"What do you think about this? Is this okay for your wedding?"
Lewinsky shoves his phone in my face, showing a photo of a tailored suit, just after I’ve wrapped my morning etings. It’s been a hectic day—expected, after what happened last night.
"Who says you’re invited?" I ask, taking my seat at the table where my lunch is waiting.
"As if there’s another person on this planet who can be your best man." He rolls his eyes and walks toward the full-length mirror in the corner, holding his phone up like he’s virtually trying the suits on himself.
"That stunt last night is really getting a lot of attention. As your press secretary, I don’t even know what to say," he adds.
I pick up my phone after taking a bite of food and send a ssage to Stannis.
[How is everything there?]
He responds quickly.
[Going smoothly, sir.]
Good.
"Whose idea was that, anyway?" Lewinsky keeps talking, his most reliable skill—which is exactly why he’s my press secretary.
"I thought you were busy. Why are you here trying on suits through photos?"
He tilts his head at . "Can’t you guess, you smug bastard?"
If Rowan were here, he would’ve already reprimanded him for his filthy mouth. Rowan has zero tolerance for Lewinsky’s brand of enthusiasm.
"Because of the ss you made last night, my office was bombarded with calls from every dia outlet asking why the hell you were with a celebrity," he continues. "I couldn’t even take a snack break. A snack break, Greg. Do you know how serious things have to be before I willingly miss food? So how exactly do you expect to go out and try these suits in person?"
"I appreciate the effort," I say flatly, "but you don’t need to attend my wedding if it’s that much of a hassle."
"Oh, I’ll be there." He snaps the words like I’ve offended him. "I’m worried you’ll look too pitiful standing as a groom without a best man."
"The rules of weddings can be bent."
"There are certain traditions one must uphold, Mr. President," he counters, lifting a brow like he’s lecturing a schoolchild. "You can cut the guest list down to a shoebox, but you still need soone to stand beside you or else you’ll look like the saddest groom."
I give him a flat stare.
He finally puts down his phone and walks toward . He sits across from , plucks a grape from the fruit platter, and tosses it into his mouth.
"We’re getting new leads on the Red Org. Have you seen the files yet?" he asks.
"Well, isn’t that great."
"It is great," he presses, leaning forward. "Because I think they’re being led by soone from the governnt. What do you think?" He looks almost thrilled by the idea.
Lewinsky loves drama more than any reporter he deals with.
I lift my gaze from my al. "Not a far-fetched idea. Politicians always have sothing dirty up their sleeves."
"Hm. You’re right. One of your cabinet mbers, maybe?" He smirks. "Haven’t you noticed how State looks like he’s suffering chronic constipation every ti he sees you? And with how he replaces his mistress every month, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s leading Red Org."
I shake my head. "Part of it, maybe. But the head? I doubt he’s got the brains."
Rowan arrives just as I’m finishing my al.
"Mr. President, your call with foreign leaders is in ten minutes."
He sets the laptop on my table as the plates are cleared.
I’m left alone in my office when the call begins. Just the usual discussions about proposed joint projects, tourism, and environntal concerns.
While people talk, my phone lights up on the table. It’s always on silent during etings.
I see that it’s a ssage from Elyn.
What could she possibly need from right now?
I don’t read ssages during calls unless they’re from my chief of staff or chief of security. But this is about the wedding, most likely, so I open it.
[Do you have rings ready? If you don’t have, I have these.]
A photo follows her ssage. Simple wedding rings.
I type back:
[I have rings. Did you buy those?]
Why would she think I wouldn’t have rings prepared? Does she assu I’d ignore sothing as basic as that because this is a contract marriage? I frown at the screen.
Her reply cos quickly.
[No. I own these. I bought them for Logan and three years ago, but we didn’t use them.]
My eyes narrow.
She bought wedding rings for another man, and now she wants to use them? I almost scoff.
Sothing bitter rises on my tongue, maybe the salmon, or whatever it was from my lunch.
So she did like him. Why else buy rings for a marriage she didn’t want? Arranged or not, the fact that she went along with it says enough.
[I don’t like them.]
I send the ssage and turn off my phone, returning to the eting with my mind elsewhere.
* * *
It’s already three in the afternoon by the ti I’m done with my appointnts outside Crown Palace.
I had several things moved to free my schedule. I need to be at Brandt Mansion by four for the wedding.
As agreed, the ceremony won’t be covered by the press. We’ll take photos and videos for the announcent later. It will be held in the mansion’s garden, attended only by my lawyer, Lewinsky, Elyn’s assistant, and the household staff and security as witnesses.
While the car heads toward Brandt Mansion, I call Rowan.
"Any updates from the legal team? How’s the lawsuit progressing?"
It’s the lawsuit for Kayla Henderson, the woman who harassed Elyn last night. I assigned soone from my legal team to handle it and told them to keep things as contained as possible.
Chaos is useful only when I’m the one unleashing it.
"Ms. Henderson wants a settlent. She’s willing to offer compensation, sir."
Of course she does. They always want leniency when they realize who they’ve crossed.
"I don’t want a settlent or compensation."
There’s a pause, just a beat, but Rowan’s smart enough not to question it.
"Copy that, Mr. President."
I’m not fond of forgiving people. I uphold my rules, and give punishnt. That’s the justice I know. rcy is overrated and almost always exploited.
After hanging up, another call cos in shortly.
"Mr. President, if you’re in the middle of sothing, I apologize. There’s just a bit of a situation here at the residence—"
"What situation?"
"Miss Elyn is missing."
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