23.
I stood at the door a second longer than I needed to, my hand resting against the handle, knowing exactly what waited on the other side of it.
The White House.
Rodney.
Everything I had managed to forget for the last 24 hours.
Behind me, I could hear Grant moving around, the soft sounds of drawers opening and closing, his footsteps steady against the floor like nothing about this morning felt different to him.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to move.
When I turned back around, he was already dressed—button-down, watch, everything in place. He looked like himself again. Composed. Put together.
"You got everything?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yeah."
He stepped closer, his hand finding my waist like it had been there before, pulling me in just enough that I had to look at him.
"You okay?" he asked, quieter this time.
The question sat between us longer than it should have.
Because the answer wasn't simple.
I nodded anyway.
"I'm fine."
He didn't call me out on it.
Just looked at me for a second, like he was deciding whether to push or not.
He didn't.
"Call me if anything," he said.
I nodded again.
"I will."
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my mouth—quick and soft. Not something meant to start anything.
Just something meant to hold.
I let myself stay there a second longer than I should have before pulling back, already feeling the shift coming—the quiet before everything outside of this house found me again.
We walked out together without saying much.
The morning air was cooler, softer than the night before, the neighborhood still half-asleep in a way that made it feel removed from everything waiting for me.
Grant stayed close behind me, his hand brushing briefly against my lower back as we reached my car—light, familiar, like it had already become a habit neither of us had acknowledged out loud.
"I'll text you," I said as I opened the door.
"Okay," he replied easily.
I slid into the driver's seat, closing the door and glancing up once more before pulling out.
I turned off his street, and he went the other way, and just like that, it was over.
I hadn't made it far before my phone rang.
Reese.
I answered immediately, my hand tightening slightly around the wheel.
"Hey."
"I just checked my mailbox," she said, getting straight to it. "You have something from Georgetown."
Everything in me sharpened at once, my posture shifting before I even realized it.
"What?"
"Big white envelope," she said.
I exhaled quietly, trying to keep my voice even even though my chest had already started to tighten.
"That could be anything. Acceptance, rejection... something."
"Well," she said, "Do you wanna come get it? Or I can bring it to the white house when I get back."
"Are you leaving soon?"
"In about forty minutes. I'm about to head to the airport."
"I'll be there in ten."
I ended the call without waiting for anything else, my foot pressing a little harder on the gas as the road opened up in front of me.
Reese's townhouse looked exactly the same as it always did—clean, put together, everything placed like it had a purpose. Nothing out of line. Nothing left unfinished. It was apparent that she took pride in the maintenance of her home.
She opened the door before I could knock fully, pulling me into a quick hug that felt familiar enough, but lighter than usual, like something about it didn't quite feel the way it normally did.
"I'm glad you came," she said, stepping aside to let me in. "I need help picking a dinner look."
"A dinner look?" I asked, slipping my shoes off as I stepped inside.
"It's California," she said, already walking toward her room. "I'm not going to be working the entire time."
I followed behind her, slower, trying to piece together what she meant. "You're going to California?"
"With Rodney's team," she said, like it was obvious.
That made me pause for a second before I kept walking. "For what?"
"PR control," she said, pushing her bedroom door open. "His press hasn't been great lately."
I nodded, because that did make sense. The media didn't exactly love him.
Her room was half-packed but still neat. Two white dresses were laid out across the bed, both similar at first glance, but different once you actually looked. One was softer, more structured. The other was clearly more sexy.
I stepped closer, taking them in for a second before pointing. "This one. The neckline is better."
She came up beside me, close enough that I could see both of us in the mirror. "I was thinking the same thing," she said, grabbing it and turning toward her suitcase.
She flipped it open to make room, and that's when I noticed it.
At first, it didn't register as anything important. Just color. Just clothes.
But then I actually looked.
Red. Every piece. Lace. Thin straps. The same exact style repeated over and over like it had been chosen on purpose, not just thrown in.
I let out a small laugh, trying to keep it light. "Okay red panties."
