Page 2 of Air Force One (Miranda Chase #16)

The Prior Evening

“Is this really happening?” To Miranda, the pitch of Holly’s voice sounded atypically high—almost squeaky.

There was certainly nothing authentic about the glass coffee table or the dark red leather of the Chesterfield couch and armchairs.

The big-screen television was decidedly anachronistic for any period of the White House excepting the most recent decade.

Of course, it was the President’s personal living room on temporary loan to the bride, so perhaps he enjoyed the anachronisms. She’d have to ask him.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant…this.” Holly waved Miranda’s wedding bouquet of daisies and winter jasmine about so negligently that Miranda decided it would be better if she took it herself rather than continuing to trust Holly's self-control. Roy had offered a rose bouquet from the White House collection, but she’d always felt they bragged too much.

She preferred these, especially as neither flower had a scent, which she rather liked.

They were just their pretty selves and didn’t need to prance about fluffing their petals at everyone.

“This?”

“Wedding. How? Why?” Holly was stuttering worse than an engine running on the wrong fuel. Miranda was rather pleased by that metaphor; it was so rare that her autism allowed her to create such a cogent one.

“Because I want to spend the rest of my life with Andi. So does Meg.” Miranda pointed down at her Glen of Imaal Terrier with the two wedding rings tied to her therapy dog harness.

“But…” Holly seemed to give it up. “I just don’t understand. Why are you two getting, you know…” She flailed about but couldn’t say the word.

For once, Miranda actually did know. Anytime the word marriage came by, Holly’s old military training displayed a great desire to kill it.

Miranda liked the sound of the word, though the silent I bothered her at times.

Of course, without it, the word would be marrage, and she had no wish to be marred by anything in particular.

Or in general. She tried to think of how to explain it.

“You’ve been together with Mike for six years,” Miranda started out.

“Five and a half. No, wait, barely over five and a quarter. And don’t mention that.”

“And you renovated your new home together.”

“Or that.”

Miranda had never understood Holly’s refusal to admit the reality of her relationship with Mike Munroe.

In Miranda’s experience, Holly Harper was a stark realist on all other topics, whether her elite warrior past with the Australian Special Air Service Regiment or her air-crash investigator present.

“It’s not as if you’re the one getting married.

” First Lady Rose Cole entered the temporary bridal suite from her and Roy’s bedroom.

She stopped close by Miranda but knew not to offer the friendly touch that she gave to most people around her.

Miranda almost wished she didn’t so mind being touched because Rose made it seem so pleasant… but she did.

Rose normally towered five inches over Miranda’s five-four.

Today she wore three-inch heels, a skill Miranda had never wanted to master, making her two inches taller than even Holly.

Her evening dress was much frillier than Miranda’s own sleek silk—not fancier, just frillier.

She found Rose’s dress a little unnerving as parts of it seemed to move with a mind of their own.

Miranda looked away quickly and focused on Holly. “It’s good that you aren’t getting married today—”

“Or ever!”

“—with the way you hate clothes.” Miranda had rather enjoyed finding a dress that wasn’t annoyingly annoying. Clothes were always a challenge as she couldn’t stand the touch of synthetic fabrics. Or clothing tags. Or too many seams, like Rose’s must have. Or washed with scented soaps.

“Perhaps she should have a casual beach wedding.” There was something about Rose’s smile that said she was having…fun? Oh, perhaps she was teasing Holly? Another thing Miranda’s autism rarely allowed her to identify.

“That is a good idea.” Whether or not it was a tease.

Holly said she’d burned her military uniform the day she left the Australian Special Air Service Regiment, and she’d never worn a dress and wasn’t about to start now.

She had finally accepted the idea of a nice pantsuit—after Andi had made some dire threats if she showed up at the White House in her normal jeans, t-shirt, and ball cap for the Australian women’s soccer team.

“What part of never getting married didn’t you understand?”

Rose touched Holly’s arm in that way she did. “I’m finding it curious that you’re more nervous at Miranda’s wedding than she is.”

Miranda nodded. That was curious. She was simply glad to be here, though it had included an odd series of events.

She’d called Lizzy to ask if she and Drake wanted to come to her wedding.

