Nealy had recently begun to wonder if they didn’t look forward to their sparring matches. They had the oddest similarities. Each was stubborn, crafty, manipulative, and absolutely loyal to her.

Squid stirred beneath her feet. “I’m going to make a formal announcement in ten days. Terry’s setting up the press conference now.”

As soon as she’d confided her plans to Terry, he’d asked to be appointed her press secretary. She’d been touched and delighted.

“Dad, I understand this puts you in an impossible position, and I know you have to stay out of it, so I’m not planning to—”

“Stay out of it?” He assumed his Prince Philip posture and gazed at her from beneath his noble brow. “My daughter, the former First Lady of the United States, is running for the Senate, and you expect me to stay out of it? I hardly think so. I’ll have Jim Millington contact you tomorrow. Ackerman’s good, but he’ll need help.”

She couldn’t believe her father, after all his posturing, had finally backed down. Jim Millington was the best campaign manager in the business.

Lucy needed to make sure she could relax her guard. “So you’re not going to give her any more crap about this, right?”

“Lucille, this is not your concern. I’ve done my best to dissuade her, but since she’s refused to listen, I have no choice but to support the campaign.”

Lucy grinned at him. “Awesome!”

Nealy smiled and rose. “Why don’t you stay for dinner, Dad? It’s pizza night.”

Something that almost looked like disappointment passed over his stern features. “Some other time. Your stepmother and I are meeting the Ambersons for cocktails. Don’t forget that she expects all of you for Sunday brunch.”

“She expects Button, you mean,” Lucy muttered.

Nealy’s stepmother was horrified by Lucy, but she adored Button, who was currently wearing one of the outrageously expensive outfits she’d bought her.

“That’s because Beatrice has never cursed at her dinner table.”

“It was an accident. And this time could you ask her to, like, please buy some Dunkin’ Donuts or something?”

Her father scowled at Lucy as if she were an unbearable nuisance. “If she forgets, I suppose you and I will have to go out and purchase some ourselves.”

“You mean it?”

“Unlike some people, I’m not in the habit of rattling away just to hear myself talk.”

Lucy grinned. “Cool.”

Somehow they all survived the Sunday brunch. That evening, Nealy rocked Button to sleep, then helped Lucy with her history project. At eleven o’clock, when the house was finally quiet, she made her way to her bedroom, undressed, and slipped into a robe.