Page 25 of Accepted Precedent (Love & Politics #3)

Evelyn

J aclyn’s wedding has been… an experience.

For the majority of the evening, Andrew is networking with other government officials, leaving me at our table with Ileah.

Any other day, I’d love spending time catching up with her.

Witnessing our friend marry her fiancé’s twin—when no one believes us that Christopher is Alexander—has both of us reeling.

“Evie, this is a joke, right?” Ileah huffs, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair. “She tolerates Chris, but she looks at him like a woman in love.”

“I’m telling you, that’s Alex! That first dance? Jaclyn told us herself that Chris doesn’t dance and how she was worried about it.”

“I know!” She shakes her head. “At dinner, he had an Old Fashioned, which is Alex’s favorite drink.”

“It’s Andrew’s favorite too. Alex was at our place last week discussing an up-and-coming committee meeting regarding the Livestock Health and Wellness Act.

I was making one for each of us, and he asked for extra cherries in his.

He said something about how he typically only drinks them on special occasions, and I’d put money on there being extra cherries in that drink he had with dinner. ”

Ileah chews on her lip. “Maybe our husbands are right and we’re reading too much into this. Maybe Chris is turning over a new leaf and went to dance lessons? Maybe he stopped cheating on Jaclyn, and began working out instead?”

“Doubt it,” I laugh, and take out my phone. After a minute or two typing, I announce, “I just searched ‘favorite drink Christopher Blake interview’ and got two different answers: tequila and beer. There’s nothing in here about bourbon or whiskey, and no hint of Old Fashioneds.”

I show her the interviews from earlier this year, and as a server passes by, Ileah stops her. “Excuse me, could you tell me what the bride and groom are drinking tonight?”

She checks her tablet and replies, “The bride is drinking a Napa Valley Pinot Grigio, and the groom is having”—she taps a few times—“an Old Fashioned with extra cherry.”

“Ooh, extra cherry?” I ask a little too enthusiastically. I’m a few gin and tonics in; I need to tamp it down a little. “That sounds delicious. Could we both have one?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Once our server is out of earshot, I whisper-shout, “So, if that’s Alex, where is Chris?”

My phone vibrates with a news alert. Alex being mentioned has me doing a double take.

Senator Alexander Blake injured by suspected drunk driver in accident.

“Maybe Chris was in this accident?” I offer. “Shit, if Alex is pretending to be Chris, what does this mean for her marriage? Who is she married to? Chris or Alex?”

Ileah’s eyes are wide as she scans the article with me. “Better yet, how long do you think their charade will last?”

She takes out her phone to do her own investigative journalism, and I send off a quick text while she’s preoccupied.

Did Jaclyn marry Alex today?

There are dancing bubbles that come and go a few times before he replies.

Mickey

I’ll talk to you about it later.

He didn’t deny it. There’s a chance this is what he had planned to derail the wedding.

Andrew and Tim dismissed it when we suggested Alex was at the altar and not Chris.

Either they know and are trying to keep it quiet, or they really lack attention to detail and believe Christopher married Jaclyn today.

Our server arrives, dropping off two Old Fashioneds.

I clink my glass with Ileah’s and take a long sip, humming as the dark amber liquid tickles my throat.

I spot Andrew in the corner of my eye talking on his phone, raking his hand through his hair and brows pinched.

I let Ileah know I’ll be back in a few and check on him.

“Hey, Andy, what’s?—”

He pivots too quickly and nearly knocks me over. “Fuck, sorry. I’m… Are you okay?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” I adjust my dress and check to ensure no one saw. The last thing I need is someone claiming I’m a stumbling drunk.

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way,” he tells whoever is on the other line and hangs up. “Sorry, we need to go. I have an early meeting with a potential donor Kristin secured.”

With a final glance around, I whisper, “This is a wedding with the children of two former Presidents. We can’t just walk out.”

“This is important. I have to go.”

“Fine,” I groan. “I’ll cover for you and hire a car to drive me home.”

“Just stay with Mickey,” he snaps, his tone is laced with jealousy I’ve never heard before.

“Andy, what’s going on? Did you two get into an argument or something?”

“No, I just need to get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He storms off and I have no choice but to paint on a bright smile as I return to Ileah. This has to do with Mickey, I’m sure of it. Andrew is being careless, and I won’t let him throw everything away because of some lover’s quarrel.

Once I’m back at the table, Ileah asks quietly, “Everything okay?”

