All of their family was gathered with them. Button had one little sister on each side of her. At nine, she was just as strong-willed as she’d been as a baby and she only permitted the family to call her Button behind closed doors. To the rest of the world, she was Tracy, her own way of dealing with the name Beatrice. Her long blond hair whipped in the breeze as she kept a careful eye on Holly, since the four-year-old tended to be unpredictable at public gatherings. Six-year-old Charlotte stood on her other side. Although she was on her dignity at the moment, Mat knew it wouldn’t last. Both girls had his dark hair and their mother’s blue eyes.

Lucy, the big sister all three girls idolized, stood just behind them with Bertis and Charlie, most of his own sisters, and her pompous old goat of a grandfather, who’d slipped his hand in hers. At twenty-two, his oldest daughter had a fresh new college degree in social work and a thirst to change the world. Although she scoffed when he brought it up, he suspected it was only a matter of time before she followed her mother into political life. He was more proud of all of them than he could ever express.

Nealy’s eyes met his, and he could almost hear her thoughts. Another new adventure, my love. Are you ready?

He could hardly wait. They’d already had so many adventures together. He thought of the past eight years—the joy and laughter, the hard work, long hours, heated discussions, and even more heated lovemaking. So much happiness.

Not that there hadn’t been hard times, too. The worst had come when they’d lost their beloved nanny Tamarah to a virulent case of pneumonia, but even that had eventually led to joy. His chest filled with pride as he gazed at his only son, eight-year-old Andre.

Most families were made when sperm met egg, but his had been put together less conventionally with blood that was red, blue, and black. If families had pedigrees, his could only be classified as American mutt.

He realized it was time to play his part, and he proudly lifted the tattered Jorik family Bible. Nealy’s hand was steady as it rested on top. Steady at the helm of the Ship of State.

The occasion was a solemn one, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face when she began to speak.

“I, Cornelia Litchfield Case Jorik . . .”

After all these years, he still couldn’t quite believe that she’d taken his name.

“. . . do solemnly swear . . .”

He held his breath.

“. . . that I will faithfully execute . . .”

Damn right she would.

“. . . the office of President of the United States . . .”

The President of the United States. His wife was finally claiming the job she’d been born to hold.