"I only wear red underwear and stuff," she said easily, barely looking up. "I don't know, it just makes me feel confident."
I nodded, but my eyes stayed on the suitcase for a second longer than they should have before I forced myself to look away.
Because I had seen something like that before.
And I hadn't thought anything of it then.
She turned back toward me with a large white envelope in her hand, and just like that, my attention snapped back.
"Here," she said. "Your future in a packet."
I took it, my fingers tightening slightly around the edges as I looked down at it. Georgetown. My name printed clean across the front. Everything I had been waiting for, sitting right there.
"Have you told Rodney yet?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No. I wanted to actually know first."
"That makes sense," she said, closing her suitcase.
But even as I stood there holding it, something else was still sitting in the back of my mind. Quiet, but there. The kind of thought you try to ignore because it doesn't make sense yet.
I shifted the envelope in my hands, stepping back slightly. "I should go. You've got a flight, and I need to check in with Vivian."
She nodded, walking over and pulling me into another hug. This one lingered a second longer, but it still didn't feel the same. Not bad. Just... different.
"I'll call you later," she said.
"Yeah," I replied. "Text me when you land."
I pulled back, heading toward the door before I could overthink anything else.
"Do you know Rodney's schedule?" I asked, pausing just before stepping out.
"He should already be on the way to California," she said. "I'm meeting them there."
I nodded.
"Okay."
I let myself out and walked back to my car, the envelope still unopened in my hand. I sat there for a second before starting the engine, staring down at it like I should open it right then, like that was the most important thing in front of me.
But it wasn't.
Because even as I pulled away from her townhouse, my mind kept circling back to something small. Something I should've brushed off. Something that didn't make sense yet.
And the more I tried not to think about it—
the more it stayed.
By the time I pulled into the White House parking deck, the envelope was still sitting unopened in my lap.
I had thought about opening it at least five different times on the drive over. At stoplights. In traffic. Even sitting outside Reese's before I left. Every time, I told myself I would.
And every time, I didn't.
I picked it up now, turning it slightly in my hands, my name staring back at me like it was waiting on a decision I wasn't ready to make yet. It felt too big to open in a car. Like once I knew, everything else would have to shift around it.
Before I could think about it any longer, my phone rang.
Vivian.
I answered quickly. "I'm already here."
"I see that," she said, her tone even. "Stay where you are."
I looked up just as she appeared at the end of the row, already walking toward me. She didn't rush, but there was something in the way she moved that told me she's upset.
I pushed the envelope into my bag before stepping out of the car.
She didn't greet me.
Didn't ask how I was.
She just looked at me for a second, taking in everything—my face, my outfit, the fact that I had shown up at all—before speaking.
"You went completely off schedule yesterday."
It wasn't a question.
I leaned lightly against the side of the car, crossing my arms without fully thinking about it. "I know."
"That's not something we can afford for you to do," she continued, her voice controlled, professional in a way that didn't leave room for interpretation. "You had confirmations, appearances, press that had already been aligned around you."
"I understand that," I said, keeping my tone level.
"Do you?" she asked, not sharp, but pointed enough that it landed.
For a second, I didn't answer.
Because the truth was, I did understand it.
I just didn't care the way I was supposed to anymore.
"I had a lot going on," I said finally, which wasn't really an explanation but was the only one I had.
Vivian studied me for a moment, like she was deciding how far she wanted to push it. "Whatever is going on," she said, "needs to stay separate from this."
I nodded anyway.
"Understood."
She didn't press further, which somehow made it worse.
"Good," she said. "Because today doesn't slow down just because yesterday didn't happen."
She turned slightly, already moving toward the elevators, expecting me to follow.
I did.
We walked side by side in silence for a moment before she continued, slipping back into schedule like nothing had happened.
"You have a Vanity Fair interview and cover shoot tomorrow. We need to finalize talking points today, along with wardrobe fittings."
I exhaled quietly through my nose, pushing myself into listening.
"Okay."
"They're going to want something more personal this time," she added. "Not just policy. Narrative. You need to be careful with how you frame that."
Careful.