Mom and Dad wear the same outfits they wore for my swearing in. I’d assured Mom weeks ago that she wouldn’t have to buy a new dress if she didn’t want to.
I suppose I should consider myself lucky that’s the biggest concern she had.
At ten ’til noon we’re all about to make our way downstairs when one of the detail leans in and whispers something in Jordan’s ear and a scowl flickers across his features before he carefully schools his expression and nods, back to the unflappable professional.
I lean in. “What?” I whisper.
Despite his whisper, Jordan’s tone is so hard and sharp it could cut diamonds. “Mister President, Stella and Ellis just arrived. They’re pitching a fit at the front gate because Secret Service won’t allow their car and private security personnel on the grounds, and they’ll have to enter through the pedestrian gate and walk up the drive. They’re demanding special treatment and want you and your parents to meet their car when they pull up.”
The wave of rage crashing through me catches me by surprise and I step away from everyone and motion to the head of my detail to follow. I see Leo notice but he doesn’t interrupt Mom and whatever she’s saying to him.
I lean in close. “The two of them can walk in,” I tell him, “or they can turn their asses around and go home. Unless one of them’s in a leg cast, donotsend so much as a fucking golf cart after them. And their private security doesn’t step a goddamned toe on the grounds or you tackle and taze them.”
Many of the guests here today walked in from the front gate the way others normally do, including White House employees and people who work or visit the West Wing. The few who didn’t, they followed the instructions to coordinate—in advance—their arrival by car with Secret Service, including requesting a ride from them, if necessary. We even offered an off-site staging area and ferried people over from there on buses as needed so people wouldn’t have to walk.
Then another idea hits me. “And,” I add, “drag it out. I don’t care what you have to do, or what excuse you use, but they don’t enter the building until after Leo and I say ‘I do.’ And once they’re allowed inside they get held just outside the East Room until the ceremony ends and everyone starts moving toward the reception. They should have gotten their asses here sooner.”
I guess it was too much to expect the prima donna wouldn’t try to grab all the attention today of all days.
Well, this time it’s going to backfire on her. Her wedding might have been a damned train wreck, but mine will not.
The agent nods and I’ll give him credit that he almost manages to completely suppress his amused smirk. “Yes, Mister President.” He turns and takes a few steps away before speaking into his wrist mic to relay my orders.
I turn to find Jordan staring at me with an arched eyebrow.
I shake my head and raise my voice, my smile absolutely genuine. “Let’s get downstairs, shall we?” My gaze meets Leo. “It’s about damned time I make an honest man out of this guy.”
I know from the evil smile spreading across Leo’s face that he’s correctly guessed this had something to do with Stella and Ellis.
* * *
We didn’t havea rehearsal dinner, or even a rehearsal. Jordan and Leo blocked out where everything would happen and all we have to do is stand or sit where we’re told.
Makes life easier on all of us and means we didn’t have to cost the Secret Service extra time and money dragging people here twice in two days.
Downstairs, Jordan has everyone else go on ahead to the East Room, where we’re getting hitched. When it’s just the three of us and our detail standing there, he glances around. No photographers right here with us because they’ve all been sent inside.
Jordan drops his voice. “Deep breaths,” he tells me. Then he smiles, removes his ring from his right hand, slides it onto his left ring finger, and waggles his fingers in the air to show me.
I know Leo’s smile matches mine. “Thanks,” I say. Then I mouth, “Love you.”
He drops me a wink. “Love you, too,” he silently mouths back. “All you have to do is walk in with Leo and down the aisle to the riser. Easy-peasy.” He turns and follows everyone else into the room.
Leo holds out his hand to me. “Ready, pet?” he softly asks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so calm and contented.
Sohappy.
I take a deep breath and nod, slipping my hand into his. “Ready, Master,” I whisper back.
This isreal.
This ishappening.
Leo squeezes my hand as he leads me into the East Room while a string quartet begins playing something light and airy. Mozart, I think. They didn’t go overboard on the flowers, thankfully, but there is white bunting and bows strategically placed around the room, giving it a joyful air.
It’s perfect.
As we walk down the center aisle together I realize Shae stands at the front of the room, waiting on the low riser with everyone else who’s standing up with us.
