I polish off my second glass of champagne—because my mother told me to be a lady when I ordered a vodka on the rocks even though she’s throwing this party with a full bar.

The light, bubbly champagne isn’t masking the taste of Fitz that still lingers on my tongue. It doesn’t wash away the feel of his hands as they slid from my face, down my neck and sides, digging into my waist. Even though I touched up my makeup, I swear the scent of him has somehow permeated the pores of my cheeks, my chin. My face smells like him. The crisp and masculine notes are unavoidable and intoxicating.

I try to say his name like I want him to stop, but it comes out in sync with every other part of me. And Fitz meets me at every point, as if we’re in a race.

He drags his mouth away from mine, sweeping it down my neck, leaving a trail of kisses and licks and nips that have me squirming.

“Red line,” I pant, but clutch the back of his head when his lips meet my collarbone, as we fall onto the bed.

“Red line,” I mewl, even though I spread my legs wider so his hard length can press against me.

“Red line,” I whimper as his warm fingers dance up my thighs.

Fitz’s hand slides up my body, over the dress before he cages me in strong forearms, my chest heaving in anticipation of seeing his face, but I can’t handle it. I turn, sinking my teeth into the flesh below his wrist.

He paints my ear with his warm breath and husky voice. “Give me that lipstick. I’ll draw you a new one.”

“Can I get you a refill?”

Yanked out of my thoughts, I find Congressman Cam now leaning against the table I stand at. “Cam.”

He leans forward, for a half hug that’s one hundred percent full of awkwardness on my part. “It’s good to see you, Parker. It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” I say, when he pulls away. “I think the last time I saw you, you were in a unitard.”

Cam laughs, running a hand up to push back his combed, blond hair. “Yeah, well, I’ve retired the uni. But you’ll still find me Sculling on the Potomac every now and then when I’m down here.”

Still a semi-douchebag then .

“Silly me,” I say. “I didn’t think civil servants had much downtime.”

“Very little. Obviously, my constituents are my priority.”

I nod, looking around. “I’m sure even though it’s after business hours, you’re working now. Seems many of your colleagues are here.”

“We all appreciate your father.”

“You appreciate what the Montgomery name can do for you,” I translate. I’m sure the dozens of senators and congressmen here tonight could care less about my engagement. They’re just putting in the work for potential presidential appointments.

“I was hoping to catch up when I knew you were in town. I just didn’t imagine doing it at your engagement party. Congratulations, by the way.” He nods at my ring. “I never thought Fitzy had it in him.”

The table moves with a thump and Cam jumps. But I know, Josh—all three hundred pounds of him—is all bark, and no bite.

I clear my throat. “Cam, this is Josh Lawrence. Josh, this is Congressman”—I fold my lips in for a minute—“Congressman Holdings. We all went to high school together.”

Josh doesn’t lift a hand when Cam does. I nudge him with my hip. “Fitz told me. I heard you rowed crew .”

I stomp on his foot. “Would you excuse me? I?—”

“I was looking for you.” A warm set of arms snake around my waist. “I need to steal my gorgeous bride for a minute.”

Has he always sounded that way? Fitz’s voice is so deep and smooth I’d listen to him read a grocery list on repeat.

Fitz’s lips find my cheek. “How is going, Cam?” he says against my skin, flooding my body with goosebumps. I secure my hand on top of his that are now locked against my middle and he only tightens his hold.

I want to sneak away, to excuse myself, but I can’t. It was easier before. God, it was so much easier. But now I know what it’s like to have Fitz steal my breath and swallow it down like it was meant for him all along. Now I know how being beneath his weight is somehow a delicious mixture of too much and not enough all at the same time.

“I need you outside for a second. Josh, look after Congressman Cam for me, would you?”

Josh’s face hardens. “Happy to.”

I smile awkwardly around the room at those who stare while Fitz leads me outside onto the path rounding the south lawn. He stops and turns but doesn’t let go of my hand. He takes the other so he holds both.

“Is someone watching?” It’s a stupid question. This is the White House. It’s not a matter of someone watching. In a hidden room, a bunker, an off-site, there’s probably a team of people looking at us in this exact moment.

Fitz shakes his head.

I look down at his hands holding mine. “What was that about?”

“Are you cold?” Fitz ignores my question, letting go of my hands and rubbing my shoulders. “You have goosebumps.”

I would think Fitz is lying if I didn’t look down and see the small prickles on the top of my chest, something you definitely don’t see on a late June evening in Washington, DC. It’s like there’s a disconnect between my mind and body, between reality and fiction. I can’t quite feel anything. Except Fitz.

“You didn’t have to send your lineman to protect me. Cam is harmless.”

Fitz’s jaw tics.

I sigh. “Fitz…I’m serious. Cam doesn’t matter.”

I watch his lips disappear into a fine line and I scoff, feeling his protectiveness is too much, all things considering. But then I remember earlier.

“Did you have a crush on me in high school?”

His hands freeze for a moment before he drops them and laughs. It’s nervous, a little awkward, the kind you produce when you want to redirect the question to another matter entirely.

