White Rock Extant

WHITE ROCK EXTANT

by

Rae Crossmon

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 R. Corderman

Cover Art Copyright 2012 Kristen Lyle

This book is a work of fiction.

All characters and scenes are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any references to individuals who hold public positions are not intended to represent real people. The places of White Rock Academy, the city of New Devin, the street of Radka, and the state of Argun are imaginary.

See additional author notes and acknowledgements at book’s end, as well as a free sample of White Rock 3: Avaunt.

*********Adult Reading Material*********

According to the old Russian law, the tie which unites a man to his sister and the children she has brought into the world, was considered to be closer than that which unites two brothers or the uncle and his nephew...(There is) a custom generally in use among the Southern Slavs of securing from a person truthfulness in his statements by the invocation of the name of the sister.

Folk-Lore, A Quarterly Review of Myth, Tradition, Institution and Custom. Volume I - 1890.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: The Duchess Meets the Duke

Chapter 2: The Métiers Clash with Anderson via Brutus

Chapter 3: Madeleine’s First Husband and First Son

Chapter 4: Sondra (not) Fantasizing About her Boss

Chapter 5: Finding the Mark

Chapter 6: A Gothic Romance Begins

Chapter 7: Fantasies About the Future and Research About the Past

Chapter 8: A Victorian Romance Begins

Chapter 9: The Greater Good

Chapter 10: The Center Cannot Hold

Chapter 11: Already Fallen

Chapter 12: Nothing Hurts Fantasy Like a Little Reality

Chapter 13: Jess Finds Out the Truth - With an Unlikely Ally

Chapter 14: How Jessie Made Evan Happy and Vice Versa

Chapter 15: The Duke Tangles with the Little Prince

Chapter 16: Evan and Henri Meet Some Interesting Children

Chapter 17: Madeleine’s Second Husband and Second Son

Chapter 18: Greatest Fears

Chapter 19: Coping Mechanisms

Chapter 20: Another Man with No E

Chapter 21: Jackson Forces a Marriage

Chapter 22: Hearst and the Hypocrite

Chapter 23: The Duke and the Duchess Go Public

Chapter 24: Evan’s Redemption Begins

Chapter 25: Jackson Comes Home

Chapter 26: Pregnant

Chapter 27: Transformed by the McConsas Siblings

Chapter 28: Consummation and Wounds

Chapter 29: Announcements

Chapter 30: The Mystery of Evan’s Marks

Chapter 31: The Greek Alumni Event

Chapter 32: Grace Notes

Chapter 33: Evan Has a Houseguest

Chapter 34: Consummation and Catalysts

Chapter 35: Backstory of Piers and Madison

Chapter 36: Another Forced Landing Brings Another Surprise in Another Storm

Chapter 37: A Catalyst Changes the Course of Things

Chapter 38: Conversations and Choices

Chapter 39: Jess Figures Out Who She Wants

Chapter 40: Cleaning Up Loose Ends

Epilogue

Contact Rae

Author’s Notes and Acknowledgments

Other Titles

Selected Excerpts from Book 3: Avaunt

Chapter 1: The Duchess Meets the Duke

Jessica McConsas is bored. This is seldom a good thing.

She cruises the edges of the party, scanning for something to liven up the evening. She stops when she sees someone who looks even more bored than her. He seems familiar, but she can’t place him. Jessie meets dozens, sometimes hundreds of people a week as she helps her dad campaign for the presidency, so she’s never sure if she recognizes someone from a campaign event or something else.

Late twenties, messy blond hair, and a schoolboy look complete with blue blazer and khakis. He has removed himself from the crowd to stand on the sea walk and gaze out over the water. The man wears the same expression her best friend/father’s fiancé gets when the campaign staff has overscheduled events, and Henri has been exposed to too many people: the introvert who would rather be anywhere but here.

The trick at these things, Jessie says, moving up beside him, is to focus on one person and create a story in your head.

