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“If you apologize one more time, we’re about to have our first big fight.” I block the elevator’s sensor so Parker can exit first.

I’m not sure why it’s now she’s apologizing. Of all the things that happened today, a Secret Service escort home from the airport was weird, but definitely not at the top of the list. I’d say signing an NDA on the fly after texting a photo of it to my lawyer and hearing about my upcoming wedding in the late summer after technically getting engaged twenty minutes earlier were at the top.

But when I gaze down my hallway and find an agent standing at the door to my apartment, I realize this apology was given in advance.

“Ignore him,” Parker whispers from my side. “Apparently, I still need a babysitter.”

Approaching my door, I fumble for the key, but the agent turns the knob for me.

Okay, now this might be a lot. “Have you been in my apartment ?”

“Sir.” The bald, clean shaven guy nods. “I’m Agent Samuels. I’ll be lead on Ms. Montgomery’s detail. It was a routine sweep, I assure you.”

Agent Samuels steps back, allowing us to enter. We’re barely inside when he lifts his hand, speaking into a radio tucked into the sleeve of his suit. “Bolter and Charming are secure.”

Parker flings her head back but I shut the door before she can say anything. “Bolter?”

I raise my shoulders in a shrug. “Guess they know about the getaway car. They’re a little accurate with both of them.”

“Who said you were charming?” she asks, dragging her face away from the door.

“Would you like names or numbers or both?” I smirk. “Besides, my brand isn’t exactly based on running away. Welcome home, bolter. Hope you stick around this bachelor pad.”

“I wouldn’t exactly use bachelor pad to describe something that looks like it should be in Architectural Digest .” Parker slips off her coat, and I go to take it from her, but she bypasses me, opening the closet and reaching in for a hanger.

The move makes me smile, like she’s already making herself at home.

I usually throw mine on the bench where her bag is, but instead, I do the same before I follow Parker deeper into the apartment where she now stands in the living room.

“Can I remind you I just picked you up from the White House ?”

“That belongs to the taxpayers.” Parker lifts her head at the high ceilings. “You probably pay a lot of taxes. Or I guess, depending on who you ask, not enough.”

I rock on my heels. “Good money comes with my kind of work.”

“Better make sure that prenup is ironclad, Fitzy.” Parker winks.

I step into the kitchen, flipping on a light. “I’m not insulting you by making you sign something.”

“You should. I did.”

“Your parents did.” I open a cabinet. “Do you want something to?—”

“Why do you keep the glasses so far from the fridge?”

I shut the door. “I don’t know. I just do.”

“Mugs should go there since it’s space above the coffee maker. And glasses here.” Parker walks around the marble island to the cabinet flanking the stainless steel fridge. “Notwhatever junky protein bars these are. They belong in the trash.”

I lean against the counter. “You’re moving in, so you can set things up however you like. But you aren’t throwing out my protein bars.”

“You know, I might have to rethink the whole moving in before we tie the knot. I’m old fashioned. And I’m still not technically your wife.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I quip. “If it walks like a wife and nags like a wife…”

Parker chucks the bar she has in her hand, but I catch it and tear open the package, biting the corner off. I smile with a full mouth.

She scoffs and turns back to the cabinet, reaching inside. “Are these?—”

“I hope they’re still your favorite.” I swallow my large bite and nod at the jar of yellow Starburst.

Parker rotates it in her hand, staring between the jar and me. “You…” She shakes her head. “You’re seriously fine with me living here?”

“Do you think I would’ve eaten twenty packs of Starburst to get that many yellows if I didn’t?” I toss the wrapper in the trash. “Did you plan on this being a long-distance marriage? Where I am is where you should be.”

Forever , I manifest.

“You can have upstairs to yourself. I’ll show you.” Tipping my head so she’ll follow, I walk toward the living room, but I have to wait for Parker, who, much to my delight, opens the jar and takes a handful of Starbust.

“There’s a bathroom and an office down there.” I point before gliding my arm in the opposite direction to the door beside the staircase. “And that’s my room. You’ll be up here. Come.”

Parker’s footsteps sound behind me, but by the time I reach my door, they grow silent. Looking back, I find her standing at the top of the stairs, staring at where the carpeted floor of the landing bleeds into the runner. My face twists in confusion as she backs up slowly before returning to the first floor.

“Can I have downstairs?”

“You haven’t seen this room.” I lean against the banister. “The view is insane.”

Parker’s eyes trace the black, iron railing. “Downstairs would work better for me.”

“Why?”

“It just does.” She shrugs.

“Upstairs is technically the primary. It’s bigger.”

