Patricia Howitzer, the brand-new host of The Today Show, grins into Camera One. “We have a little surprise for our viewers this morning. Along with the First Brother and his gorgeous fiancée, the mother of the groom will be joining us.”

A screen off to the side of the camera lights up so we can see her, beamed in from her living room. Graham’s mother.

He tenses beside me, his hand going rigid in mine.

We’ve been killing it for the last seven minutes, answering all sorts of cutesy questions about the wedding, the way we met—ha, ha, wasn’t that all just a tremendous misunderstanding—and our future life plans. I’d relaxed, my hand in his. We were almost home free.

“Mrs. Blackpool, thank you for joining us.” Patricia is effusive. “Tell us—what’s the most exciting thing about your son’s engagement?”

Olivia Blackpool is all made up for the occasion, face shining. “The fact that there’s a wedding at all!”

Patricia laughs along with her.

“Honestly, we’d hoped for a presidential wedding, but this is the next best thing.”

I don’t have to look at Graham to know he’s shutting down. I can feel it through our joined hands.

“Who knows, Mother? Maybe you’ll still get your wish.”

“We’re all very excited,” continues Olivia, as if she didn’t hear him. “And his brother will be there, overseeing it all.”

“So, you’d say the President is involved in the planning?” Patricia grins like this is the most exciting thing in the world. “That’s quite unusual.”

“It’s not unusual in the Blackpool family.” Graham’s voice is flat.

“We all pitch in whenever there’s a family event,” echoes Olivia. “But, naturally, I’m bearing the brunt of the planning.”

Patricia doesn’t look at me, but I can feel her attention shift. Please. Please don’t ask about my mother. Please.

She doesn’t. Either somebody on the advance team already knows or they don’t care because Olivia Blackpool is a bigger get.

“One more question for you, Mrs. Blackpool. Can you sleep at night? I’d be up constantly, just from the excitement!”

Olivia laughs and laughs. Too long for TV. “Oh, I sleep like a baby. But if you must know, I spend all my waking hours on it. Someone has to keep Graham on the straight and narrow.”

He’s boiling, raging.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, close to his ear so the mics can’t pick it up.

“Don’t say that bullshit to me,” he hisses.

“Graham, what the—”

“—and a big thank you to the happy couple for joining us!”

I beam at Patricia Howitzer, but there’s a slight lift to her eyebrows that tells me she saw everything. She can still see Graham’s face. He doesn’t look happy. He looks irate.

Back in the green room, I let him have it. What a disaster. Brian’ll be calling soon, letting us know that President Blackpool isn’t happy, that we have to do better than this.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what? A grown man who doesn’t want his mother butting in on every single thing he ever does?”

“Whatever happened to a good performance? Doesn’t that count for anything anymore? We’re supposed to be planning a wedding, not fighting on national TV.”

He gets a text message. It’s from Brian. The president is worried that the tension on television might direct everything back to the White House.

“What the hell is he so worried about? What’s he doing?”

“He’s running the country.”

“That’s not it. What is he really doing? Nobody with nothing to hide would be this obsessed with his little brother’s fake wedding.”

“Do you want it to be fake?” His gaze is hot enough to scorch. “Do you really want these people to follow us everywhere we go across the fucking planet? We’re in a different city, and they’re still trying to control every move.”

“Oh, stop. They can’t control your every move, and you know it. You just showed them that on national television. At my expense, you asshole.”

He scoffs. “You’ll never understand.”

I’m tired. I miss my friends. I want this to be better. He is killing me. “You’ll never let me understand. You’re cryptic and withholding and—”

“How else am I supposed to be?” He’s on the verge of laughing, a cruel, hard laugh. “You want me to pour my heart out to you? You want me to act like all this isn’t some twisted game?” He’s losing it, and he has no filter, and the words keep tumbling out of his mouth, a deluge of rage and hurt. “Why would I tell you anything? You’re just another bit player.” His gorgeous mouth twists into a scowl. “You’re an extra.”

I catch his hurt in my hands and throw it back to him. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me about it?” My chest is incandescent with pain; inexplicable, inexcusable, stupid pain. “I’m the only one who know how it feels. I’m the same as you.” Tears prick the corners of my eyes and I blink them away. “I’m the one sitting across from you at these stupid interviews, pretending like I want to be living this lie.”

“Then don’t do it, Bellamy. Don’t live the lie. Walk away. Go back to your little career, with your little—”

“Don’t you dare.” My voice is a low growl. “Don’t you dare talk about my life like that. You have no idea what it’s like to work for something and have it ripped away, all because you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Graham goes deadly quiet. Dangerous. “I’ve always been in the wrong place at the wrong time, sweetness. You think I lived some charmed life growing up? I made my own life for myself.”

“How am I supposed to know that? We have to live together, but you don’t talk to me, you don’t tell me anything about yourself—”

“There’s nothing to know. There’s nothing anyone needs to know.” Graham laughs, and it’s harsh, like sandpaper, like broken cement. “What are you going to do with that information? File it away for when this is all over, and it’s been nothing but a colossal waste of time?”

I’m trembling. I’m so angry, and I don’t know why, but my body shakes with it. “It doesn’t have to be a waste of time. You said that. You said it could be fun. We could enjoy ourselves. And Jesus, Graham, sometimes it seems like we’re on the same team, like it’s just you and me, and everyone else—they’re the fucking fake ones.” I ball my hands into fists at my sides. “And I like it! I’m the sucker who likes it when that happens. I’m the idiot who sits there wishing that I could have both things.”

He goes quiet and still. “Both?”

“A career,” I start out, and my throat tightens, “and you. But not the fake version of you. The real version of you. The version of you I might have been able to know if…if…”

He comes closer to me, blocking out everything else—the shitty furniture in the green room, the lukewarm bottles of water on the side table, everything. “If you hadn’t chased me out of your little store?”

I can’t breathe. “If I hadn’t done that, I never would have met you. I know you regret it, but—”

Graham puts a hand on my jaw and my body goes still. “I don’t regret it.”

“What do you regret then?”

“Being born to my parents. If I had a different brother, none of this would be an issue.”

“You might not be a rich playboy.” God. I don’t know why I say half the things I say.

“I might have had a different fate.” His green eyes glow with a heat that spreads through my entire body. “You might have been mine.”

“What if I already am?”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat like a drowning man, and kisses me.

It’s pure possession, this kiss. Pure ownership, and none of it is false, none of it is a performance. There are no parents to scandalize. There is no brother to impress. It’s him and me. It’s raw and real and hot, and I melt into it, into his hands, into his mouth. God, I want him. I want his pain and his pleasure, and I want it all to be mine.

I’m submerged in him, lost in the kiss, when it’s broken open by someone clearing their throat.

I untangle myself from Graham’s hands and turn. There, in the doorway, is a production assistant, with two familiar faces behind her.

“Um—” She looks young, barely out of college. “Is it okay if we use the room?”