Chapter 4 #2
He hesitates for a millisecond before wrapping his hand around mine. I tingle at his rough and warm touch.
He looks at me, puzzled. “You need help walking or something?”
I look over his shoulder, where Mr. Monopoly is still making his way toward me. I turn to Gabriel with a tiny smile. “Care to dance?”
His brows lift. “Do I really have a choice?”
“Of course you do. It’s a democracy.” But I already know his decision as he follows me to the dance floor.
He moves into the starting position for the dance with ease. I cock my head. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re not the only one with Filipino heritage. My mom was all about beauty pageants and debutante balls.”
My eyes crinkle with appreciation. “Tita almost entered me into a beauty competition, but my dad put a stop to it.”
He snickers. “I don’t blame him. Besides, there’d be no competition. You’d get first place automatically.”
My face goes hot, and when I glance at him, he’s just as red.
As the music begins, we’re an awkward pause away from issuing a formal apology to the nation.
Meanwhile, I’m sure my Secret Service detail is taking notes on my spectacular lack of chill around this boy.
I nod and focus on his outstretched hand and place mine in his.
The firmness of his grip, the way his left hand holds my back, firm yet gentle, makes my body tingle like electric sparks dancing across my skin.
Just inches away, I appreciate his scent like a blend of mint gum, fresh-cut grass, and smoky wood. He smiles down at me and I can’t help the one spreading across my face.
As he squeezes my hand, he steps forward and I follow his lead. We do a few steps and I’m amazed at how he’s able to guide me.
With Oliver, it was a matter of me remembering my steps and syncing with him. With Gabriel, I just fall naturally into step.
“You okay?” he asks.
I meet his smiling eyes. “Yes. I usually am not able to think or talk when I’m dancing. My brain…I usually count my steps.”
His chuckle is wry. “Yeah, that explains the Thor look on your face,” he says.
I do a double take. “Thor look?”
“You look very intense while you’re dancing.”
I scoff. “Seriously? Like ‘You’re big. I’ve fought bigger’ Marvel Avenger Thor?” I do my best Hemsworth impersonation.
He eyeballs me. “Okay, that’s unexpected.”
“What?”
“You know your popcorn movies.”
I shrug. “We have a movie theater in the White House. My dad’s a movie buff.”
“Mine too,” he says. I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. The silence stretching between us reminds me of the questions I have about him.
“So, my Tita Karra is your godmother? Lucky you,” I tease.
He chuckles. “She can be a bit much, huh.”
I roll my eyes. “Tell me about it. Between my mother and my tita, I’m under more surveillance than someone on the FBI watchlist.”
“Must be nice being famous—without the fan club or merch,” he jokes. He twirls us so we’re facing opposite directions, my back now to my parents, who’re in the middle of the room.
“Your mom’s toast was kinda epic. I felt like you were the chosen one or something.”
My cheeks warm. “She was just saying how proud she is of me.”
“You’re practically the voice for young people,” he says, and I’m pretty sure he’s making fun of me. “Hanging out with world leaders, vacationing at luxury hotels, and eating pizza with alfalfa sprouts. So relatable.”
I bristle. “All of it comes with being the First Daughter,” I say, taking a deep breath. “And I don’t vacation all that much.”
He spins me with ease, then pulls me back into his orbit. “Especially when your vacation sounds like one big community service project?”
“Right, I’ll mostly be working this summer.”
My head lowers and I’m suddenly aware of how easy and nice it would be to lean my head on his chest. I inhale his soothing musky scent and am so tempted.
Gabriel clears his throat, snapping me out of my trance. My eyes widen as I meet his. “Seems some folks are starting to watch us,” he says. I follow his gaze and notice a reporter with a camera looking in our direction instead of at Mom, who everyone else is watching.
Gabriel stops dancing. “I have an idea,” he says.
Still holding my hand, he pulls me off the dance floor, and we weave in between guests. I try not to read too much into the smile he shares with me as we make our way out.
I feel flustered as I follow him from the East Room and eventually find a quiet corner in the White House’s Red Room.
“Am I seeing red?” Gabriel jokes.
“Yes, welcome to the Red Room.” I flourish a hand. “Aptly named after the rich red decor and red silk wallpaper that adorns all four walls. Abraham Lincoln was known to relax in here. Also”—I lean in to whisper—“your godmother accidentally spilled red wine in here.”