“What made you think I’m one of those girls who thinks bigger is always better?” Parker pauses at my door. “It’s what you work with that matters.”

I scratch my chin. “You want me to give up my room.”

“You’re the one who said upstairs was better anyway,” she retorts, motioning at the door. “Do you mind?”

I pad down the stairs. “I guess I should get used to this.”

I add a dramatic sigh for good measure, but the truth is inside, I’m pumping my fist. Let her boss me around and nag me until I have a headache. I fucking love it.

Leaning against the doorframe, I watch her step into my bedroom. And like the night at the club, I’m teetering between our now and then.

Then, as a teenager, I had to force away any and all fantasies I had about Parker being in my bedroom, which she almost always entered late at night and through the window. Honey never cared, or she at least trusted Parker enough, but my mom certainly did. I remember three separate times when she knocked and Parker had to scramble beneath the bed, hiding as if we’d been doing something illicit when we were either pretending to do homework or playing Uno.

But no matter what we were doing, I always had to make it not too obvious when I scooted closer to her on the bed. The warmth radiating off Parker, the way she smelled… Those things combined were lethal to my teenage hormones.

And now, I’m standing here watching her at the foot of my bed, fantasizing about how Parker would look in it… naked, with the sheet up to her waist. Or better yet, with the blankets tangled at her feet and the thing covering the rest of her body? Me.

“This will do.”

“Oh.” I shake off the thoughts. “Does it, princess?”

“Stop.” She scoffs. I watch her take a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing. “It’s very you in here. I mean in a good way. Clean. Warm. A little preppy.” She pauses, pointing to the black-and-white photo on the wall of Manhasset’s harbor that was our shared childhood backyard. “Just very you. Kind of feels like home. It feels good.”

I furrow my brow. “You sound surprised. Shouldn’t home always feel good?”

“I guess.”

“Since you’re taking it, you can help me pack up,” I tell her.

Parker moves and opens the door of the walk-in closet. “You really don’t seem all that upset about it. Besides, there isn’t much in here anyway.”

“I’m a simple guy. You won’t find me wearing a sparkly pink cowboy hat to the stadium before a game.”

Parker shuts the closet door. “Pity. You’d look cute in pink. You still don’t seem so upset though.”

“Maybe I’m just happier you’re here than I am annoyed I need to move my shit.”

The cutest, nervous laugh sneaks from Parker’s mouth. I’m about to try and pull out another when a voice booms.

“You clearly don’t know who I am!”

I rush from the bedroom.

“Sir, you can’t just go in.”

“Let him in,” I say, swinging the door open. Nick is red faced and huffing. I hope he has his inhaler.

“See?” he asks. “I told you. I have a key , Agent Asshole.”

I grab Nick by his arm and slam the door behind him. “I don’t need you to cause a scene. I have neighbors.”

“You have guard dogs too! Who the hell are those—” Nick pauses, looking over my shoulder. “Well, you two move rather quickly.”

I hold an arm up. “Parker, meet my manager, Nick Gold. Nick, Parker Montgomery… my fiancée.” I won’t lie. The way that word tastes on the tip of my tongue makes me kind of giddy.

Moving to her side, I drape an arm across her shoulders. She stiffens slightly before holding her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Nick’s eyes bounce between Parker and me before he hesitantly shakes her hand.

What’s wrong with you? I mouth to him, wondering if there’s a no entry list I can add him to.

Parker tilts her face to me, unsure about the situation, as Nick glares at us.

“Maybe you and I should?—”

“Talk?” Nick laughs. “ Now you want to talk, Fitzy?”

Parker slowly creeps a bit closer to me, and I get it. She has no clue who this guy is, with the weak handshake and rude attitude, who just frantically busted into my apartment. And that’s fine because, damn, I like that in a moment of hesitancy, she feels comforted by me.

“Fine, Fitzy”—Nick pauses—“and soon-to-be Mrs. Fitzy. Let’s talk. But you probably should’ve thought about doing that before you staged the great American fake out.”

* * *

I decide I’m going to give Nick five minutes. Not of talking. Of pacing back and forth on one side of the kitchen island while Parker and I sit on the barstools opposite him.

Parker only gives him ninety seconds.

“Listen.” She clears her throat. “This was my idea. I have a bit of a complicated family situation regarding my inheritance and I asked Fitz to help me.”

He leans forward, gripping the edges of the marble. “A complicated family situation?”

Parker straightens, tucking a shiny, chestnut lock of hair behind her ear. “I guess that’s putting it mildly.”

Nick flings his head to me, but I shrug. “At least she’s honest.”

