Tough shit.
Casey-Marie steps in, keeping her voice down. “Is it okay if I go wander, Mister President?”
“Sure. Scoop up some juicy gossip.”
She smiles. “You know I will.”
My detail is trying to figure out exactly where we’re supposed to be right now when a young, waifish woman who’s head-down over a tablet and wearing both a headset and the most hideously awful lime green skirtsuit hustles toward us at warp speed.
“I need the mother and father of the bride to follow me immediately,” she snaps.
Isnap. The woman must already be cleared by my detail because she wasn’t tackled halfway across the room but I’ll bedamnedif I’ll let her pull that shit with my parents.
“And who the hell areyou, exactly?” I say low enough none of the reporters can hear me.
She looks up, blanches as her eyes widen, and apparently realizes her error. “Oh, my gosh! President Woodley, I’m so sor—”
“Whereis my sister?” I lob more than a little Commander in Chief tone at her. Way more than is necessary but I’m nipping this crap in the bud right now.
“I-I—” She swallows hard. “This way, President Woodley.” She pivots on her heel and scurries off.
I put my arm around Mom and gently herd her in that direction. I know Dad and everyone else who needs to remain with me will follow along.
Leo’s amused smirk at my reaction threatens to harden my cock, too.
The now-panicked lime disaster leads us down several hallways and toward what I assume are suites reserved for these kinds of occasions.
Then, I hear it. The unmistakable shriek ofgiganticus rectorum reptilia.
Otherwise known as Bridezilla.
“What the actualhellisthisbullshit?” Stella literally screams at some hapless and as yet unseen victim.
Dad sighs. “I see Stella is herself today,” he mutters from Mom’s other side. “Unfortunately.”
Which makes Mom snicker while she pokes him in the side.
I don’t need to worry about losing sight of the world’s skinniest walking lime because it’s obvious which suite Stella’s shrill and grating rants are escaping from.
Dad leans in and keeps his voice low. “Hope Ellis knows we have a ‘no-returns’ policy.”
Iroll, laughing so hard I nearly choke.
Even Mom’s smiling now, so mission accomplished.
Good job, Dad.
One thing I’ve finally learned about my parents that my sister apparently has failed to grasp is that they don’t like a “scene.” I mean, me being POTUS is at least something they can brag about and be proud of even if they aren’t fond of the media attention and reduced privacy.
But if I was pitching a temper tantrum like my sister is?
Yeah,no. That’s the kind of emotional outburst they wouldn’t have put up with when we were kids.
The door we’re aiming for bursts open and my detail tenses, ready to intercept the young woman who is apparently the lemon partner to the lime who’s leading us. If it wasn’t for two members of my detail stepping in front of her, she would have practically bounced off me in her panicked escape from my sister’s enraged fusillade of insults.
“Guys, easy,” I say as I step aside, gently nudging Mom with me, while the agents redirect the tearful woman around our group.
Then Stella appears in the doorway, her hair and makeup done but wearing a fluffy white bathrobe and bare feet. “Elliot? What thehellare you doing back here? You’re supposed to be out there!”
