Mom tucks a piece of perfectly blown out blonde hair behind her ear. “Out in the Berkshires. We’ll chopper you in and out from Boston.”

My mom just doesn’t want to trek to the boonies. “Where?”

“Brookdale.”

Hard fucking pass.

“We’re busy,” I tell her as Fitz narrows his eyes. He shouldn’t, because technically, you know, we are planning on getting married tomorrow night. But it’s clear he’s picked up on my tone. I go back to flipping through the magazine I’ve stuffed between my thigh and the armrest.

“Busy?” Mom asks. “Doing what, exactly?”

Fitz’s eyes call mine.

“No, I lied. I just don’t want to go.” I flip through the glossy paper before I turn my head up to her so there isn’t any confusion. “We don’t want to go.”

The air thickens and I feel Fitz’s eyes calling mine.

“You don’t want to?”

I shut the magazine. “Isn’t that what I said?”

“Could you give us a second?” Fitz asks, but apparently, my mother can’t afford to because she carries on.

“We had an arrangement, Parker.”

I fling my head back to her. “Yes, and would you like to tell the twenty campaign staff members here about it?” I challenge. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you go ahead and tell them why I won’t go to Brookdale? Or maybe I should, you know, just to clear the air.”

I stand and move around Mom to go to the bathroom, but she reaches out, grabbing my arm, taking two strong steps in the opposite direction, toward the presidential quarters of the plane. The few aides around us turn and lift their heads as I dig my heels into the carpeted floor while my mother hisses under her breath, “Parker, stop making a scene.”

I try swinging my body for leverage, but I come into contact with Fitz’s back as he’s now stepped between us.

“I think it would be best if you get your hands off my wife.”

He makes no move to put his own hands on my mother, not even when, from over his shoulder, I see the challenging tilt of her head. But when an agent I don’t recognize rises from his seat toward the front of the plane, I place my hand on his back, where I feel his tense muscles. His presence is sobering, and I realize I don’t want him in the middle of my battles.

He takes a step closer to my mother. “Madam First Lady, with all due respect, you shouldn’t be worried about Parker making a scene. You should worry about me. Now Let go of her.”

Mom drops her hand, the tendons in my arm rebounding now that it’s free. “God help you, Fitz. If she ever gets the chance to be your wife, you’re going to need it.”