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“You didn’t have to get us anything, Eleanor.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s more of a regift.” Mom slides on her glasses and reaches into the small shopping bag she’s been carrying around while we walked around DC for the last hour and a half. “I’m gifting you back all your memories.”

Across from me, Parker takes the first picture from the stack of photos Mom placed on the table. Immediately, she brings her free hand up to her mouth, and I watch as the mood in her eyes shift.

“Isn’t that one wonderful?” Mom asks. “The two of you look like you’re about to get married. That was outside St. Joseph’s after your holy communion.”

Parker holds up the picture for me to see.

“Was this the last day you were taller than me?” I ask.

“No.” My mom hands me another photo across the table. “This was in fifth grade.”

Parker sticks her tongue out playfully. “Nice try.”

Mom continues, “Field day at school, maybe? I’m not sure why I would’ve been there otherwise. Oh, and this one, you two down at the dock. The sun was setting, and you just refused to stop jumping in. We never could wrangle you both inside.”

It’s then I realize there are so many pictures of us outside—the dock, the stone beach at the bottom of Captain’s Cottage. There are photos of failed lemonade stands, where Honey and Mom were our only customers, cartwheel contests down the small hill. But it’s the ones with the ladder leading to the clubhouse that I linger on, even if they’re a little blurry and out of focus. They’re clear to me, as is the sign Parker hung there.

Rebels Only.

“I like this one.” Mom holds up another for us to see. This photo is just of Parker. “I’m not sure how it ended up with me. Honey must’ve accidently given it to me.”

I take the photo, shaking my head, before passing it to Parker.

“That’s the flower farm by the barn I used to ride at.” She looks at herself a decade ago, facing away from the camera, in a field of sunflowers. “We always bought a bunch after every lesson.”

Parker runs her finger around the edge of the picture and I press my knee to hers beneath the table.

Mom slides another over. “And this?”

“Was that the eight grade dance?” I ask.

Mom nods. “I chaperoned. You two just stood dancing side by side but never together.” This gets a kick out of her, and she cackles. “If we only knew then.”

If I only told her then , I wonder before backtracking. But man, was I awkward with braces. Thank god I didn’t.

“This one must’ve been before junior prom.” Mom hands a picture to Parker. “I’m sure you hear all the time how much you look like your grandmother.”

I find Honey standing behind Parker, holding her shoulders. In typical Honey fashion, she’s dressed to the nines like she’s the one off to a ball. And at the edge of the photo, I see the lip of a martini glass. It makes me smile. But then I remember, this was just after she first got sick. Honey died just two months later.

“There’s a lot of her in you,” I say to Parker.

I never had a reason to pay attention to the similarities before. Madeline got Candice’s blonde hair and light features, but Parker’s chestnut locks and dark eyes came from her father’s side. She and Honey share the same shaped nose, and as I stare at Honey’s mouth open in the photo, I realize now they shared the same laugh too.

“I’m sure she would’ve loved to see you two now. She always used to say, ‘Eleanor, I apologize in advance because I know Parker will break Fitz’s heart.’ I’m sure she’d never be happier to be wrong than right now.” She sighs, motioning at the stack of photos. “I mean, look at you two. What a love story. And to think it hasn’t even really begun yet.”

It hasn’t , I think to myself. Because even after everything, Parker still isn’t mine .

Parker clears her throat. “It technically didn’t begin then either.”

Mom laughs. “Of course it did, sweetheart. Fitz always had the biggest crush on you.”

I try to hide my wince by reaching for my glass of water. It’s either not cold enough or the temperature of my ears has reached new heights because I start to sweat.

Parker tilts her head to me.

“In fourth grade,” I spit out while thinking and every day after. “But to be fair, Lucy Whitmore broke a lot of hearts when she only gave Joey Patterson a Valentine.”

Parker cackles. “Oh, so I was your second choice?”

I didn’t say Lucy Whitmore broke my heart, I think to tell her. But instead, I grab the menu. “Should we order?”

* * *

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk back to the hotel?” Parker asks, adjusting the strap of her purse that hangs across her body so it doesn’t bunch the sleeveless blouse she wears. “I can have someone drop you?—"

Mom declines, “No, don’t worry about me. I want to get in as much of the city as I can. I fly back out to Arizona early in the morning. You go now and be with your family. I’m sure there’s much to do.”