Gabriel shakes his head, amused. He takes his camera out—turns off the flash after I warn him—and shoots more photos of the room.
I tilt my head. Most folks take a couple shots of the room and ask for a selfie.
Gabriel seems completely absorbed in the details.
“Sounds like something my mom would do too. Your aunt is one of my mom’s oldest friends.
They were in the same sorority or something together,” he explains.
“Is that how you became her godson?” I ask.
“Yeah, something like that,” he says quickly. Again he goes quiet. My forehead creases; I’m worried something happened to his parents, but he doesn’t say anything further.
I smile, trying to lighten the mood. “You said something about an idea?”
He reaches inside his jacket and retrieves his cell phone. “Let’s order a pizza,” he says with a grin.
I can practically feel my face transform from puzzled to disbelieving. “We just had dinner.”
He stares at me. “And do you feel full?”
I think about the bite-sized pizzetta. It was delicious, but not comfort in a box. “Honestly, not at all.”
“I bet there’s some good pizza places around here,” Gabriel says. He taps his phone. “What kind of toppings do you like?”
“Toppings,” I repeat like it’s an obscure SAT word. He hands me his phone. My hands shake as I review the choices. “I like mushrooms and ham,” I manage to say.
“Ham?” He smiles. “I got this.” I return his phone and he punches his screen.
“Wait, are you having the pizza delivered here to the White House?”
“It’s 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, correct?”
“Yes.”
He grins. “It’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
My jaw drops. “Fifteen minutes? But—”
“But you’ve never ordered pizza before.” His tone is smug.
My face burns. I imagine how pathetic I would sound if I responded, No, because my mom has staff who’ve done the ordering for us since I was six.
Gosh, it sounds terrible in my head. Maybe he’s right to question whether I’m a suitable “voice for young people.” I’ve never ordered my own pizza before.
My hands cover my face as I try to reconcile all the feels going through me.
I should be upset. Totally against this idea…but honestly, I’m also having fun.
“Abby?” I jerk up, hearing the concern in Oliver’s voice. He walks toward me, his lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze goes from me to Gabriel.
“The performances are about to begin,” Oliver says. Meaning my folks would like the entire First Family to sit together to demonstrate our appreciation.
Gabriel looks at his phone and sighs. “Thirteen minutes,” he says, his voice clearly annoyed.
Oliver glares at him. “Is everything okay?” he asks me.
Gabriel snorts. “Excuse me?”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Oliver retorts as he places a hand on my arm. “You look upset.”
“No, I was just…” I throw my hands up. For once at a complete loss for words. “Gabriel and I ordered a pizza.”
Now Oliver looks stunned. I continue practically babbling. “We were discussing how we’re still hungry.”
“But we just had dinner,” Oliver says, confused.
I laugh nervously. “I know that. I know. It’s just a fun idea.”
“But you have kitchen staff who could whip you up anything you want,” Oliver says.
“Hey, dude. She just wanted to order out,” Gabriel says. “No big deal.”
Oliver has daggers in his eyes. “Sorry, dude, but we can’t just order out. Our parents are very important people—”
Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Right, you’re very important people.”
Oliver groans. “My dad would have a fit if I did anything to jeopardize security or public relations. Abby’s in the same boat.”
I glance at an increasingly defiant-looking Gabriel as Oliver keeps going. “If your father was vice president, you’d have an appreciation for all the precautions people like me and Abby have to take.”
“My father?” Gabriel says incredulously. I cringe as he glares at Oliver and looks in disbelief at me. Despite the anger in his face, I also sense pain.
Gabriel turns to leave. “I’m out of here. You two have a nice important life together.”
“Wait,” I say after him. “Let me explain.”
Gabriel bows, imitating the one he did when he first met Oliver, and walks out the door.
My chest fills with anger. “Oliver, why did you say those things?”
He looks at me. “What, Abby? It’s true. We can’t just order pizza!”
But I don’t let Oliver finish his thought as I head toward the front entrance. “Where are you going? The performance is about to start. Your parents?” he calls after me.
But I don’t care. Right now, all I can think of is one thing.
“I’m going to pick up my pizza.”