Perfect. That’s exactly what she was going for.

“Wait. Where’s your cast?” George demanded. He’d been so distracted by her dress, he just noticed that she was missing her cast.

“I cut it off.” She busied herself grabbing her clutch and making her way to the front door, knowing he was going to be irritated with her. She shrugged. “It didn’t go with my dress.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It took you ten minutes to notice.”

“El, weren’t you supposed to go back to the doctor to get that off?”

“See, killed two birds with one stone. I look hot in my dress and I don’t have to pay for the doctor to do exactly what I just did.”

“But what if it hasn’t fully healed?”

They heard another beep.

Stella grinned and did a couple of break dancing moves from the 80s that included moving her hands all around him. “See?”

“Fuck, you’re…”

“Awesome? Hot in this dress? Have the moves of a D-list celebrity?” she finished for him. “Come on, Patrick will get all pissy if he has to beep again.”

“Ridonkulous,” George said. He pulled on a long wool coat and handed her a gray cashmere trench that she’d draped over the back of the barstool.

She laughed and she grabbed his hand to leave. “I’ll show you what else my hand can do later.”

“Tease.”

“It’s not a tease,” she whispered in his ear as they walked down the stairs to the driveway.

Patrick and Millie smiled at them from Patrick’s Audi. George opened the back door so Stella could sit with Millie, who started talking a mile a minute as soon as Stella sat down.

The couple getting married was truly a political power couple. The uniting of political forces was sort of scary. Senator Ashby’s daughter was marrying Parker Harding, the son of a northern Virginia Congressman. They were getting married on the lawn at Mount Vernon and then the reception was in an enormous tent on the lawn overlooking the Potomac. It’d been in all the DC magazines as the wedding of the season.

“You’re looking really hot tonight,” Millie giggled. “Where did you get those shoes? They look like Cinderella slippers.”

“Jimmy Choo.” Stella kicked her foot up and put it on the armrest.

Patrick grimaced. “I know you’re not putting your shoe on my console.”

“I sure am. I plan on putting them higher later.” She laughed and nudged George with her shoe.

George smiled and raised his eyebrows at Stella.

“Fuck,” Patrick muttered under his breath and then elbowed her foot down.

“Do not touch these works of art!” Millie exclaimed.

“They cost enough to be works of art,” Stella murmured, admiring them.

“How high are those?” Millie asked, holding up her simple, black peep-toed heel in comparison.

“Almost six inches, I think.”

“I couldn’t even pretend to walk in those.” Millie shook her head. “I love your dress too. You look like a celebrity.”

“I feel like one. I need to be wearing Spanx, but I just didn’t feel like it. I plan on eating and drinking a lot so…the Spanx were a no go.”

“You don’t need Spanx,” Millie comforted.

“What the fuck are Spanx?” Patrick asked from the front seat.

“You don’t worry about us talking back here,” Millie retorted. “They’re a friend of women, that’s all you ever need to know.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to a wedding at Mount Vernon! This is crazy,” Stella said, hoping to change the topic.

“I know!” Millie gushed. “And so high profile! We’ll probably be the only people who don’t arrive in a limo.”

“Sorry, babe,” Patrick put in. “I’ll open the door for you, if it makes you feel better.”

“Aw, thanks, honey,” Millie replied sarcastically. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

Stella’s phone beeped; she had a text message.

wednesday 7:30

It was from Jamie. She smiled to herself. It was a date.

fine

She responded and then forwarded it to Patrick, whose phone dinged. He pulled it out to check it.

“I know you’re not texting and driving,” Millie chided.

“No, I’m reading my text and driving.”

“Hey, fucker, you’ve got precious cargo in here,” Stella chimed in.

“Whatever,” Patrick responded.

“What crawled in your undies and died today?” Stella asked.

Patrick’s jaw clenched. Stella looked at Millie, her eyebrows raised. George was silent.

“Asshole,” Millie mouthed at Stella.

Stella tried to hold in her laughter, but it ended up sounding like a dying animal, which caused George and Millie to laugh at her.

Patrick was stone-faced.

“I’ll be designated driver if drinking will help take that rod out of his ass,” Stella offered.

“No worries. I got a car to take us home later,” George piped up.