He turns slowly. Light eyes. Pale skin with slight grooves to the side of his mouth. Demonstrate.

The English accent should give it away, but Jess has finally found some fun and doesn’t stop to think. She folds her arms across her chest and scans the crowd of several hundred people on the Métier lawn. OK, I found one. See the man by the buffet table wearing the fake Rolex?

The one staring at the server’s backside?

Yes. He’s going to fill his pockets with lobster puffs. He has a food hoarding problem. His house is full of tin cans and bottled water. Your turn.

I know most of these people. Unblinking. Neither frowning nor smiling. Impossible to read.

Jessie’s eyes light up and her dimples dig in deep. Even better. You can tell me the real deal. We won’t have to make stuff up. Go.

He surveys the crowd. Jessica is reminded of a computer searching for information, highlighting a piece of data. The man makes a subtle gesture toward the pool area. See the recently face-lifted TV actress with her producer husband over there?

Yeah, I love that crime show she’s on.

Her contract will not be renewed because her husband’s new girlfriend is going to replace her in the part.

Jessica doesn’t hide her surprise. Are you serious or did you make that up? I don’t know which is worse.

He spreads his hands open, and displays a small grin. You started it. I like this game. Your turn.

You’ve raised the stakes now that we’re telling the truth. Who else do I know here? Oh, see the right Reverend Jones over there? The one with the talk show in L.A.?

Raises a lot of money by railing against original sin?

Yeah. The same week he mentioned that homosexuals are an abomination, he put his hand on my brother Bryce. In a place only abominable men put their hands on each other.

The man smiles fully, showing lovely, even white teeth. Must not be true British or maybe living over here has convinced him orthodontia isn’t such a bad thing. You are good at this. Tell me about that woman over there. The one talking to Lord-of-the-Manor Jarenth Métier.

Jessica glances toward two people on the deck. A famous actor is talking with the party host, who doesn’t appear to like what she’s saying. The host deepens his frown when the woman puts a perfectly manicured hand on his arm, and looks up with a warm smile.

The most beautiful woman at this party? Jessica muses. Probably in this whole state? Excepting Lord-of-the-Manor’s sister?

Yes, her. What’s her story?

Jessica pauses for a minute, something tugging at the back of her mind, telling her to put the pieces together. She ignores the warning, and uses the moment as an excuse to shift closer to the attractive and intriguing young man. She whispers dramatically, That woman has waited a whole lifetime for someone to tell her no. She’s still waiting.

The actor talking to her ex-fiancé chooses that moment to turn and blow a kiss. Directly at the man standing next to Jessica.

Jessica looks sick. Oh my God, I’m so sorry...how rude. You must be Piers. I didn’t recognize you with clothes on. She turns bright red. I mean, your pictures never show you dressed up... For the first time, Jessie understands the people who meet her and act starstruck.

I considered wearing my usual high-tops, but decided I couldn’t get away with them today. Don’t worry. You didn’t say anything that isn’t true. I kind of set you up, anyway, which was even ruder. He puts out his hand. Your name?

Jessica McConsas.

Of course. Something was ringing a bell.

What do you mean?

He’s famous for having no social skills, stating what he thinks no matter the person or outcome. Steve Jobs once commented that Piers was probably autistic, and that would make him a social butterfly in their field.

You’ve got the famous eyes, though yours are blue-green, not one blue and one green, and you’ve got the famous mind. You’re also far too good at manipulating people. In other words, you’re a good-looking version of your father.

They both watch the wife gesture for Piers to come over. He gives Jessie the lovely smile before moving off. No malice in it, no apology either, because he doesn’t realize he has startled her with his frank appraisal. Nice to meet you Jessica. I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.

The Oscar winner thinks her husband is quieter than usual once they get home, but jokes with herself that she’s not sure how she would be able to tell. She assumes it’s because she was talking to Jarenth, her ex-fiancé, on the deck.