Miranda had been Lizzy’s maid of honor, so it only made sense.

That they were one of the top Washington, DC, power couples—as the future and present Chairmans of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—had never entered her thoughts until Mike had pointed it out later.

She’d worked with both of them until they became friends.

But when President Roy Cole heard, he’d insisted on being the officiant and had proposed shifting the wedding to DC in January.

She and Andi had planned on a backyard spring wedding, but Roy’s second term of office ended in three weeks.

Andi had been glad to move up the date, so they’d all come east. They had kept it small.

Which was good, as Miranda had never much enjoyed crowds.

General Drake Nason had insisted on the privilege of giving her away.

He looked very impressive in his Army uniform with the four stars on his lapel and all the medals he’d been awarded over the years.

Drake, too, was retiring at the end of Roy’s presidency.

Roy himself had opted not to wear his old Green Beret uniform.

Because, he’d said, I don’t wish to be outranked at your wedding day by a mere upstart of a 75th Ranger turned four-star general.

Miranda didn’t understand. The President was the Commander in Chief, and he was the one who had promoted Drake to being the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; there was no question of who outranked whom in this case.

Yet they had always fomented a rivalry between the Rangers and the Green Berets, though the President hadn’t served in over thirty years.

Whatever the explanation, Roy instead opted for a three-piece suit that First Lady Rose said he looked positively yummy in.

Why she used an adjective appropriate for food products rather than people, Miranda decided she’d rather not know.

“I’m not nervous,” Holly began pacing from one side to the other of the living room, like a caged…Holly.

Sometimes metaphors were not Miranda’s friend. This one eluded her.

“I’m allergic to weddings.”

With a complete lack of histamines, Miranda couldn’t imagine what immuno-suppression vector that would require, but she’d never researched the possibility.

She reached for her personal notebook, except her dress didn’t include a pocket for one.

It was a major oversight. Without her notebook, she would now be distracted throughout her own wedding, making sure that she remembered to delve into that question at her earliest opportunity.

But then how could she possibly remember her lines for the ceremony at the same time?

“Holly, can you do something for me?”

“Sure. What? Is it far away? Where’s the antipode; can you send me there? Please!”

“No. Besides, the antipode is very wet. The opposite side of the Earth from the White House lies in the Indian Ocean, twelve hundred kilometers southwest of Australia, so why would I send you there? No, the favor I need is that I don’t have my personal notebook, and I need to remember to research how it is possible for you to be allergic to weddings. ”

“I’m not allergic to weddings.”

“But you just said— I’ll never understand neurotypicals.”

Rose laughed. “Holly Harper may be many things, Miranda, but typical is not one of them.”

Holly’s protest was unconvincing even to Miranda’s ear. Holly began picking at her maid-of-honor blazer’s sleeves like they were…covered in fleas? That wasn’t a nice metaphor; Miranda edged away a step just in case it was true.

Rose braved the metaphor and gave Holly a gentle hug that didn’t appear to do anything to calm her down. What was the point of being able to tolerate a hug if it didn’t calm a person down?

Miranda wanted to ask, but Drake joined them to say that Roy and Andi were ready for them.

Before leading the way into the Yellow Oval Room on the second floor of the Residence, Rose started the player with the lovely Bach Goldberg Variations. Much prettier than Mendelssohn’s overused “Wedding March.”

Miranda waited for Holly to follow Rose, then she stepped through with Drake on one side and Meg trotting along on the other.

Miranda and Andi had agreed they wanted a small, simple ceremony. She’d invited the rest of her team: Jeremy, Taz, and Mike. The President had invited the President-elect and VP-elect, Sarah Feldman and Carl Crawford, respectively.

These are the two you’ll be working with after I’m gone. It will be a good chance for you all to get to know each other better.

Miranda knew neither one very well, but if Roy thought it was a good idea, she knew it was. Jeremy had worked more with Sarah than she had. But Miranda had been surprised that Andi didn’t know VP Crawford, he was a former Army general after all.

He retired into politics while I was still lieutenant. There were over a million of us in the service, you know.

One-point-three-four at the time you left, Miranda had corrected her.