“I see,” she says, looking forward and beginning to walk again. “And I take it Candice and Walter know nothing about this?”

I pocket my hands. “They will soon.”

Mom hums beside me. “I’ll only say this once, and then we’ll never talk about it again, alright? I never liked Candice and Walt,” she whispers, as if everyone on the street is on a first-name basis with the president and First Lady. “They were always gone. Leaving those girls with their grandmother. Clara meant well, don’t get me wrong. But children who grow up seeing their parents choose something other than them? It’s not right. That stays with you.”

I stuff my hands into my pockets. “Parker’s childhood was a little unconventional, I guess. But nothing bad ever really happened with Honey. Not when I was there. Parker loved her a lot.”

Mom sighs. “I know she did. That’s what I mean. After she passed away, they handled everything wrong. Poor thing was self-destructing⁠—"

“Let’s not talk about it. It doesn’t matter now.”

I’d rather not sour the brief time we have together by reminding Mom I’m not sure she handled everything right by letting Coach dictate every aspect of my life. Sometimes the best you can do isn’t always the right option.

My phone buzzes and I look at it quickly, but ignore the message.

COACH

Any answer about the Boston Journal?

Beside me, Mom sighs, knowing where my mind went. “She had something to fall back on Fitz. You… Coach Foller never wanted to see you get mixed up in the wrong things. Not when you had such a bright future ahead. And it all worked out, didn’t it?”

I know her words would hit so different if I actually were with Parker instead of pretending to be.

* * *

When the elevators open, I wonder if we should skip Vegas and just hit the courthouse right now. I don’t think I’ve seen Parker look more beautiful, or bridal for that matter, wearing a white knit sleeveless dress that cuts a V down her neck, revealing warm skin and a galaxy of light freckles.

Parker shakes her head, narrowing her eyes, which radiate more warmth with the makeup. Her red-painted lips pucker in thought. “What’s wrong?”

“The better question would be what’s right.”

The answer, I tell myself, is you.

“What?”

I shake my head and step inside. “Nothing, it’s just… uh, wild to be here,” I lie.

“Why?” Parker asks. “You were here before. When you helped me pack by things.”

I follow her as she keeps walking. “Yeah, but this time, I’m sleeping here,” I whisper, looking around. “Are we staying in the Lincoln Bedroom?”

Parker snorts. “No. In the West Room. I’d rather sleep in a rat-infested motel, but Mom was pretty firm on this. I figured I’d pick other battles as long as you’re here.”