I refuse to lie to my friend, and opt for a watered-down version of the truth. “Oh, sure. Andrew needs to leave, so I’ll need to arrange a ride home.”

“Tim and I can drive you; Baltimore isn’t too far.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Aren’t you staying here in D.C. for the night?”

She finishes her Old Fashioned in four quick gulps. “Yes, but I can have his driver take you after they drop us off. I’ll just need to ask Tim first.”

Ileah used to be a ruthless lawyer, full of fire. Now she’s asking permission from her husband for a driver to take me home? She used to have her own security detail, own driver, own life.

What has become of us?

“That’s okay. I’ll just call a friend of mine who lives here in the city.”

“Friend of yours?”

I trust her with my life to not say anything and admit, “Mickey Gallagher. He’s a… friend of Andrew’s.”

Her eyes widen. “Gallagher?”

Fuck!

How could I be so stupid? She was—and maybe still is—in love with his brother. I quickly correct, “I use the term friend loosely. He’s helped manage Andrew’s campaign. Has for years. I’m sure he’d hire a service to get me home.”

“Right,” she hums, and I fear I’ve dug the hole deeper.

“Anyway, I’ll send him a quick message and see if he can arrange it so I don’t inconvenience you and Tim.”

My hands are trembling as I take out my phone to text him. I’m just grateful she doesn’t notice.

Are you staying in D.C. tonight?

Mickey

Yes.

I hate when he’s short with me and chew on my lip as I respond.

Could you arrange a discreet ride there?

Of course. It’ll pick you up within the hour.

Thanks.

I love you.

He doesn’t reply for nearly four minutes as I stare at my phone.

Love you too, angel.

With a relieved sigh, I place my phone back in my clutch and spend the next hour making small talk with a few wives who I have nothing in common with.

Ileah and I are bored out of our minds, and it’s truly the longest hour of my life.

I almost message Mick to see if he can expedite it, but leaving early from a political event like this one would be detrimental to Andrew.

My phone vibrates and I swiftly retrieve it, grateful it’s a notification that my driver has arrived. I lean in to tell Ileah, “Hey, sorry, I need to run. My ride’s here.”

“Shit. Okay, I’ll see if Tim is ready to go. I can’t take another minute discussing what we’re going to wear to the gala in a few weeks when we’re stuck at this sham of a wedding. Call me tomorrow.”

I take her hand and squeeze once. “Of course.”

I excuse myself and make my way to the entrance where the driver is waiting.

Traffic is minimal, but it still takes us nearly twenty minutes to get to Mickey’s. When we arrive, he pulls all the way into the garage to ensure privacy, and I make my way inside. I slip off my shoes and my eyes catch on a bright red stain smeared on the floor.

“Mick?” The house is quiet, but there’s a faint sound of the shower running upstairs. I follow it and find more of the crimson marks. “Mick?” I call again, and take the stairs two at a time.

I stop in my tracks halfway up, Aisling is nowhere to be found—no one is—and if this is what I think it is, I’ll need to be prepared.

I rush back downstairs and retrieve rags and cleaning supplies from the garage.

The car is already gone, but part of me wishes they were still here.

I’m not afraid to be alone with Mick after he’s had a rough night, but it’s always been Andrew who takes care of him.

If I need to leave, I’ll have to call a rideshare, and it would be a bad look for me to be seen leaving Mickey’s home this late at night.

Everything Andrew’s worked for—and everything I’ve sacrificed—could be for nothing with one tabloid headline.

I cautiously open the door to his bedroom and step inside. A trail of bloody droplets leads to the ensuite. With a deep breath, I walk in, steam filling the space. Through it, I’m still able to make out his silhouette in the shower—head lowered and bracing himself with his palms on the wall.

“Mickey?” My voice barely carries over the running water. I shout louder, “Is everything okay?”

His head pops up, and he shuts off the water. Opening the shower door, he grits out, “Where’s Andrew?”

“He’s home, but I’m here.” I take a step closer. “What can I do to help?”

“I thought both of you were coming.”

I shake my head and drop the supplies next to the sink, then take three more steps. “He has a meeting in the morning. I thought you knew.”

“I don’t want you to see me when I’m like this.” He looks away, but I cup his cheek, bringing his gaze back to me. His emerald eyes are desperate and pleading. “Everything’s a fuckin’ mess.”

“Then let’s fix it together.”

“No, angel.” He gently grips my wrist, then sweetly kisses my palm. “It’s my responsibility.”

I cock an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m capable?”

“You’re more than capable, love.”