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  "I just can't believe you flew to Colorado to lecture me about something so stupid," I snap. "I'm an adult. Even if I were in a relationship with Vi, which is obviously silly, it wouldn't be any of your business."

  "Not my business?" she huffs.

  "My personal life is no one's business," I protest, suddenly more filled with bravado than I ever have been. "No one's. Not yours, or dad's, or the press, or anyone's. And if I were seeing Vi, it would be my relationship."

  "So you are seeing Vi." My mother's eyes go wide.

  "I'm not seeing Vi," I say, exasperated. "But if I was, I wouldn't stop just because you didn't think it was politically expedient."

  Look at me, all brave and… full of shit. Brave enough to talk about what I wouldn't do in the case of dating Vi, not brave enough to come clean about Noah and Aiden and I.

  "You're not seeing Vi," my mother repeats, her voice skeptical.

  "I'm not seeing Vi," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "She kissed me on the cheek. It's not like we were making out at the event. The whole thing is more than ridiculous."

  "Grace Monroe Sullivan," my mother cries. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but your language ill-befits a woman of your breeding."

  "My breeding?" I laugh. "I'm not a horse."

  She ignores the comment. "Brandon Redding. Harvard and Yale. He's going to be seen in public with you. You've been dating for three months, keeping things quiet so as not to distract from the campaign. You're hopeful about where the relationship is going and you can see a future with him. He's already been briefed. He'll pick you up at seven o'clock tomorrow night. Paparazzi are on notice."

  "I'm not going out with some guy you've hired to play my boyfriend," I protest, appalled.

  She waves at me dismissively. "He's doing it for free."

  "I'm not going out with him, mother."

  She ignores me. "He'll take you out this weekend, and he's already been told to clear his schedule for the Fourth of July. That will be your introduction to the Washington crowd."

  "I'm not–"

  She's out the door before I can even finish my sentence.

  Later, my father calls me. “Gracie, I heard about your mother’s visit.”

  "Your wife is insane. I'm not being set up with some guy for PR purposes, Dad."

  "You know your mother," he says. "She thinks it'll be good press. It will be good press. You're not seeing anyone, are you? She swore you weren't seeing anyone. Brandon is from a good family – he's even attractive, too. It’s not like she set you up with an ugly man."

  "No. I'm not seeing anyone," I lie.

  "So what does it matter? It's one date, Gracie. Do it for me and I'll owe you."

  "You'll owe me," I repeat flatly.

  "I'll owe you," he says again. "The President of the United States will owe you a favor. What do you need? Does the foundation need more donors? Is there another event I can attend?"

  "Yes," I say, thinking of the quarterly report and the decrease in donations. "I mean, no. I don't need you to attend functions or lean on one of your corporate buddies."

  "I'd never do that," my father says, his tone the same one he uses when he talks to the press. "In fact, I'm shocked that you'd even suggest something like that."

  More of my dad's ass-covering in case the NSA is listening in, even though this is a secure phone line. I think he does it without even thinking about it now, his self-preservation instinct. I roll my eyes hard. "I'm not doing it, Dad. You can figure something else out."

  "Why are you being so difficult, Gracie?" he asks. "It's not like you. You've always understood that we all do what it takes to help the campaign. The campaign is the important thing."

  "Yeah, it’s always the important thing," I blurt out, before he can stop me, or before I can chicken out and just go along with his grand plan. "Dad? I have to go.”

  36

  Aiden

  “I can’t believe she’s doing this,” I whisper to Noah.

  “I can hear you,” Grace whispers back. “I’m literally standing right behind you.”

  “We just can’t believe you wanted to come to West Bend for the Fourth of July,” Noah says. “Or that you didn’t have something to attend at the White House.”

  A look of irritation passes across her face, but I can’t tell if she’s irritated at us or at the mention of the White House. The First Lady showed up at her house the other day, I know that much, and Grace was grumpy as hell afterward. It took three orgasms before she was less stressed out. Then when Noah mentioned the Fourth of July celebration in West Bend, Grace agreed immediately, surprising both of us. She shrugged off any mention of the White House celebration, saying that her parents didn’t decide where she could spend the holidays.

  Noah and I stayed far away from that topic of conversation ever since.

  "Boys!" Bess calls. She walks from the living room to the entryway, her arms outstretched wide, drawing Aiden and I in for hugs before she turns to Grace. "And Ms. Sullivan, we are just so honored to have you here."

  Grace blushes as Bess hugs her without blinking. "Mrs. Ashby, call me Grace," she says. "And I'm the one who should be thanking you for letting me join you for dinner. I hope my security wasn't too much of an imposition."

  "Well, it's not every day my house gets swept for bugs," Bess says, putting her hands on her hips. "At least not the listening-device kind of bugs anyway. And call me Bess, everyone does – or Mama Ashby. No one calls me Mrs., though, not even Paul."

  Paul pokes his head out of the living room. "Get in here, now."

  "Holy shit, Dad, are you wearing a tie?" Noah asks.

  "Language, Noah Ashby," Bess snaps. "I'm sorry. My boys weren't actually raised by wolves, although they act like it."

  Grace covers a smile with her hand. "It's all right. I've gotten used to it."

  Bess stops for a second midstride, and I can't see her face because her back is toward me, but I know exactly why she stopped. She just caught what Grace said – I've gotten used to it.

  If there's anyone who would see right through all of this bullshit and our "just acquaintances" story, it's Bess. She's sharp as hell.

  I clear my throat. "Where's Annie? I thought she'd be all over Grace the second she stepped through the door." I turn to Grace. "My sister is really into politics, so be prepared. I'm pretty sure she thinks you're a real celebrity."

  "What are you talking about?" Grace grins. "I'm totally a real celebrity."

  "It's nice how you've remained so modest and unassuming," Noah quips.

  "The backyard is all set up," Bess says. "Now, I know you said it couldn't be a big thing, what with Grace coming and all, but you know Annie. It's just a few of her friends. We tried to keep it to a minimum, though."

  "Mom," Noah warns. "It can't be a big thing."

  "It's okay," Grace says.

  "Noah Ashby, give me a little bit of credit," Bess says, shaking her head. "You said this needed to be private, so your father confiscated cell phones and locked them up. No cameras, no phones."

  "Oh, you shouldn't have to go to all that trouble," Grace says.

  "Trouble?" Bess asks. "I've been wanting to take cell phones from that kid and her friends for years. All the kids have those stupid phones in their faces all the time, with their selfies and their twittering and their chats and snaps. I want to see my Annie before she flits off to Europe for two months – and I want to see her face without a phone blocking my view. So, taking their cell phones away from them was my pleasure."

  "Well, then, I'm glad I could be the excuse for cell phone confiscation," Grace says, smiling.

  As we follow Paul and Bess inside, Bess puts her arm around Grace's shoulder. "Now, my boys tell me that you're neighbors. They're not being rude and inconsiderate neighbors, are they?"

  Noah groans. "Mom, do you think she'd be here if she hated us?"

  "Grace, you don't have to answer her questions," I tell her.

  "I'm not interrogating her, boys," Bess says, smili