warmth of her generous smile. The simple but elegant black dress fit perfectly her tall, slender frame, but her fingers fumbled nervously as she fastened the clasp of her great-grandmother Emerson’s pearl choker.
She glanced down at the emerald cut diamond on her ring finger. It still felt strange not to see the sapphire-and-diamond engagement ring that Robert had given her. After she and Whit had gotten engaged, Sloane had given the ring to her daughter, Emmy, who’d accepted it with a mixture of gratitude and melancholy. Even though Emmy said she was happy for her mother, it was still hard for her to see Sloane wearing another man’s ring.
Yet Whit had been a source of comfort and strength for them both during those dark days following Peg’s and Robert’s deaths, and no one had been more surprised than Sloane to find her feelings for him blossom over time. Their friendship and shared loss had grown into love; a love that was different from what she’d had with Robert, but something exceptional, nonetheless. Whit had been particularly considerate of Emmy, talking at length to Sloane about the best way to let her know of their plans to marry, and Sloane had been greatly relieved to have Emmy’s blessing.
She sometimes wondered if her illness made both Emmy and her more mindful of the fragility of life and therefore kinder to each other. Sloane had been diagnosed with lupus in her late twenties and had taken steroids and other toxic medications through the years, but had always refused to succumb to the severe ups and downs of her condition. Sometimes she remained in remission for years, until the disease attacked like an invading army. After Robert’s death, she’d had a bad flare, but fortunately it had been alleviated. However, the steroids Sloane had taken ultimately took their toll on her bones, and her left hip was now causing her pain. She’d put off the hip-replacement surgery for as long as she could, but the pain had reached a point where she could no longer ignore it, so she’d finally scheduled the surgery and was going in in two weeks. She and Whit would be interviewing home healthcare workers next week so she had someone to drive her to her charitable foundation, as well as help with home therapy.
Enough dwelling on the past, she thought. This was a new start, and it was time to look ahead. As she grabbed the light cashmere wrap and her evening bag from the bed, Whit entered the room and walked over to her.
“You look gorgeous as always,” he said, flashing his megawatt smile and letting his fingers glide down her bare arm.
“Thank you. You look rather gorgeous yourself, Senator,” Sloane said, giving him an admiring glance. With his strong jawline anddeep hazel eyes, Whit was one of those men who became even more handsome as they aged.
“Shall we go?” Whit held his arm out for Sloane to take, and together they walked from the bedroom and down the curved staircase of the three-story Georgetown home she’d lived in with Robert for sixteen years.
It was a sublime evening in September, one of the few months that lent Washington the treasured days of pleasantly warm weather and low humidity. Whit and Sloane settled into the waiting limousine, and their driver pulled onto M Street for the short drive to Pennsylvania Avenue.
Sloane had been to her fair share of White House state dinners, but this would be the first time she attended not as Robert’s wife, but as Whit’s. When they arrived, she was struck all over again by a feeling of reverence for this iconic building. She and Whit entered from the East Colonnade and walked past the phalanx of cameras and press. They mingled with the other guests in the large East Room with its magnificent cut-glass and gilded brass chandeliers, amid circulating trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres, as they waited to be summoned to the Blue Room and the receiving line of the president, first lady, and their visiting dignitaries, the prime minister of Greece and his wife.
Most of the faces were familiar, some extremely good friends after Sloane’s many years in the nation’s capital. Outgoing and friendly, she enjoyed the social side of political life, and her philanthropic work and service on the boards of Washington institutions like the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and the National Archives had brought her admiration and respect.