Part of me finds it oddly adorable. But that’s surpassed by something greater—confusion.

“I’m only asking?—”

“Parker,” Fitz interjects. “You were pretty and smart and a badass. On any given day, I’m sure there were a dozen Thacher boys crushing on you. Including Cam. ”

“I’d like to think I’m still smart.”

“You are,” Fitz says without missing a beat. “And for the record, now you’re beautiful, not just pretty.”

I shake my head. “You keep doing that.”

Fitz’s thick brows creep together. “Doing what?”

I lift my hands slightly in frustration. “Talking like you mean every word.”

And making me believe you .

I suddenly realize that’s what’s been eating away at me. Me . I’m falling for the bullshit I convinced Fitz to sell in the first place. But it’s one thing to buy it from the outside, to ooh and ahh and call us America’s Sweethearts. On the inside, it’s different. It’s kind of terrifying.

“I want to make sure we’re still telling the same story Fitz.”

Because upstairs, after that kiss, I worry we’ve lost the plot.

“We’re planning to go to Vegas tomorrow night,” I add.

I survey Fitz’s face, looking for clues, searching for everything I might’ve missed that could tell me this is more to him than it is to me.

“We’re telling the same story, Parker.”

“The same fake story.”

I watch the swell of his neck. “Yes,” he says.

“The one where we end . Not where we end up together. ” I have to work hard to expel all the air from my lungs. “We’re friends, right?”

And there it is, not in his face, but in his body—a soft, gentle flinch. Fitz’s chest expands and relaxes with a deep breath. “Where is this coming from?”

“From two flights up and down the hall. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that,” I tell him. “I was being playful. I got caught up in the moment and it’s been a while…”

It might have been a while since I felt the weight of a man against me. But it’s been since never that anyone ever looked at me like Fitz is now—like I’m everything he says I am—and maybe that’s the most terrifying part.

“I’m sure you’d love it if we could keep things casual?—”

Fitz shakes his head so intensely I lose my train of thought. “I don’t want anything casual with you, Parker.”

There he goes again.

“Except your friendship.”

I’m struck with relief, but I need Fitz’s certainty to let myself drown in it.

“Friends,” I say, “they don’t do that kind of thing.”

“They don’t marry each other under false pretenses either,” Fitz quips before sighing. “I guess I’m a really good friend.”

“The best, Fitzy. And that’s why I’d hate to mess this up.” I pause, stopping myself from reminding him that we’re not endgame, that we’re abiding by an end date. “I’d hate to lose you after I lose you.”

* * *

I’d love to splash my face with the cold water I have running from the sink, but considering this party still has at least another hour to go. Instead, I hold my hands beneath the stream, hoping it will cool my entire body off.

I reach for one of the carefully folded towels and stop, staring at the ring on my finger that’s gotten serious attention tonight.

As it should. It’s unique and stunning.

It’s more than Fitz ever should’ve given me.

Friends, friends, friends , I chant to myself. Good friends. Really good friends. The kind who support each other no matter what .

I keep those words on replay in my mind as I open my small evening bag, reaching for my lipstick to reapply before leaving the bathroom.

“I’m sorry.”

Mr. Foller’s words hit me before he even does, and he reaches out to steady me by the shoulder even though I’m fine on my own.

I don’t like it one bit.

I step to the side, but his hand still lingers a little too long.

“The men’s room is that way if you’re looking for it.” I motion in the opposite direction of the corridor.

“Actually,” Mr. Foller begins. “I was looking for you.”

Tension invades my body immediately.

He brushes his hand along his sports jacket before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping you and I could have a talk. It’s about Fitz.”

I move to go around him. “I’ll find him for you.”

Foller sidesteps with me. “I think this is a conversation better left between the two of us. I’m not sure he’d be all that happy to hear what I have to say.”

“Usually that’s a pretty good sign it’s best if you say nothing at all,” I snap. “Your relationship with Fitz doesn’t have anything to do with me. I support him with his career, but I’m not involved in football. I never have and never will be.”

Foller’s eyes widen. “You can’t possibly believe that you don’t have any influence on him. Not now, Parker. But I suppose”—he pauses—“your issue was always your skewed perception of reality.”

Suddenly, I’m a teenager again, sitting on the couch in Mr. Foller’s office. I’m being told there the same thing I am at home.

Get in line.

Behave.

But here’s the thing. I’m not a kid anymore. And if Foller thinks he has a big set of balls on him, he’s about to find out I have bigger ones.

“We want to keep the momentum from the Super Bowl up,” he goes on. “I’m finding, these days, he’s a bit distracted by the campaign, by the wedding, by you . I’m not sure a wedding right now is best for him. It might be best to push it slightly, until right after next season ends. I want to make sure whatever years Fitz has left on the field are his best yet and that he goes down in history as a top quarterback and not, well, the president’s son-in-law.”