Thank you for going tonight, Piers. I know you hate those kinds of things.

It turned out to be all right. A private smile reflects in the screen of his computer monitor. Barely in the front door before he is down the hall to his room full of boring stuff. She reminds herself she can go back to L.A. tomorrow. Lunch with Tim Robbins about an independent film, some shopping in Beverly Hills. He can sit here and work with zeros and ones, his answer to anyone who asks what he does for a living.

Yes, I noticed you made a friend. Who was the pretty young thing on the sea walk with you? You seemed to be having a good time whispering together.

Jessica McConsas. Breath of fresh air.

A princess. All you Brits love royalty, even a watered-down American version.

Be careful. You sound jealous. Tone distracted. Only half-listening as he does something with one of the many projection screens suspended overhead.

I am jealous. She’s rich and famous and her dad may be President soon. Even you might be intimidated. She wraps her arms around him from behind. Come to bed.

I’m going to stay up for a while. They are both surprised by his response. She doesn’t come to this house very often, and he usually tries to please her.

You’re sure? She runs her hands inside his shirt, over the long scar that didn’t heal properly, something that never fails to excite him. She feels the smallest shrug away from her. Did it bother you seeing me with Jarenth?

No. You two wouldn’t have lasted long. Sometimes she wonders if she will ever get used to his bluntness, his literal interpretation of words without dissecting the feeling or need behind them. Besides, he's obviously fallen for someone else. The minute that little boy’s mom came on the deck, Jarenth forgot you were standing there. Wonder if it felt good to show you he’s moved on.

Even with his tendency to be straightforward, her husband does not talk to her like this. Her husband is usually grateful she gives him the time of day. Good night, Piers.

He mumbles something, staring at the screen with that still, unblinking quality that means he is lost to her. She turns away to go to their bedroom, slightly relieved because she knows how he is after she forces him to go to social events. After they return home, he forces her to do things she dislikes. Unless work calls, as it apparently has this evening.

A week later, she will go into the room in the basement she is forbidden to go in—the Bluebeard room, as she laughingly calls it—and find something terrible, something worthy of Bluebeard himself. It will make her sick and scared, but she will scramble to put things back the way she found them, until she can decide what to do.

Piers will come home from Prague that night; he will know she has been in the room. He doesn’t say how, though she assumes he has video monitors and cameras that track her every move, both inside and outside the house. One reason she married him was she thought he could keep her safe from the dark side of celebrity, the stalkers and fans. She didn’t realize the inverse of such security was that his technology could track her every move, every minute. His technology and his loathsome personal assistant, Charles, who seems to have some sort of weird obsession with his boss.

The night Piers came home from Prague, he stood in the doorway of their bedroom. He calmly said the marriage was over because he had only asked one thing of her, to stay out of that room, and she had not been able to do that one simple task. She asked how he had found out the things about her, located in the file in the basement, and her husband said anything could be had for a price.

It took her a month or so, because no one had ever ended a relationship with the Oscar winner before. She had always been the one to leave. But as she thought more about it, she realized something. Truth was, as the actor looked back on the last week of her marriage, she came to the conclusion that the Bluebeard room was his excuse; her marriage was over the night Piers met Jessica McConsas.

Why, look, it’s the little whore who has Byrne McConsas wrapped around her pussy. Catherine Gautier makes a mock apology when she sees the look on Henri’s face. Pardon me, I assumed you were used to talk like that. Being from the south side and all.

Henri has two choices in these situations, which crop up more frequently than she likes. React like Jessie or react like Evan. She usually chooses the first, because Jessie has a way of shutting her opponent down that leaves no doubt as to who the alpha female is, but contains a touch of class all the same. Her brother Evan is a street thug who goes for the soft spots every time. Kind of like this Red Prague bitch.

