So I wait, and I don’t dare break eye contact. And even though I know the only reason Foller does step aside is because noise echoes along the wood-paneled walls of the hallway, I take pride in the fact I don’t look back as I walk away even though I’m desperate to. I want to see the look on his face, catch how he reacts when I, once again, don’t do as I’m told. But this time is different.

Fitz’s eyes find mine as I walk back into the hall, and I can tell by the way they settle and relax that he was looking for me, but that only lasts for a second before his eyebrows crinkle closer together when Foller walks past.

There’s a ding. And another ding. And because my mother loves to put people in their place and remind everyone they’re in her home, four more dings even after the room has quieted down.

Fitz tips his head toward the front of the room, and I take my place at his side while everyone clears the center for the real star of the show.

Fitz leans closer. “Did Foller say something to you?”

I turn, silencing Fitz with a soft kiss. “Smile and look like you love me, even though we’re friends,” I whisper. “America’s watching.”

Defeat is written all over Fitz’s face. “I apologize in advance,” I tell him, but for what I’m not sure. Kissing him. Not talking about Foller. My mother, who is smiling like she’s god damn Miss America herself. The room has quieted, yet she still doesn’t speak, keeping her lips pressed together as her mouth stretches wide, like her smile is battling to keep the trembles at bay. At her side, my dad raises a hand, banishing a tear from his eye with the back of his knuckle.

Soft ohs echo around the room, but for my mother, they might as well be applause.

Now it’s me who grows tense. I only know that because Fitz gently rubs his hand up and down my side. But it’s not enough to loosen my muscles and unlock my jaw as I realize, in my efforts to get what I want, I’ve given my parents everything they need—a different platform. The doting mom and dad. This is supposed to be an intimate gathering, but the White House photographer is in the corner with a huge lens. This will be posted, shared, used for fodder that helps better them and doesn’t help me.

I suddenly feel sick even though I did this to myself.

“I’m with you,” Fitz whispers.