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  My staff and I were determined to serve a spectacular meal in this sparkling venue, knowing that world leaders were always in better spirits when they were comfortable and well-fed.

  “As far as we know, there are no cultural dietary issues, is that right?” Bucky asked.

  “That’s correct,” I said. “We’re waiting on a final word from Sargeant, though.”

  “How is he going to balance his new position as chief usher with his sensitivity director responsibilities?” Cyan asked. “They haven’t hired his replacement yet and both are big jobs. Especially the chief usher position.”

  “You know Sargeant,” I said. “He’ll get it done.”

  Bucky looked like he was about to say something disparaging about our newly appointed chief usher, but I interrupted him. Peter Everett Sargeant, III, and I had experienced problems working together in the past, but this new reporting structure gave us an opportunity to start fresh. Plus, he and I had recently forged a tenuous truce. I wasn’t yet at the stage where I’d want to hang out with the man during my off hours, but I appreciated the newfound respect he’d shown for me. The least I could do was return the favor.

  “He’s going to need all the support we can give him,” I said.

  “Ollie, you are too forgiving,” Bucky said. “Think about all the aggravation Sargeant’s caused you over the years.”

  I hadn’t forgotten. But people change, often when you least expect them to. Sargeant and I had faced death together, and since that frightening day, he’d been kinder to me. Not by a lot, but enough to notice. He was definitely more approachable. “He’s the chief usher now,” I reminded Bucky. “Which makes him our boss.”

  Virgil rolled his eyes at that. “I still can’t believe they selected Sargeant for that position. What were they thinking?” I was about to chastise him for questioning the president and First Lady’s decision, but he waved a hand as though he couldn’t be bothered to care. “Does anyone know if the chocolate shop staff is in today?”

  “I saw one of them earlier,” Bucky said. “They’re busy coming up with ideas for the Durasi dinner, too. Why?”

  “I have an amazing chocolate dessert planned for the family tonight. I want to make sure they haven’t forgotten.” Virgil headed for the door, speaking without bothering to face us. “If anyone needs me, that’s where I’ll be.”

  The moment he was gone, Cyan nudged me. “Okay, back to the wedding. What happened?”

  I told them about how, after Gav had proposed the day before, we’d gone directly to the Moultrie Courthouse to fill out a marriage application. According to the courthouse website, our license would be ready in three business days.

  “Except now,” I concluded, “even though the license will be ready, it looks like there aren’t any openings for weddings for eight weeks.”

  “Oh, that’s not so bad.” Cyan clasped her hands to her chest and let out a romantic sigh. “What’s eight weeks when you’re in love?”

  Bucky held up both hands. “What’s the problem?” he asked. “In this day and age, you should be able to find a willing officiant on the Internet . . . like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I can’t believe you didn’t think of that yourself.”

  “We did, actually,” I said. “In fact, we searched out a few last night.”

  “And?”

  How to explain? Even though Gav and I weren’t the most traditionally romantic people in the world, we’d both had the same reaction to the “Wedding Officiant” ads we’d encountered online. One after another, we’d rejected them (those who weren’t already booked solid for the next three months, that is) for coming across too eager or too flashy. Although I knew that legally, standing before a judge wasn’t any different than standing before one of the “Get married today!” agents, it sure seemed as though it would feel different.

  “Choosing an officiant from an online ad didn’t sit well with us,” I said. Uncomfortable explaining myself beyond that, I shrugged. “Plus, most of them have waiting lists, too.”

  Bucky and Cyan didn’t know why Gav and I intended to keep our engagement as short as possible. They didn’t know that Gav had suffered heartbreaking loss in the past. He’d been engaged twice before, both women dying tragically before they could be wed. Despite the fact that he wasn’t superstitious by nature, Gav believed he’d been cursed by some implacable wedding fates.

  The man constantly worried for my safety. As a Secret Service agent, it was his nature to see danger lurking around every corner. Now that we’d made the decision to get married, his panic would skyrocket.

  The fact that I’d developed a habit of getting into trouble while working at the White House made the waiting all the worse.

  “I know,” I said, putting on a cheerful face. “Even though eight weeks feels like forever right now, I’m sure someday we’ll look back and this will be nothing but a minor blip.” I thought about how tough this time would be for Gav. For both of us. “All I can tell you is that the sooner we say our vows, the happier I’ll be.”

  CHAPTER 2

  ON THE RIDE HOME ON THE METRO THAT EVENING, I thought about how my life would change once Gav and I were actually married. We hadn’t had much chance to talk about it—seeing as how we’d only made the decision the day before—and I looked forward to making future plans with him. For the first time in my life I’d met someone who understood my curious tendencies and who loved me for who I was.

  I stared out the window at nothing as my train trundled through one of many dark tunnels on its trip to Crystal City. Another thing Gav and I hadn’t discussed yet was where we’d live. Gav had a tiny apartment with a gorgeous view of Washington, D.C. My apartment was a little farther out, but it was larger and my neighbors were nice.