Senator Gautier is royalty from the other side, the bad girls who hate White Rock. Or this is what they learned in college. Henri is still trying to come to terms with where she stands on the issue of White Rock: is it a religion, a state of mind, or an ancient conflict whose time has come again? Sometimes she feels like the lone atheist in a sea of hard-core believers. Then she will remember Byrne saying he believed enough for both of them, and she should come to things in her own way.

Red Prague women have a reputation for being coldly beautiful, and Catherine certainly fits that bill. She is a breathtaking mixture of Angelina Jolie and Juliette Binoche; tall and dark-haired, with liquid eyes and a full mouth. It is hard not to stare at her; she is well aware of this fact.

Catherine shoos her giggling entourage out of the plush women’s room as she locks the door. Many of these scenes play out in bathrooms, and Henri knows there is some joke in there she can’t quite grasp. She adds it to the checklist in her head. Things to discuss with Evan in six months, two weeks, and one day. Maybe earlier, depending on Judge Allen’s generosity.

Catherine looks Henri up and down. You’re certainly no Amy Lewis. I’m not sure you’re even White Rock. What could Byrne possibly see in you?

Henri’s deep voice is full of contempt. There’s no accounting for taste right, Senator Gautier?

Apparently not. I don’t see how Byrne thinks the American public is going to elect a man who picked his son’s leftovers out of the gutter. He messed up this time. He called it wrong. You’re not the new queen. You’re not anybody important. Your brother might be, but you’re not.

Henri shrugs. See, that might hurt if I gave a damn about your little fairy tales. I care about Byrne and my family.

Yes, you care about his son a bit too much perhaps? I’ve always envied the McConsas family their closeness, but now I’m wondering if you’re all too close. Catherine's eyes glitter. How does that even work? Does Bryce refer to you as his stepmother now?

Bryce is gay. You of all people should identify with that.

A small flicker of surprise on Catherine’s perfect oval face, but she doesn’t take the bait. "In the old Slavic matriarchy—you know, before the boys took over and ruined everything—it was common for a woman to be married to both father and son. Guess you’re just following an ancient tradition. Smirk. One that probably served us well, seeing how long it lasted."

Sounds like you’re way too interested in my bedroom arrangements. Speaking of living in the gutter. Delivered just like Evan, dry and cold, a shade of contempt. Henri adds her own touch and lets her mouth curl up slightly.

How much are they telling you about what’s coming? Delicate hand to the forehead, as if she has forgotten something. But of course, you studied at White Rock Academy. On scholarship, wasn’t it?

My brother paid for my education, and his money is just as good as yours.

Actually, it isn’t, Catherine says. He’s a violent criminal and he helps violent criminals go free from the hurt they’ve inflicted on others. One reason we’re sure he plays for our side, no matter what he seems to think or what your noble father hoped...I’ve learned something interesting about you, Ms. Helmsley. I can say terrible things about your fiancé and your lover, but not your brother.

Henri remains silent, wishing she hadn’t been so defensive with the comment about money. Too late, though. A woman like this sees her advantage and goes for the throat.

I hear he’s a changed man, Catherine says. He’s even been seen at chapel. Supposedly, he asked for an audience with the high Priestess herself, Vlasta’s designee until she comes back. No one knows what they talked about, but I bet they talked about you. I bet he asked forgiveness. Some people are surprised at the way he’s acting, but I always heard Evan did well in the prayer position.

I’m tired of this conversation. Get out of my way.

Catherine ignores her. I had a date with him once, did you know that? Your brother used to be a lot different, before your parents died. He liked to party. He laughed a lot, and could be charming and funny. He raced cars, and supposedly knew what he was doing in the back seat as well as the front. Just a typical American guy from a close-knit Irish-Catholic neighborhood.

Is there a point to this trip down memory lane?

"We went to a movie. Dazed and Confused, I think it was called. At intermission, he said he had to call home, that you were sick and he was worried. You were very young, weren’t even in school yet. Evan came back from the lobby and told me he had to take me home, that you needed him. She cocked her head. What did you say to him?"

