If anyone gets married in the Rose Garden during my term, it’s going to beme.
Now deep in thought I return to my desk. I don’t want to reveal this to Leo because I don’t want that on his plate.
Because he’s just as protective of me as Jordan is. Even more importantly, he has the skills, knowledge, and contacts to swiftly and silently dole out the revenge he might feel is warranted on my behalf and I don’t want him getting caught up in something.
My men love me but this battle with Stella is one I don’t want them fighting for me.
Not yet, at least.
I mean, it’s a battle I’d rather not have to fight at all but my sister being the political creature she is, and without Grace Martin for her to partner with, it doesn’t shock me at all that she’d gravitate toward someone like Ellis McMurtry and his ilk when she’s found other doors slammed in her face.
Does it make me a shitty brother to hope this blows back on her and bites her in the ass?
Personally, I’d love nothing more than for her to step one toe over the line and run afoul of lobbying laws to get herself kicked out of her job and essentially banished in disgrace from the DC political scene.
I’d enjoy the hell out of that shit. You know that gif of the antelope munching on popcorn? That’d totally be me watching her twist in the wind.
Without feeling an ounce of guilt over it, either.
I mean, I want no physical harm to come to her, obviously. I don’t like my sister but a few hopeful tendrils of brotherly love for her still tenaciously cling to my heart. In this one area, at least, I hold no illusions that there will likely never be a tearful and genuine reconciliation between us. I’ve made peace with that and would be pleasantly surprised if it ever happened.
Not to mention extremely suspicious. Yet it doesn’t plague my soul the way my unfinished business with my father does, I suppose, because I long ago came to grips with the reality of my relationship with Stella.
Even though I’m starting to wonder if the likelihood of ever having a “good” relationship with Stella is greater than the chances of me ever hearing the words“I’m proud of you”fall unprompted from my father’s mouth.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Three daysafter Kev drops by, Casey-Marie walks into my private study, closes the door, and turns to me.
“We need to talk, Elliot.”
When we’re alone and in private I insist she calls me by my first name instead of Mister President, or President Woodley. Especially if it’s dealing with something personal and not official business.
Mostly because I need friends I can trust. While I get it that in front of others she needs to uphold protocols I’d rather have my friend be the one talking to me whenever possible.
Especially since she knows my personal situation and has been living a similar one for years now.
I sit back in my desk chair as my stomach tightens over her tone. “What’s going on?”
She heads over to the sofa and sits. “I know Kev spoke with you about Stella.”
Shit. I was afraid of this—the other shoe dropping. I nod.
“Have you spoken with her since then?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“I just received a phone call from Congressman Ellis McMurtry’s office,” she continues. “They want to coordinate their schedule with yours so you can be present at Stella’s wedding.”
“Terrific,” I mutter. “When do they want to do this?”
“Before May.”
“They didn’t ask to hold it here, did they?”
She smirks. “No, thank god. They’re having it in Florida.” She chuckles. “Considering what a jackass McMurtry is, a Florida Man wedding is pretty fitting when you think about it.”
“Maybe we’ll luck out and an early tropical storm will rain it out.” I lace my fingers together and rest my hands on top of my head. “I suppose I should be the bigger man and invite the lovebirds here to have congratulatory coffee or some bullshit, shouldn’t I?”
