Two weeks later, after every single aspect of the proposal has been coordinated with the White House social events staff and polled into oblivion, I get down on one knee in the tiny space next to the most private table at the Inn at Little Washington. Our dinner has been taken away, our dessert plates cleared. Bellamy’s eyes shine in the candlelight, the gray amplified by a sheen of tears.

Is she still crying about her principled stand against this, or is this a dream come true—even if none of it’s real?

“Bellamy Leighton.” I take a deep breath, like my nerves might run away from me. “From the moment I first met you, I knew you were different.” In the back of my mind, a small voice screams that this is the wrong move, that this is a bad plan, and I will end up hurt.

“I knew that day that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.” The real story isn’t romantic in the least. What would I say about it, even if I wanted to tell the truth? She purposely fucked up my coffee order, and that was true love. Her visor made me hot and bothered.

Jesus. No.

“I’d be the luckiest man in the world if you would be my wife.”

I hold my breath. This is Bellamy’s big chance to say no, to stick to her principles, to reject me in front of some of D.C.’s wealthiest, most well-connected people. We’ve already lost another ten staffers at Accelerated Governance and it’s in a spiral that can only be stopped if she says yes. My heart pounds like her rejection could be real, personal, in a way that it can never be.

But she doesn’t. She nods, her smile reaching all the way to her eyes and wrinkling her nose. My heart squeezes. Shit, she’s fucking cute. Cute...and then the way she walks in that dress is all sultry temptress. I fall into a vivid flash forward of me sliding my fingers underneath the waistband of her panties, even while she wears a dress that retails for $6,000.

“Yes.” Her voice is breathless and delighted, nothing like the crisp professionalism she wears like a disguise in our meetings with Brian. “Oh, my God, yes.”

The restaurant erupts in applause—applause that’s too loud for the size of the place.

Bellamy falls down onto her knees to kiss me, right there on the floor, and then we both laugh as I slip the ring onto her finger. It’s a delicate gold band with a constellation of diamonds on it. Brian thought it should be a huge rock, something that the cameras could pick up a mile away, but she insisted, as always, on authenticity. The laugh dies away under my touch, and she feels warm, alive, and I want to see her lithe body spread open for me on the bed.

There’s no time to think of that now.

“Congratulations!” My brother makes his planned surprise appearance, my parents right behind, and the moment is broken open. It reminds me of a camera panning backward from the set of a sitcom. What looked so real on the screen is revealed to be painfully fake. Andrew claps his hand on my shoulder, pulls me in close, and whispers, “Thank you.”

Then he turns and kisses Bellamy on both cheeks.

The regular patrons at the Inn at Little Washington are wealthy enough that they don’t cause a scene. There are more than a few discreet phones popping up among them, though, and as I shake hands with my parents, I try to angle myself toward them.

“Congratulations, darling,” my mother says, wearing a tight-lipped smile. “It’s about time we were introduced to this lovely creature.”

Bellamy’s face flashes with something I can’t identify, but then she’s all smiles again, blushing prettily and grinning at my mother’s recounting of her own proposal story. The woman can’t read a room to save her life.

My father shakes my hand too hard, and glances to the side. “You sure about this one, son?”

This is a pretend engagement to a woman who clings so hard to the fact that this is a lie, that she’ll never see it could be a useful one.

Or a pleasurable one.

No. Not Bellamy.

I look my father in the eye. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” I fill my voice with every bit of determination and warmth that I can.

He narrows his eyes and cocks his head.

He doesn’t fucking believe me.

If it were Andrew, he’d be crying tears of joy, and I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t bother me that all this climbing, all this acting, all of this work, has barely managed to elicit a smile on his face that’s not false. But fuck, if there isn’t a stab at my heart.

“Well, good work.” He pats my shoulder, like he would in an office meeting room, or if I made yet another successful merger for my company. Not that he cares what I do with my companies, or whether I acquire new interests successfully or not.

I turn away from him and back to Bellamy.

She is glowing.

There’s only the smallest hesitation when she tucks herself under my arm, so we can move through the crowd together. They’re sweeping us out on their current, out to the lobby, to the not-a-surprise surprise engagement party, to be held at the White House. There are photographers shivering on the sidewalk outside, but we stand in the superheated air of the lobby, everyone laughing and talking around us.

“Who are these people?” Bellamy’s face is bright and hopeful. “Are they all your family?”

“God, no.” I shudder at the thought. “My parents and my brother’s closest advisors.” I scan the grouping of men pulling on overcoats and helping women into winter outerwear that can’t possibly be warm enough. “A couple of relatives.”

“It was nice of your parents to come.” Bellamy sounds wistful as I hold up a fur-lined winter coat, which she steps into. Then she frowns. “They don’t—they’re not inner circle, are they?”

Inner circle. Me. My brother Andrew. Brian. “No. And even if they were, they’d be here despite—” I can’t let myself get bitter. Not now. It always shows up in photos. “They’d be here.”

“Why?”

“For the cameras, sweetness.” I put her hand on my elbow and push open the door. It’s ten feet to the shining black SUV, a short ride to the White House, and then a trip home without her. Tonight, as always, we’ll sleep in separate houses, and I’ll wrap my hand around my own length and try to get her out of my mind. “Always for the cameras.”