  My knee bounced with impatience, both because I’d been thrown by this wedding delay and because of the upcoming Durasi dinner. Bucky, Cyan, and I had pulled major events together in the past, but nothing quite like this.

  As much as I hated to admit it, this eight-week delay could prove to be a godsend. How could I even imagine getting married in the midst of organizing and executing a major White House dinner? I sighed and reminded myself that things work out for the best sometimes, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. This might be one of those times.

  I clapped my hand to my forehead, remembering that I hadn’t even called my mother yet. I’d planned to do so as soon as we’d filed the marriage application, but the news of the unexpected delay had thrown me. Gav and I had been so disappointed that I’d decided to wait until I was cheerier again. This afternoon would have worked, but the day had gotten away from me. I’d call her tonight as soon as I got home. For sure.

  My train pulled into my station and as I disembarked and made my way up into the warm evening air, my cell phone rang. Gav.

  “Hey,” he said when I answered, “you busy?”

  “Never too busy for you.”

  He laughed. “That’s a lie. You’re going to be far too busy for me over the next week, I’m sure of it.”

  “This Durasi dinner will keep us flying, no question about it.”

  “That’s all anyone is talking about. Lots of interesting fallout from that decision.”

  “Fallout?” I asked. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “I’ll tell you about it later. But for now, are you up for an adventure?”

  “Always,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll meet you at your apartment and explain on the way.”

  “Almost home right now.”

  “Good. See you in twenty. Meet you out front.”

  “Wow. You’re not wasting any time,” I said.

  “Not a second more than necessary. I can’t wait to tell you my idea. I hope you’re as excited about this as I am.”

  • • •

  I SPEED-WALKED TO MY BUILDING AND MADE it upstairs to my apartment without being waylaid by the elderly doorman who was busy signing for a package and didn’t notice me scurry by. I changed clothes, brushed my hair, and made it back down to the lobby in less than fifteen. James’s eyes lit up when he spied me. “Ollie,” he said. “You got a minute? What’s the read among the staff at the White House on these peace negotiations?”

  James was a sweet man and a kind soul. I hated to brush him off, but at that very moment I noticed Gav pulling up outside.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Gotta run.”

  “That’s all right, honey. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Of course he would. James knew that I was privy to a lot of secrets working at the White House. He also knew that I never shared anything that wasn’t already public knowledge. But that didn’t stop him from trying.

  Gav was just starting to get out of the car when I pushed through the apartment building’s glass doors. “Where are we going?” I asked. “And what’s with all the mystery?”

  “I’ll explain when you get in.”

  As he and I settled ourselves and buckled up, I stole a glance to the backseat to make sure Gav had brought his cane. Even though he was walking much better now than he had been immediately after a recent skirmish, there was no mistaking how much he hated assistance getting around. We both knew that his dependence on the cane was temporary, but the angry set of his jaw whenever he used the device told me how much this infirmity taxed his patience.

  He didn’t seem bothered in the least at this moment, though. Behind the wheel, with a sly grin on his face, Gav was more animated than usual. He restarted the car and set off, making me wait for enlightenment. I could tell he was enjoying this.

  “I got a call from a friend of mine this af
ternoon. His name’s Evan Bonder.”

  “You’ve never mentioned him before,” I said. “At least not that I remember. Did you?”

  “Probably not. I only hear from him occasionally.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly, in an effort to prompt him for more.

  “Evan Bonder used to be in the Secret Service,” he began. “We were good friends and, as I mentioned, still keep in touch from time to time. He called me today for a favor and I didn’t think anything of it until after we’d hung up. When I remembered, I called him back.” He took one hand off the wheel to gesture vaguely into the air. “It’s not like that was the first thing that came to mind. I mean, neither you nor I expected there would be an eight-week backlog on marriage ceremonies.”

  “And with that, you have officially lost me,” I said. I was more amused than angry. Whatever thoughts were careering through Gav’s head, they’d lifted his spirits exponentially since yesterday.

  He reached to grab my hand, the lines in his usually serious face creasing into a deep, genuine smile. “Evan,” he said taking his eyes off the road long enough to give me a pointed look, “is a minister. And he said he would be delighted to perform our ceremony. Assuming you’re willing, of course.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said. “Wow. What a change from yesterday, huh?” Though not displeased, I was unprepared for this news. Questions raced through my brain so fast it took me a moment to latch on to one. “What kind of minister is he?”

  Gav gave a sheepish shrug. “I don’t remember. Nondenominational, maybe? He left the Secret Service because he had a profound calling to serve others. He said he wanted to help those on the fringes of society’s fabric to find a way to weave themselves back in.”

  “Poetic.”

  “Evan is different. Always was. He’s a decent guy. What do you say?”

  “Are you kidding? This is great news. I’m all for it.” I’d been willing to say “I do,” three days from now if the court had been able to provide a presider. There was no need to think twice. But I did have one requirement. “I’d like to meet him first. I assume that’s where we’re going?”

  “Your deductive skills do you well.” Gav pointed at me. “This is why you should have been a Secret Service agent instead of a chef.”