“We’ll send a car to pick you up. They’ll call when they’re downstairs.” Parker gives my mother a hug, the bag of photos hanging off her wrist. “Thank you for the pictures. They really mean so much to me.”

I reach for Parker’s hand when she lets go of mom. “You alright to ride back on your own?” My eyes move to Agent Samuels standing against the far wall of the restaurant, near the entrance to the hallway leading to what I assume is the kitchen and back entrance. I lift my phone.

“It’s okay. I told them we’re walking. I’d go with you but it’s in the opposite direction. Take your time.”

“I’ll try to be back in an hour,” I tell her and as soon as the words leave my lips, the air around us grows thick, and I’m suffocated now by the gazes of all the patrons at the restaurant. I’ve gotten pretty used to tuning them out. But now that feels a lot harder in a smaller, more intimate space where my mother is present.

Kiss her. I’m supposed to kiss her—a quick press of my lips to hers, just something small enough for a tiny goodbye.

But when I lean in to do that, Parker tilts her face to the side, and my lips find her cheek.

Her fucking cheek .

I barely have the chance to even process it before Parker steps back, winding through the few tables and into the hallway.

“Let’s go, Fitz,” Mom says.

I nod, leading her back to front door. “I think it’s this way,” I say as we walk to our right down the street.

“You should probably figure this place out. You might be spending some time down here over the next four and a half years.” She drops her voice to a whisper as the sidewalk in front of us grows more crowded.

I try my best to smile at the curious, well-meaning people who look at us intently as pass. “I doubt we’ll be down here much. Neither of us is all that crazy about DC. I do get to go on Air Force One tomorrow though. That basically ends my presidential bucket list.” I wave to someone calling my name from a car.

But even though I don’t particularly care for the nation’s capital, the true words sour my stomach. I try not to give the feeling too much attention, but it grows, screaming.

And there’s a chance we’ll be divorced.

“Is everything alright, Fitz?”

I turn my head. “Parker and her parents, they aren’t incredibly close.”

“Didn’t look that way judging by the photos of that fundraiser you went to with them,” Mom says. “It was all over the paper. All the talk is about your wedding.”

I think back to the quick stint I did in Florida. Of course, Walter and Candice aren’t going to start something with Parker on a night meant to kick off his reelection campaign. But the camera never tells the whole story, like how Candice only spoke to Parker that night when she told her to go mingle with so-and-so. And any time the opportunity arose, Candice didn’t waste a minute talking about the wedding she’s planning for us before the season fully kicks off.

I eye my mom. “I have to tell you something.”

“Now? Not before you got engaged?”

“Things with Parker are complicated.”

She nods. “I’m not that insulted. You’ve always kept your romantic life to yourself. But I’d like to be in the loop a little so I don’t have to find out about it in the paper.”

“We’re eloping soon.” I don’t give specifics. “Around the Fourth of July.”

Mom stops. “What about the wedding?”

“I told you. Parker and her family aren’t on the best of terms. We figured the engagement party was enough. We don’t even want a big wedding.”

“I see,” she says, looking forward and beginning to walk again. “And I take it Candice and Walter know nothing about this?”

I pocket my hands. “They will soon.”

Mom hums beside me. “I’ll only say this once, and then we’ll never talk about it again, alright? I never liked Candice and Walt,” she whispers, as if everyone on the street is on a first-name basis with the president and First Lady. “They were always gone. Leaving those girls with their grandmother. Clara meant well, don’t get me wrong. But children who grow up seeing their parents choose something other than them? It’s not right. That stays with you.”

I stuff my hands into my pockets. “Parker’s childhood was a little unconventional, I guess. But nothing bad ever really happened with Honey. Not when I was there. Parker loved her a lot.”

Mom sighs. “I know she did. That’s what I mean. After she passed away, they handled everything wrong. Poor thing was self-destructing?—"

“Let’s not talk about it. It doesn’t matter now.”

