Commander in Chief (White House #2)(42)

He pushes his plate in my direction, takes mine, and brings it over to his side. I actually have no problem with that.

“I always seem to like what you’re eating better than what I’m eating,” I say, digging into his rib eye.

“You’re a classic case of grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side, Miss Wells.”

“Says the guy devouring my lemon sole.”

“Pretty good. Do you want to try the chocolate mousse cake?”

“I would, but we’ll need an ambulance at the ready outside.”

He summons one of the staff, and a waitress hurries over. “One chocolate mousse cake, one homemade cheesecake. And an ambulance.” He grins and winks exaggeratedly at me.

The waitress smiles dotingly and flushes. “Yes, sir.”

We finish our desserts, and Matt leaves a huge tip and tells the staff he’ll take care of the bill from his office.

“Do I need a stretcher to bring you out?” he asks me. His eyes are brilliant with mischief, his smile amused.

“No. I can walk. Barely,” I add, loving how his arm still comes around me.

“Thank you, Matt,” I breathe, going up on tiptoes and kissing his jaw.



The following week, we’re getting dozens of confirmations from the foreign dignitaries who plan to attend the wedding as they receive our invitations.

Press conferences are the thing of the day, though Matt doesn’t attend them all. Lola has been delivering the news as it comes—the press wants every detail, down to what gifts we’re receiving, and since Matt has no intention of warring with the press over details, neither do I. I’m simply happy the country is getting swept up on cloud nine, right along with me.





24





A PRESIDENTIAL WEDDING





Charlotte



The gifts start arriving the week before the wedding, vetted by the Secret Service before they reach Matt’s and my sight. The President of China sends an American flag sculpture, cast in bronze. The Prime Minister of Canada sends a pair of swans that will find a home in the south fountain of the White House. The President of Mexico asked for special permission to send a mariachi band to sing to us on the evening of our wedding. Soon the rooms of the White House are piling up with gifts from all over the world.

And I’ll never forget this day.

Today, the Senate passed Matt’s first bill for education.

The White House is buzzing at full capacity as everyone gets ready for the event.

I get my makeup done early, and everyone has been very stern with Matt, telling him that he needs to keep out of the Queens’ Bedroom—that he can’t see me until I head to the altar.

The day begins with a parade down Pennsylvania Avenue that the citizens are welcome to attend. They pile down the streets to a twenty-one-gun salute while workers set up a line of tall white tents along the Rose Garden.

Banquet tables with grand arrangements of baby’s breath and peonies line the tents, their scent, along with the scent of the roses, filling the air.

I wear a dress with a plunging back, a long train, and a veil made of the most exquisite lace.

Matt and I settled, along with the chef, on a four-course meal with wine pairings, including crab and Bibb salad with pear and goat cheese, butternut squash soup, roast lamb with rosemary vegetables and poached Maine lobster, and my favorite dessert of the White House, the chef’s special apple pie cheesecake. All served on silver-rimmed plates that look gorgeous over the ivory silk tablecloths and with the gilded silver chairs.

Among our wedding guests are twenty-one presidents and their first ladies, two prime ministers, NBA players, Hollywood directors, actors and singers, Nobel prize winners, all of the children of the Children’s National hospital, and our families and friends.

But with my groom in the vicinity, even all of them combined play a second fiddle to him—the POTUS, in a sharp black tux, wearing one of his most charming, disarming smiles as he watches me walk down the long red carpet in the gorgeous White House Rose Garden with a train of white ruffles trailing behind me, finally making me his. Finally his in every sense of the word.

Matt looks stunning with his bow tie and crisp white shirt, the small flag pin of the United States pinned to his jacket.

Hot.

Powerful.

And mine.

With the backdrop of the gardens behind him and the thousands of white roses up the trellis behind the makeshift altar, I cannot believe that today America’s prince, who now so easily wears the king’s crown, is marrying me.

Today he’ll be taking his second oath of the year—the two most important of his life, in the same year.

The best thing of all, as I walk down the aisle, is the smile on his face. It’s a subtle smile, not overtly wide, but combined with the quiet, intense, brilliant look in his eyes as he watches me approach, along with the chorus music, it makes a knot form in my throat as my dad walks me down the long red-carpeted aisle.

My dad is clenching his jaw really tight and his eyes are a little red, and I can’t imagine what my father is feeling to see his only daughter get married . . . to this man.

“You take care of her, Matthew,” my father murmurs as he hands me over, and Matthew assures him, “I will, sir.”

His fingers slide over to grip mine and he locks eyes with me as he leads me up the two steps to the altar to stand before the priest.