I don’t remember that story. Hopefully, I told him to run far and run fast from you.

Your parents died a year later, and everyone marveled at how he stepped up to take care of you. But now we’ve learned that he wasn’t really doing that, he was hurting you all along. So what happened to the perfect brother? Why did he start beating on you?

Henri takes a breath. One good thing about being from the south side is that I know how to fight. Physically. I don’t want to move you from this doorway, but I can. And I will. I would hate to see that perfect face messed up because you called my bluff, and wanted to stay in here trash-talking me. Funny how I’m not important, but you can’t seem to get enough of this conversation. Now move, before I move you.

Catherine steps aside, but makes one parting shot as Henri opens the door. You’re nothing like her. Amy. She was a class act. He should have married royalty, like he did the first time.

Henri turns back. Royalty like you?

Hardly. I don’t want him. I want him dead. If you marry him, it will all be set in motion. Catherine’s face is vicious and smug. Think long and hard about that, Ms. Helmsley. Whether you’re the third daughter, the new queen, or simply the white trash I think you are, once you say yes, it starts for good. And your beloved Byrne won’t survive.

Jessie snorts down the phone line, across the country. Sounds as if you handled it well. I would have said pretty much the same thing.

She wouldn’t have talked to you like that.

Sure she would have, only it would have been worse. Pure bloods like her and me were raised to go for the jugular.

From what you’ve told me, your mom didn’t act like that.

She didn’t, but she made sure I got plenty of exposure to that kind of woman, so I knew how to handle myself. Neither one mentions Jessie’s godmother, who is exactly that kind of woman. She’s also the woman that Henri’s child calls mother, and Henri’s stomach hurts every time she hears the name Margeaux Munroe Easton.

Jessie is more hesitant when she breaks into the silence. Listen, you don’t need to be like Mom or Margeaux or me. I speak for everyone in the family when I say we love you for who you are.

It’s hard, Jessie. If you haven’t grown up with it.

It’s hard because you want an A+ in everything.

I don’t want to disappoint Byrne. Or you. Or Bryce.

You could never do that. You’re a McConsas now. Once in, never out. Isn’t that what they say when they induct someone into the Irish Republican Army? Or maybe it’s the Christian Coalition.

They both laugh.

Henri says, I miss you, girl. I can’t wait until your west coast campaign stops are over and you’re back home. Tell me about tonight, the Métier clan.

Jessie’s voice lowers dramatically. I met someone. I know I say that every week, but he might be the one, Henri. It hit me in the stomach when I saw him. Well, perhaps a little lower than my stomach.

Jessie describes the encounter on the lawn.

Henri says, Peerless Piers? The billion-dollar-boy? The computer genius who says there won’t be such a thing as privacy in twenty years? He spoke on campus our junior year and I was reminded of what Einstein said about his theory of relativity: only six people in the world probably understood the implications of what he was saying.

I wasn’t staring at his brain, but if it’s as well developed as the rest of him, I might start. I can’t stop thinking about him.

So where did you leave it? Did you get his phone number? The address of his favorite shoe store? Wait a minute, didn’t he just marry that actor who did the movie about the disabled single mom from Paducah? Bryce and I had a great time tearing that film apart.

Yeah, that’s the bad news, Jess says. He’s married and the press coverage appears to be true. He adores her. She crooked her finger and he went running. He wasn’t even flirting with me. I’m not sure it occurred to him that I’m a woman.

Please. I bet he’s writing, er typing, your name over and over on his iMac right now.

I want to see him again. You think I should call?

What, and ask his wife if he wants to come out and play? I have a better idea. Write a letter. I’m surprised by how much you can find out about a person when you can’t speak with them face-to-face.

Brother dear,

Remember when Judge Allen said I should invest in some stationary? That turned out to be unnecessary. As you can see from the embossed heading on this piece of paper, even a woman who is not yet married to a man who is not yet President must follow proper protocol.