I’d rather not sour the brief time we have together by reminding Mom I’m not sure she handled everything right by letting Coach dictate every aspect of my life. Sometimes the best you can do isn’t always the right option.

My phone buzzes and I look at it quickly, but ignore the message.

COACH

Any answer about the Boston Journal?

Beside me, Mom sighs, knowing where my mind went. “She had something to fall back on Fitz. You… Coach Foller never wanted to see you get mixed up in the wrong things. Not when you had such a bright future ahead. And it all worked out, didn’t it?”

I know her words would hit so different if I actually were with Parker instead of pretending to be.

* * *

When the elevators open, I wonder if we should skip Vegas and just hit the courthouse right now. I don’t think I’ve seen Parker look more beautiful, or bridal for that matter, wearing a white knit sleeveless dress that cuts a V down her neck, revealing warm skin and a galaxy of light freckles.

Parker shakes her head, narrowing her eyes, which radiate more warmth with the makeup. Her red-painted lips pucker in thought. “What’s wrong?”

“The better question would be what’s right .”

The answer, I tell myself, is you.

“What?”

I shake my head and step inside. “Nothing, it’s just… uh, wild to be here,” I lie.

“Why?” Parker asks. “You were here before. When you helped me pack by things.”

I follow her as she keeps walking. “Yeah, but this time, I’m sleeping here,” I whisper, looking around. “Are we staying in the Lincoln Bedroom?”

Parker snorts. “No. In the West Room. I’d rather sleep in a rat-infested motel, but Mom was pretty firm on this. I figured I’d pick other battles as long as you’re here.”

With my hands in my pockets, I let my eyes roam around the Residences as Parker leads me down a hall with closed doors.

“But,” she continues, “there’s a small issue with the room.”

“In the White House . How awful could it be?”

Parker halts in front of a door, slowly turning the knob. Still in the hallway, I peek in, my eyes drawn to the light shining through a large window flanked by thick curtains. They fall to the chair in the corner, the lamp behind it, the small table beside it. I step in, seeing another open door with marble floors beyond. I’m not sure what the issue is—nice light, smells good, ensuite bathroom…

Then it hits me.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I can’t exactly ask for a blow up mattress. I didn’t really think about there being only one bed.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No,” Parker insists. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll put a pillow in the middle, and everything will be fine.”

I scratch my head. Yeah, a pillow isn’t really going to work for me.

“We’ll deal with it later.” Parker waves a hand. “You should probably get ready. We’re doing pictures before guests arrive.”

I toss my phone onto the bed beside one of Parker’s small travel bags. “What’s this?” I’ve barely touched the metal, rectangular contraption with the chain before Parker snatches it.

“It’s a lock.” She stuffs it into the pouch.

“A lock?”

“Yeah. An extra one. You wedge it into the door. It makes it pretty hard to break in.”

“Break in?” I circle my eyes around the room. “You’re worried about that here?” I ask, but then it hits me. I look at the chain hanging out of the pouch and now I know where that sound was coming from. “You use that at home?”

“I use it wherever I sleep.”

“Parker—”

She takes the pouch, zipping it shut and placing in the dresser. “Why don’t you go get ready?”

I shake my head, stonewalled again and then move to the closet. When I open the door, I expect to find my suitcase on the floor.

“Did you unpack for me?”

“Just doing my spousal duty,” Parker sings. “Put in a good word for me with the next guy, would you?”

I grip the knob of the closet door so hard it’s a second away from cracking off the hinge. From behind comes the sound of Parker’s feet padding across the rug and the pull of a zipper.

I turn around, seeing her sifting through a small pouch, then pulling out a brush before she sits down on the bed.

“What?” Parker asks when she finds me staring. “Are you okay?”

My jaw tightens. Between the kiss and the walling up hours before our engagement party, I don’t find the thought of entertaining other people funny, and I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend to.

“Fitz? What’s wrong?”

I reach up and grab my crisp white t-shirt by the back of the neck and lift it over my head.

“Nothing,” I say when Parker returns into view, her doe eyes rounded as I drop my hands to undo my belt buckle.

I’m pissed, but clearly not blinded by my anger enough to miss the way Parker’s eyes linger on my bare skin before they flee and settle on the window.