I smile politely, taking a step forward. “I’m sure he’d be absolutely furious to know you’re trying to intimidate the woman he’s about to marry outside the room where our engagement is being celebrated. Something like that might cost you more than just an invitation to our wedding. Now, if you don’t want me to tell him that you have the audacity to corner me, you’re going to step aside and let me pass, and the only thing you’ll ever say to me again is Hello, Mrs. Rhodes. It’s nice to see you.”

I know I have options. I could push past him. I could scream. But I want Foller to know he’s not the one running the game here. I am.

So I wait, and I don’t dare break eye contact. And even though I know the only reason Foller does step aside is because noise echoes along the wood-paneled walls of the hallway, I take pride in the fact I don’t look back as I walk away even though I’m desperate to. I want to see the look on his face, catch how he reacts when I, once again, don’t do as I’m told. But this time is different.

Fitz’s eyes find mine as I walk back into the hall, and I can tell by the way they settle and relax that he was looking for me, but that only lasts for a second before his eyebrows crinkle closer together when Foller walks past.

There’s a ding. And another ding. And because my mother loves to put people in their place and remind everyone they’re in her home, four more dings even after the room has quieted down.

Fitz tips his head toward the front of the room, and I take my place at his side while everyone clears the center for the real star of the show.

Fitz leans closer. “Did Foller say something to you?”

I turn, silencing Fitz with a soft kiss. “Smile and look like you love me, even though we’re friends,” I whisper. “America’s watching.”

Defeat is written all over Fitz’s face. “I apologize in advance,” I tell him, but for what I’m not sure. Kissing him. Not talking about Foller. My mother, who is smiling like she’s god damn Miss America herself. The room has quieted, yet she still doesn’t speak, keeping her lips pressed together as her mouth stretches wide, like her smile is battling to keep the trembles at bay. At her side, my dad raises a hand, banishing a tear from his eye with the back of his knuckle.

Soft oh s echo around the room, but for my mother, they might as well be applause.

Now it’s me who grows tense. I only know that because Fitz gently rubs his hand up and down my side. But it’s not enough to loosen my muscles and unlock my jaw as I realize, in my efforts to get what I want, I’ve given my parents everything they need—a different platform. The doting mom and dad. This is supposed to be an intimate gathering, but the White House photographer is in the corner with a huge lens. This will be posted, shared, used for fodder that helps better them and doesn’t help me .

I suddenly feel sick even though I did this to myself.

“I’m with you,” Fitz whispers.

I tilt my head up. He doesn’t say anything else, but I can see it in his eyes— rebels only . And in this moment, I feel it. It’s him and me, just like it’s always been, just like it would’ve continued to be if we hadn’t been forced apart.

Mom clears her throat. “First, I’d like to thank everyone for taking the time to come tonight to celebrate the engagement of our loveliest pair—Parker and Fitz. I always joke to Walt that even though there are hundreds of people in the White House on any given day, it can feel quite cold and lonely. You being here, it makes this house feel much more like a home.”

It’s hard for me not to snort. Almost everyone came because they want something.

I gulp and have to wonder if I’m any different. I’m here because I want something too.

“It’s no secret that being a mother is the most important role in my life.”

Fitz’s hand falls from my waist and he takes my hand, undoubtedly, I’m sure, to prevent me from raising it to cough bullshit into my fist.

“And also the most challenging. From the moment she was born, Parker has kept me on my toes. As a newborn, she refused to be put down. As a toddler, she ran before she could even walk. And, as a teenager”—Mom pauses—“those with grown children, I’m sure you can relate.”

I want to crawl out of my skin. I want to ask which part they relate to. Was it the conditional love guaranteed only to the well-behaved daughter who never questioned anything? Was it the arranging of kidnapping to hide me away so I wouldn’t tarnish the Montgomery name while I was struggling?

“But what I saw in my daughter, what I often grew frustrated with, is what I realized the boy next door fell in love with at some point.”

There are soft sighs in the room.

“Walt and I were talking last night about how special a love like theirs truly is—lifelong friends who grew up together and now are growing together, creating something so special that makes our small family so proud and so complete. Because at the end of the day, on the good ones and the bad, that’s what life is about—family. Family is who you turn to, who you share life’s happiest and saddest moments with—and all the bumps in the middle along the way.”

What do you know about family? I want to scream. My mother wanted nothing to do with my lows. And my happiests? She only cared when they suited her, when they helped her, when they made her look good. There are only two people in my life who were there with me for both.

And only one of them is still around, still by my side while I continue to make things difficult like always. I tug on Fitz’s hand for his attention. Something sweet passes between us, like a shared beacon of truth in a dark sea of lies. But it’s fleeting. My gut twists when he immediately looks away.

I’m not able to give it too much thought because my mother’s voice quickly cuts in. “What I want to say to you, my dearest Parker and Fitz, is nothing is more important than family. Nothing will ever be more important to either of you than each other.” She sighs. “And, of course, my future grandchildren.”

As the audience laughs, Fitz pulls me against him. “That wasn’t bad.”

“No,” I say. “It wasn’t.”

But what it wasn’t, I remind myself , was the least bit true.