“It’s bad manners to send your lackeys to my house to deliver your messages.” I stand on the carpet in the Oval Office, a foot away from the Resolute Desk.

Andrew looks up from the sheaf of papers he’s holding, toward where his advisers are still filing out the door. “Don’t embarrass me,” he says mildly, and glances back down at his papers.

“Don’t embarrass me, Mr. President.”

The door clicks shut behind the last of his people and we’re alone in the heavy silence of the office. No other room on the planet bears a silence like this. It’s fucking creepy.

“I sent Brian because it was essential the message got through.”

“I have a phone. You’ve used it before.”

My brother puts down the stack of papers and crosses his arms. “It was important.”

“Are you going to tell me why? I’d love to know what this is all about.” I put my hands in my pockets and cock my head to the side, like we’re standing on the lawn at a summer dinner party. “If you’re sending people to threaten me with imprisonment.”

Andrew scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I was on my way out of town.”

“I needed you in town, drawing media attention.”

“You know...” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “I could have drawn plenty of media attention without an orchestrated proposal. In fact, I’ve become very good at it over the course of my life.”

“Positive media attention.” Andrew lets irritation creep into his voice. “Why did you come here, Graham? I’m sure Mr. Kelting has been in contact about—”

“About appearances? Yes. About this new acceleration everyone is all too happy to throw in my face? No.” Bellamy’s expression at the food tasting is stuck in my mind. I can hardly describe the hope in her face when I said I’d try to get the wedding pushed back. Last night, she was full of ideas about how to get it postponed entirely. “Then our real engagement could happen on our timeline.” She’d blushed. “If you still want that.” I showed her how much I wanted her, with my tongue between her legs.

“Yeah.” Andrew’s tone is clipped. “It’s going to have to be next month.”

“Next month? As in, April?”

“April. Yes. I need the bulk of the planning to happen in the next five weeks. And I need it to be public.”

The shadow of one of Andrew’s Secret Service agents blocks the sun coming in from the Rose Garden. I take a breath. I want to punch him in his smug, entitled face, but I keep my hands in my pockets.

“That’s not going to work for us.”

Andrew’s eyebrows jump. “Us?”

“It’s not going to work for me, or for Bellamy.” Every syllable of her name rolls off my lips with the kind of precision she’d be proud of. “We’ll continue with the false engagement, but we’re going to postpone the wedding—”

“No.”

“—until a date of our choosing.”

“That’s not an option.”

I don’t rise to the bait. “It’s your only option, from where I stand.”

Andrew puts his fingers to his chin and considers me. “Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?”

I give him a slow nod. “You’re not a monarch, Andrew. You can’t force people into indentured servitude because you think that’s the best way to control the news cycle. What about your press secretary?”

“My press secretary is doing his job. Why can’t you do yours?”

“Which job are you talking about? Managing the growth of the political incubator you keep trying to destroy, or steering my other international business ventures to unprecedented success? Those jobs?” I laugh in Andrew’s face. “I wouldn’t exactly call them jobs. That makes it sound like I have a boss. But if that’s the terminology you can understand—”

“Your responsibility then. Why can’t you shoulder the responsibility of being in this family?” Andrew’s hand clenches into a fist, and he brings it down lightly on the surface of the desk. His face turns red, one inch at a time, as he stares into my eyes. “I need you to do this for me. As my brother. If you could understand—”

“Let me understand then.” The anger is a storm surge and I grit my teeth to keep it at bay. “Tell me. What’s your Achilles’ heel? What’s making you so weak that you can’t do your own job without forcing me into a wedding that my girlfriend doesn’t want?”

Fuck. One false move and Andrew is brought up short. “Your girlfriend?”

“My fiancée.” I parry, to try and bring the attention back to the real matter at hand, but Andrew is a bulldog. He doesn’t let it go.

“You said girlfriend. You’re in a relationship with this woman?”

Too late to back down now. “Yes. Bellamy and I are in a relationship.”

Andrew laughs. “You know you can’t do that.”

I look around the room, in an exaggerated search. “Am I still living in a free country?”

“Her mother committed manslaughter.”

“A fact that you’ve conveniently kept out of the press.”

“It’s a matter of public record, Graham.” He’s threatening me.

“Oh, I see. You’re biding your time.” Might as well think out loud. “No, because that would be negative...” I’m wrong. Andrew is one step ahead of me. “You’re going to use it for your own benefit.”

His lips twitch, hinting at satisfaction.

“You’re an unbelievable bastard.”

“I’m doing it for everyone’s good. You’ll see.”

I approach the desk and spread my fingers out on the surface. “Why don’t you tell me now? Since you’re being a demanding prick, the least you could do is pay for your favor in information.”

Andrew picks up the papers from his desk. “It’s classified.”

“Is this about that country you’re failing to manage? Bahara?” His eyes flick up to mine. “Thought so. You know, Andrew, I have money, and I have people, and some of them are inside the Beltway. If you’re going to be a withholding animal, then two can play that game.”

He pales.

“Don’t fuck with me.” His tone is so deadly I straighten up. “Do not fuck with me, Graham. All the money in the world won’t save you if you fuck with me.”

I turn to leave without another word.

He can’t let me go without one parting shot. “I’ll look for my wedding invitation in the mail.”