The clang of the buckle draws Parker’s eyes again, but she plays like she doesn’t notice, like she’s not bothered or affected by me unbuttoning my jeans and letting them slip down and hang below the band of my boxer briefs.

I hope I’m coming off stronger than I feel. The color of her cheeks has my knees a little weak.

It’s not that I want to torment her. But all is fair in love and a fake relationship. I don’t need the fact that she’s decided there’s already a life after me with someone else thrown in my face. If she’s going to dangle that in front of me, I can dangle something too. Within reason, of course. Because unless I plan on opening a can of worms an hour before we’re supposed to be ready for this engagement party, I can’t quite shed more clothes and let Parker see her handwriting inked into my skin. Not yet, at least.

“W-what are you doing?” Parker asks as I step over to where she sits on the bed. Her knees bump into me.

God, just the view of her looking up at me through thick, dark lashes sends the blood flowing. She’s got me wound up and in the mood to be cruel, but I know I’ve got to hold myself back from messing up her makeup in the way I really want to.

“Fitz?”

I exhale heavily through my nose. “You gave me your cheek.”

“What?”

“In the restaurant, when I went to kiss you.” I grimace. “You gave me your cheek .”

A breath of a laugh escapes her lips. “Your mom was standing right there.”

“Since when have you ever worried about what parents think? I once saw you walk into your dad’s study to steal booze while he was there on the phone.” I have her there, and she knows it. I lower my head a bit, slowly, wondering if Parker might cower, but she remains stoic and steadfast.

“I’m not sure what I did to give you the impression I’d ever be fine kissing you on the cheek in a room full of people.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I continue, “I guess it’s good this is all for show. You couldn’t handle me anyway.”

I should’ve known better than to expect some sort of flinch or a step back from Parker. Instead, her eyes narrow, their sweet honey color lit by a glint of mischievousness behind them. She’s about to try to call my bluff.

“Is that what you think?” she purrs out the question. “That I couldn’t handle you ?”

Slowly, she rises off the bed. I should take a step back to give her space, but I don’t. Her covered middle touches my bare one, and it takes everything in me to hold in the breath that’s trying to escape. And fuck, Parker can tell. Her red-painted, heart-shaped mouth smooths into a curt smile.

God, I want to ruin her lipstick. I want to be painted in it.

Pushing up on her toes, she asks, “What makes you so sure you could handle me , Fitzy?”

Fuck me . I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but I don’t because no matter where this leads, I don’t want to miss a millisecond of it.

She drops back down onto flat feet. “You’re a quarterback.” Her eyes break their lock with mine and float down my chest. “You love to control the game. But I think you forgot something.”

I swallow. “What’s that?”

“I’m the one calling the plays here, Fitzy.”

My chest rises and falls quickly. “Nothing surprises me. I’m ready for everything.”

I gulp. Except the feel of her hand pressed against my stomach and the raking of her short nails against the hair below my belly button.

Parker tips her head to the side. “Tell me, then. What’s your read on the play now?”

“You’re going to back down and tell me to get ready so we’re not late. Because you’re chicken.”

But Parker doesn’t back down, doesn’t create more space. “And what are you going to do then?”

“Go take a shower,” I answer gruffly. “A cold one.”

I’ve got no shame at this point.

She pulls her hand back, dropping it to her side. I don’t know if it’s a victory or a loss for me, but I let her know I take it as a win. “Chicken.”

Parker shakes her head. “You missed something.”

I raise an arm to scratch the back of my head because I’ve got to do something with my hands if I’m not going to run them along her body. “What’s that?”

The moment her lips crash to mine, I know she’s right. I read this play all wrong. There’s nothing chicken about Parker right now as her mouth works against mine. She’s the fucking fox in the hen house, and I’m her prey. Every bit of me. I’m victim to Parker’s lips, her breath, her teeth that nip at my lip, but I nearly pass out at the throaty whimper that I taste.

When Parker pulls back, I still find the same smile on her face. “You missed the blitz.”

Her sweet breath fans into my mouth, which is still resting open. I might’ve missed the blitz, but she doesn’t get it. The play isn’t dead.

With both hands, I cup her face and yank her lips back to mine.