  I laughed. “I’ll stick to the kitchen, thanks.” A moment later, I asked, “Why did he call you? You said you remembered that he was a minister after you hung up. You mentioned he needed a favor?”

  For the first time since I’d gotten in the car, Gav’s mood shifted. “That part has me concerned. Even though Evan chose a vastly different path than the rest of us did, he maintains a connection with a few others in the service. There are men and women who have had problems with one or more aspects of the job. Beside counseling the fringe folk, he tries to help his former comrades-in-arms as well.”

  “Sounds like a great guy.”

  “He is.” Gav’s lips were tight for a moment, then he went on. “Evan called me because he’s run into a problem that he thinks is too big to handle on his own. He wants some advice, and he suggested we meet tomorrow morning. At first I agreed and we planned to meet around ten. Then, when I thought of him as a possible officiant, I suggested we stop by tonight.”

  “Isn’t he going to mind my being there? If this problem involves members of the Secret Service, or is otherwise confidential, he may not be comfortable confiding in you with me hanging around.”

  Gav took my hand again. “I may never have mentioned Evan to you, but I definitely mentioned you to him. From the start, actually.” He laughed. “I complained to him mightily about this little upstart chef who was giving me all kinds of grief. It was Evan who first called me out on it, accusing me of protesting too much.”

  “You mean, back when you first came to the White House for those bomb classes?”

  Gav nodded, smiling as though he was reliving those first days. “When I’d heard that you’d broken up with Tom MacKenzie, I told Evan. He warned me that I’d better make my move or be eternally sorry I’d hesitated.” He gave a soft chuckle. “Even if he hadn’t pushed, there was no way I wasn’t going to try. I think having his blessing—no pun intended—made it easier, though. Evan knows about you, knows you’re in my life, and knows that you can be trusted. It’ll be fine.”

  “I didn’t know that you talked about me with your friends.”

  “Only with friends who matter.”

  I had a feeling I was going to like this Evan Bonder.

  The sun was beginning to set as the quiet settled over us. We traveled a few more miles before I broke the silence. “I haven’t yet told anyone—beyond my staff, of course—about our plans. I’ve been meaning to, but nothing’s gone right. Not until now, at least.”

  “You still haven’t called your mother, you mean?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said. “I meant to yesterday, but after we heard about the delay, I was too disappointed to pick up the phone. I’m dying to call her right this minute—she’ll be so happy for us, you know—but I also think it may be better to wait until I get home tonight.”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “When you’re alone and I’m not around to overhear? Is that it?”

  I acknowledged his observation with a mischievous grin. “I’m liable to get mushy and sappy. I’m not sure I want you to see that side of me.”

  He made eye contact. “I want to know every side of you, Olivia Paras,” he said. “Not just today. Forever.” Returning his attention to driving, he added, “But I understand. You’ll let me know if she disapproves, right?”

  “She won’t,” I said, “but why? Will that change your mind?”

  “Not a chance. I’d work that much harder to win her over.”

  “Don’t worry. You already have.”

  We made it to DuPont Circle and entered the roundabout. Halfway through, we took a right then traveled awhile longer, making several more turns, bringing us to a section of the neighborhood that was congested with tight, battered buildings. Where parts of Washington, D.C., were gorgeous this time of year—fragrant with flowers and energetic with busy, bustling crowds—this area was the exact opposite.

  There were more abandoned storefronts than there were viable businesses. A barber shop and a consignment/resale store were closed for the night, secured behind accordion-style metal grates fastened shut with padlocks the size of my hand. Two liquor stores were open for business, their neon beer signs blinking plaintively in the approaching dusk. Five young men loitered outside one of them, while an old man shouted from across the street, demanding that the youths get out of his sight.

  “It doesn’t seem like the best of neighborhoods,” I said.

  “Rent is less expensive here. And this is where many of those fringe folk live. It’s where Evan needs to be.”

  As we cruised up the block, there were fewer pedestrians on the street. It seemed the farther north we went, the quieter it became.

  “Ainsley Street,” I said aloud. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been up this way before.”

  “Parking might be a challenge,” Gav said. He wasn’t kidding.

  As he found and then maneuvered into a tight spot, I caught sight of a tall, bare-chested man heading our way. Even in the waning light, I could tell that he carried a very large wooden staff, which he used as a walking stick. With his scraggly white beard and white dreadlocks that bounced in the wind, he kept up a pace I’d consider brisk for a man his age. I put him at sixty-five, maybe seventy. His expression was one of manic determination. If he’d been wearing flowing robes rather than ragged jeans and shabby sandals, he could have auditioned for the role of vengeful God.

  “How far does Evan live?” I asked.

  Gav pointed up the block. “See that two-story tucked in between the apartment buildings? He’s in there. Calls it the Ainsley Street Ministry. Clever name, huh? The first floor is his meeting area and where people can hang out if they want to. It used to be a dry cleaner, and I swear you can still smell the chemicals. Evan lives in the apartment directly above.”

  The bare-chested man slowed as he spotted us, watching and giving us a wide berth as Gav put the car into Park and shut it off.