“But,” she continues, reaching out and squeezing my forearm, “thanks to Fitz, I’m sorting things out. You see?—”

Nick holds his hands up. “I’d prefer if you didn’t share any details about your family that might land me in some sort of secret government prison. And I’d hope that you considered that for Fitz too. I get you might not be used to thinking about anyone but yourself since you’re a Montgomery?—"

I shoot up, and Parker’s hand falls. “Nick, you need to take it down a notch or twelve, man.”

Parker’s stare bores into the side of my head like she’s annoyed I’m stepping in, but I ignore it because I can only deal with one person going off on me at a time. They have me outnumbered even if for different reasons.

“Oh.” Nick pops his lips. “Sorry. You know what, let me give you two lovebirds some advice, alright? And take this with a grain of salt because my wife sends me to the couch three nights a week, but it’s a good idea to not enter a marriage—let alone a fake one—without knowing the whole story. And I’ve got dozens of people calling me to get it.”

A phone shrills, and Parker sighs, hopping off the barstool. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her grab her bag on the table in the entry and go into her room, closing the door.

“You’re really out of line here,” I hiss, leaving the kitchen and walking toward the den.

Nick is fast on my tail. “I’m out of line? You just signed up to fraudulently marry the goddamn president’s daughter without batting an eye and without even bothering to text me, and I’m out of line?” He follows me into the den and shuts the door. “Was this Foller’s idea?”

“What?” I exclaim. “God no. Why would he have anything to do with it?”

Nick scowls. “I don’t know. Maybe this is all part of some bigger scheme. Damnit, Fitz. I know you’ve been in your head a lot, but this is the kind of decision it would be wise to let people in on. People like me , who have your best interest in mind.”

I spin around. “You told me to get a girlfriend! At the Super Bowl party. I got that, plus a bonus. And besides, what’s the big deal anyway?”

“The big deal is that her dad is the president!”

“I’m aware of that.”

Nick rubs his temples. “Do you remember how I didn’t want you tied to Foller in case things with him end up going south?”

I can’t talk about Coach with Nick for another second. It’s going in circles. “That investigation concluded, and they found nothing . Can we drop it? You don’t like the guy? Fine. That’s business. But Parker, this is different.” I lower my voice. “It’s personal, Nick.”

Nick’s eyes ping-pong around me, as if he’s putting the pieces together. Slowly, he reaches behind him, producing his inhaler.

“This is the rebel tattoo girl you told me about in Cancun?” He takes a puff of albuterol, which I think is all he needs, but quickly pushes the inhaler again.

I contemplate offering him a shot of whiskey. Maybe something stronger would help.

“For fuck’s sake, Fitz. For you, this is personal. For her, it’s business ! What are you thinking?”

My hands fall to my hips. “I’m thinking this is my shot with Parker, and I can’t have you screw it up for me. So you’re going to pretend like all you know is what she and I tell you. and that’s it. ”

He sighs. “You went from one controversial partner to another.”

“How is Parker controversial? You know nothing about her.”

Nick raises his face toward the ceiling. “Because her father is. He might be one of the most disliked people in the country at the moment! You don’t find that an issue? I’m trying to get you away from these kind of guys. Not marry them!”

“Fuck Walter,” I say, meaning it.

Nick hangs his head before he pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“You rolled it out big , Fitz.” He furiously swipes at the screen and hands it to me. “There’s no going back now.”

I don’t know what social media app I’m even looking at. I guess it doesn’t matter. As I scroll through, there are posts sharing the photo of Parker and me walking across the stage at the White House. Nearly all of them have hundreds of comments. I tap on a photo and scroll down.

I heard they were prom king and queen.

Wait, this is the fairy tale we all need.

I smirk and think to myself, Here’s hoping .

They literally are Captain and Mrs. America.

Do you see how he LOOKS at her?

I hand him back the phone.

“If you’re going through with this, which you have to at this point, you sure as hell better make sure people care more that she’s going to be your wife instead of caring more that she’s the president’s daughter. You better be ready to sell that story.”

I don’t think it’s a good time to mention Parker will be participating in her dad’s campaign. I’m not sure how much albuterol is left in that inhaler.

Nick continues, “Starting Saturday.”

“What’s Saturday?”

“The Rebels Foundation Gala.”

“It’s not too soon for all that?” I ask. “I mean, that’s a huge event in Boston. There’s press. A red carpet. Maybe we should?—”

Nick roars with laughter, cutting me off.

I wonder for a moment what story we’re talking about exactly—the fictional one or the one based on reality. But the next thing Nick says reminds me it’s a little bit of both.

“It’s not too soon, Fitzy. It’s almost too damn late.”