"Awesome!” Millie cried, high-fiving Stella. “Now it’s a real party!"

After the long drive, Patrick finally pulled into Mount Vernon. They got out of their car at the valet and Patrick and Millie walked ahead of Stella and George. Millie pulled out her invitation and handed it to the host placed at the door. George pulled his out of the inside pocket of his coat.

“Glad you brought your invitation,” Stella whispered. She’d never been to a wedding where you had to bring proof you were invited, but she understood this was a safety precaution.

George grabbed her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of her wrist. Stella leaned into him and inhaled his mint scent.

Once they got to where the service was going to be, both couples sat on the bride’s side. Millie leaned into Stella and whispered, “Everyone is looking at you.”

“No, they aren’t,” Stella hissed.

“I heard her dress cost $18,000.”

Stella’s head whipped around toward Millie. “$18,000?! Holy shit!”

“Shhhh.” Millie giggled.

George put his hand on Stella’s thigh and squeezed.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Are you serious? This dress cost $2,000 and I thought I was going to shit myself when I bought it.”

"Then why did you buy it?” Millie asked.

"Because I wanted George to think about fucking me every second he looked at me.” Stella put on a new fake smile she was trying out, a broad, genuine smile meant to convey amusement.

Millie looked at Stella, then leaned forward and looked at George. “Things okay?” she mouthed.

Stella shrugged. She’d told Millie about the whole “Jessica situation,” but Millie didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Stella felt like they were okay, but she didn’t want to take any chances; she wanted him thinking about her every second.

Millie grabbed her hand and patted it compassionately.

They stood when the bride walked down the aisle, positively glowing on her father’s arm. Stella thought the dress was gorgeous, if frightfully expensive. It was silk and tight on the bodice and then the skirt was gathered in different areas and reminded her of meringue on a coconut crème pie. The bride looked amazing.

The ceremony was short and soon they were standing at high top tables for the cocktail hour. Patrick brought the first round of drinks over to the table.

“Porn martinis?” Millie asked.

“Of course, dear,” Patrick said as he kissed Millie’s cheek and set the girls’ martinis down. Servers were circulating with beer and wine, but if you wanted liquor, you had to go to the bar.

George was drinking beer with his hand possessively on Stella’s lower back. Every once in a while he’d grab her ass and she’d giggle. Patrick was scowling. He hated public displays of affection unless he was involved.

“George, it’s good to see you. How’s the campaign trail?” Millie asked in between sips.

“It’s great. I really like being there and getting all the information first and reporting on it, but I miss El. I certainly didn’t want to come to this shitstorm.”

“What? You didn’t want to cover the wedding of the season?” Stella asked, acting completely scandalized and then bumping his shoulder with hers.

“No, I’d rather be alone with you.” He smiled down at her and leaned into her, whispering, “naked.” His teeth nipped at her ear.

Warmness filled her entire body and she smiled at him. “Well, we don’t have to stay all night.”

An announcement came over from where the stage was set up, letting them know that dinner was ready and for everyone to find their seats. She and George were seated at a table with a bunch of other press. George’s hands never left her; even when they were eating he had his hand on her thigh under the table. God, she had missed this.

George talked shop during the dinner about politics and the campaign he was covering. Stella took it all in and enjoyed the scenery and the music. The band was playing fun songs and she was lost in her own mind when she felt George squeeze her thigh.

Looking up, she smiled. “What?”

He stood and held his hand out. “You want to dance with me?”

“Of course!” She got up and threw her napkin on her chair.

They swayed to the music, loosened up after several drinks. Her hands were draped around his neck and she leaned in, smelling him. George pulled her close so that they were connected everywhere. He centered one of his legs in between hers. He’d left his jacket on the back of his chair and she could feel his lean body under his shirt.

George leaned in and kissed her mouth tenderly. “I miss you.”


“I doubt that,” she retorted as they moved fluidly together, remembering how his eyes lit up while talking shop with all the other press. Several of the reporters had tried to ask her questions, but she politely rebuffed them. She’d used all five of her fake smiles during dinner. She wasn’t doing any more interviews; one was painful enough. Her interview with Diane Sawyer was airing as a special on Wednesday night and Stella planned on being very drunk.