I have been subjected to far too many protocol lectures. They bore me. If I want to eat tapioca pudding in the kitchen of the governor’s mansion at 3 a.m. with my Secret Service bodyguard, (first name Vanessa, and I also breach protocol by referring to her as such), I will. If I want to hold my fiancé’s hand instead of shake the hand of yet another grand poobah, I will do that as well. These snotty, uptight women who are known as protocol advisors are very frustrated with me, and I can assure you I feel the same.

There was some debate as to how my brother was to be referred to in official campaign activities. I suggested Evan Helmsley, Esquire, and was informed that title wasn’t appropriate. I then suggested Evan Helmsley, Scariest Fucking Man Most People Have Ever Met, and one woman left the room in disgust, saying I was hopeless. Jessie came back with her, soothed over all the angst, and we worked something out. As you have probably noted, you are simply Evan Helmsley, the brother of Henri Helmsley. (Though I cracked up when I saw the National Enquirer refer to you as the one that got away in the story on Karla. Regarding the baby bump she was displaying so proudly: Please, please, please tell me you are not the father. To paraphrase something you said last year over sushi, I would love to be an aunt, but I would prefer the timing—and the woman—be better.)

I miss you. Everything has changed so rapidly and there’s no one to talk to. Jessie and Bryce are still my best friends, but our relationship has altered and we’re all trying to come to terms with it. I can hardly discuss the grand passion I feel for Byrne with his kids. The people who surround Byrne are relentless in taking him away from me, often when I need him most. (Not Carter, though: I always thought he didn’t like me, but he’s turned out to be one of my strongest allies.)

Byrne is wonderful. He is gone a lot, but made a promise that we would never spend more than one night apart. He creates small windows of time for us in the madness, and I am full of love and gratitude for his kindness. From the beginning, he has insisted that I am welcome at every meeting, with no exceptions. There were some awkward pauses the first few times I joined everyone, particularly when they discussed how the engagement would be handled in the media, but Carter saved the day yet again. He asked for my opinion, mentioning my journalistic instincts. I think I’m starting to understand why Bryce has a permanent crush on Carter.

It’s not my world, and I don’t want it to be. Jess makes it look easy, but it’s frightening—how the crowds want to touch me, the constant cameras (I always thought I would stand behind them), and the cruel speculation in the newspapers. Cruel to me, when they imply I’m a manipulative gold digger, and cruel to Byrne, particularly the cartoons that imply he’s a cliché: rich widower with a young girlfriend.

I do this for him. We have an agreement that after it’s over, after he has won, I can be as introverted as I want. He reminds me that not every First Lady has chosen to be in the limelight. He teases me that some took over the limelight, including my favorite, that brainiac from Arkansas.

I often think of how much fun you and I would have poking fun at the self-important people who have attached themselves to the campaign. I hear your voice, dry and mocking, and try to imagine what you would say about this person or that situation. When I feel too intimidated, I pretend that I’m you. I don’t ever remember you being cowed by anyone.

I wonder how you are. I think of our quiet home on Radka Lane, checklists hanging on the refrigerator, you in your home office getting ready for a trial while the furnace grumbles. Byrne knows how much I miss you, and suggested I talk to Judge Allen in a few months about lifting his restriction. Judge Allen seems a fair man (just in case he’s reading this, a handsome one too!), so I may see how it goes.

I’m late for a strategy meeting, then a dress fitting, so I’ll close now. (Can you believe this is my life?) In re-reading this, it sounds as if I miss you because I’m scared. That’s true, but I miss you for many other reasons. It’s just easier to talk about the obvious ones. So you will note that I haven’t changed much after all—I’m still a Helmsley who shies away from talking about feelings.

Write me back (on non-embossed stationary) soon. I can decipher your handwriting, so don’t make some gorgeous but stupid secretary try to work the dictation machine. Jess says you’re the Murphy Brown of attorneys when it comes to your office help—prove her wrong and hire someone who is halfway normal.

