Riddick could sense the climax coming. He knew the formula by heart: Once she mentioned “principles and values,” she was about to bring it home.

“I want to thank you all for coming out today; I want to thank you for making me feel so much at home. I will never forget Endor. This town is a part of me, and I’ll take it with me wherever I go—with your help, God willing, to the White House. Thank you—thank you all so much.”

A tremble in her voice—a tearful farewell—one final wave, and—cut! It’s a wrap, boys. Break it down and set up the next shot.

Riddick stepped up beside Victoria as a signal to well-wishers not to get too close.

“How was it?” she whispered, smiling for each of the photographers as they squeezed to the front of the crowd.

Riddick placed one hand in the small of her back. “Flawless, as always.”

She immediately moved away and turned to her assistant. “What’s next?”

“Some of the photographers are asking for more time.”

“Which ones? I’m not interested in the locals.”

The assistant checked her notes. “There’s one from the Post Arts &Living section; there’s DC Style and the Washingtonian too.”

“Good. Find them and let them know—tell them it’s ‘by invitation only.’”

“Where do you want to set up?”

She looked around the area. “Let’s take a walk—do a little window-shopping. If we don’t get away from this crowd, we’ll never stop being interrupted.”

She left the gazebo and headed for the sidewalk with Riddick close by her side. She nodded a friendly greeting to each person as she passed, but in between smiles she cocked her head toward Riddick and said, “Don’t ever—ever—touch me in public again. Do you understand?”

Riddick paused. “What if I’m taking a bullet for you?”

“Then do it in midair—but don’t touch me. It sends the wrong message.”

“Maybe that’s the message I wanted to send.”

She accelerated her pace and widened the distance between them.

For the next hour they moved from gift shop to gift shop, allowing the photographers to capture her image in every conceivable setting. There was Victoria studying the engraving of Monticello; Victoria resting in a rocking chair beside the kindly old proprietor; Victoria looking thoughtfully out the window with the shadows of the mullions cast dramatically across her face. Riddick watched, imagining how he might pose her if he were a photographer himself. He slowly shook his head; the camera never got tired of her, and it was easy to see why.

When the last of the photographers was finally satisfied, Riddick and Victoria stepped out onto the sidewalk. Victoria waved to the rest of their entourage to catch up with them while Riddick lit a cigarette.

“I wish you wouldn’t smoke,” she said.

“Concerned about my health?”