“You can’t interrupt the segment. Sir—”

“Put another chair next to my wife.”

“I—” He’s got to be a low-level assistant, the redhead with the slightly crazed eyes, but he’s the one who won the task of talking to me.

“Do it, and I’ll double your salary for the year. Do you understand?”

He snaps his mouth shut and disappears to the outer reaches of the studio. He’s sweating when he reappears with the chair. I give him a nod. “Go.”

He steps out onto the studio floor gingerly, runs up next to Bellamy, and puts the chair by her side. Rachel Knight, the host, covers her what-the-fuck expression with a broad good-morning smile.

The assistant scurries back to where I’m standing and I hand him one of my cards. “You send your name and address to this email, and I’ll send you a check.”

He stares, open-mouthed. I don’t have time for his disbelief.

I stride onto the floor and sit next to my wife.

She looks into the bank of cameras in front of us, not turning her head. “What are you doing here?”

“—us today we have Bellamy Leighton, wife of Graham Blackpool, with some startling revelations about exactly why Julia Dehren’s son is a person of incredible interest this morning. Bellamy, it’s so nice to have you and your husband with us.”

She smiles across the space between her desk and our chairs—all of three feet—and her eyebrows are almost at her hairline.

It’s so easy. We’ve practiced this a hundred times. The only thing that’s different are the words.

“Thanks for having us here, Rachel.”

She’s a consummate professional. She doesn’t miss a beat. “Congratulations are in order for your very recent wedding, Mr. Blackpool. Was the president in attendance at your big day?”

“He would only have missed it for a pressing emergency,” I joke, and she laughs.

Bellamy slips her hand into mine.

“Ms. Leighton, I’d like to ask you about the information you’ve obtained regarding President Blackpool and his stepson. Mr. Blackpool, I’d also like to ask—”

“I hate to interrupt, but I can answer all of your questions, Rachel.” I turn and look at Bellamy. She’s pink under the lights, her forehead creased with worry. “But before I do that, I have to say one thing.” I speak directly to the woman who was willing to risk it all to come here and set things right. “I’m in awe of you. You tried your damndest to do a hard thing.”

That fire comes back into her eyes. “I still could.”

“No need.” I lean my head closer to hers. There is nothing intimate about this moment—so many cameras—and yet everything is intimate. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“Mr. Blackpool—”

I train my attention on Rachel Knight. “I’m here today to categorically deny the rumors that Ms. Dehren’s son is my brother’s godson. In fact, the relation between the three of us is half-sibling.”

Rachel’s mouth drops open. “Oh—” It’s a momentary slip, and she catches herself mid-fall. “Are you suggesting that there’s a branch of the Blackpool family that wasn’t included in the campaign?”

“Here’s what I know.” I squeeze Bellamy’s hand. “I know that my brother, Andrew Blackpool, is the most honorable man to sit in the Oval Office. Ever. He did not hide secrets from the American people. This is only an attempt to draw attention away from the real issues that matter.” It all comes back to me, from out on the trail—the stock phrases that get the interviewers going. “Which is why we only want to share a few details about our honeymoon.”

This is not the direction that Rachel Knight thought we were going to go, but that’s the irony of this plan—the public wants more about the wedding. They want to know where we’re honeymooning. They want to know when we’ll leave. They want to know when we’ll be back. It’s a circus that goes around and around again.

“So you can’t confirm or deny that Julia Dehren is telling the truth?”

“I can’t. If you’d like more information on that relationship, you’ll have to ask my father. He’s here in the studio, waiting for his chance to be interviewed.”

I don’t have to look for him to know that he’s furious.

I also know that he won’t slink out of here and out the back door. It’s one thing for his sons to think he’s a coward. But the country? Never.

And I know why.

He owns the papers.

He owns the papers and the website and everything else as part of his media empire. The fact that he doesn’t own CNN is astonishing, but not as astonishing as the realization that he used his own papers to manufacture a crisis.

That’s what happened, all those days ago when I met Bellamy. I’m sure of it.

I have thrown the ball into his hands.

I grin at Rachel Knight. “Thanks for having us, Rachel. We’ll check in after our trip to the Bahamas.”

While Rachel smoothly transitions into the outdo for a commercial break, I pull Bellamy off the stage, unclip her mic, and kiss her.

“What the hell was that?” My father is purple with rage. “You’re going to drag me out there?”

I flick my tongue against Bellamy’s lip before I pull away to address him. “No. I don’t care what you do.” I keep her hand firmly in mine when I turn to face him. “Interview. Don’t interview. But stay away from Andrew. And stay away from me. Keep your own dirty secrets.”

“Son—”

“Stop fucking calling me that, you pathetic piece of shit.”

The redheaded assistant inserts himself between us. “Mr. Blackpool. Mr. Blackpool, can you sit here? We have someone standing by to help with—”

My father allows himself to be guided to the interview chair.

No surprises there.

In the hallway I press Bellamy against the wall and take her face in my hands. “Don’t ever walk out on me again.”

Her jaw quivers. “You dared me to.”

“That’ll never happen again.”

She drags a finger down the line of my collar, her nail pressing against my skin. “Why? Did you have some big revelation?”

“Yes.” I press my lips to the side of her neck and breathe her in. “I always wanted the chance to be someone’s best. I don’t need that anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m yours. And you, sweetness, are mine.”

“Graham...you don’t have to do this.”

“Hush.” I go down on one knee. “Shut those pretty lips and listen to me.”

“What are you doing? Get up—there are people—”

I take a jewelry box from my pocket. “Bellamy Blackpool, I have loved you since the moment you chased me out onto a sidewalk a million years ago. Will you be my wife?”

She puts her hands on my shoulders and laughs. “Again?”

“Again and always.” I open the box. There’s a delicate necklace inside to match her wedding band.

Bellamy goes still, but she’s looking into my eyes, not at the box. “As long as we can be free.”

I stand up and take her into my arms. “I’m only free when I’m with you, sweetness.”

She throws her arms around my neck. “Then let’s fly away. I’m not going anywhere.”