Write me back. Tell me how you are. Tell me you’re doing okay with both Karla and me gone.

Love,

Henri Tattoo Helmsley

(The protocol advisors say I am to be referred to as Ms. Helmsley or The future Mrs. Byrne McConsas. I asked why people couldn’t address me by my first name and one of them informed me that a name has a lot of power and I better figure that out. Don’t know if that’s a reference to White Rock or simply class snobbery, but I wonder that frequently about these uptight Mayflower descendants.)

Dear Ms. Helmsley:

I hope you can still decipher my handwriting. As you mentioned, with just a hint of snark, I normally dictate all my letters, but I am between support staff yet again and find myself having to wear several hats. Hence, the scrawl on the legal pad.

I start interviews for a new secretary tomorrow. Two callers have already asked if I am the brother of that woman who is going to be the youngest First Lady ever. I lied and told them the job was already filled. They asked if they could have your autograph or a lock of hair. You have fans, sister dear, possibly even stalkers.

It is good to hear from you and I know the adjustment must be hard, but I bet you’re already feeling more comfortable. I’m glad you are sitting in on the meetings—no matter what the background of the others in the room, no one could possibly be as smart as you. You know that my favorite First Lady was Eleanor Roosevelt and she famously said that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent. I told that to Karla on our second date and she looked at me as if I had grown two heads. (By the way, rest assured that I am not the father of Karla’s child. I know who is, but will wait to share with you until we see each other in person. Our father would comment that the goddesses love to play with people for their own amusement.)

I saw Carter recently in Boston, and he asked if I knew of anything he could do to make your transition into political life easier. I told him that introverts require time alone and privacy, that these things are like air and water for those of us born with the affliction. I suggested that he have your back if you ever need to disappear for a while. Carter acted as if he were learning about a new species, but listened carefully. He said Byrne was fierce about you (that was his exact word), and wouldn’t tolerate any disrespect. I’m glad Byrne is not going to put you in a compartment, but I doubt you would let that happen anyway.

As you know, my life has changed significantly as well. I can’t put more on paper, since Judge Allen, the United States Secret Service, and the Organized Crime Task Force are all reading this, but I’m having the opposite of your adjustment. Being back in the old neighborhood feels so good, truly like coming home. There have been some awkward moments, the most significant one being with the man who held me down and removed my tattoo all those years ago. He seemed surprised that I bore him no ill will, but I told him it could have been worse but for him. Vassily responded with an unusual comment—that he had tried to go easy out of respect for me, but he was also hedging his bets because he thought I would turn up again. And so I have.

I’m due in court in a few minutes, defending the honor of a misunderstood young man who was caught emerging from a Main Line mansion with a million dollars worth of precious gems. (Close to the McConsas home—I suggested to my new client he never approach that side of the street.) I am trying a unique defense. Judge Allen will preside and he doesn’t mind a creative attorney (of course, he’s pretty creative himself, as well as handsome).

I will be in the courtroom less and less as I take on new duties in my new law office (hopefully, with my new secretary), and I will definitely miss the challenges. My favorite days were the ones I was appearing with Kiernan Porter as co-counsel. We were hard to beat, because we were so different: He was noble, handsome, and soft-spoken, and I wasn’t any of those things.

Though I’m happy for Kiernan that he’s finally back with Elizabeth (Did you get the Christmas card—another baby bump?), I wish he hadn’t gone back to Virginia, for my sake and yours. As pathetic as it sounds, he was the closest thing I had to a friend since Sasha. I know that Kiernan will come back if you need him. Once a client of Porter’s, one is always sheltered under his wing. Keep that in mind if you ever need help, but I’m not around (or I’m still climbing mountains and swimming the ocean to have your back).

Write soon. I hope this legal pad does not offend your rarified sensibilities, the future Mrs. Byrne McConsas.

Evan (what’s wrong with Esquire?)

Byrne still finds his second love to be a mystery. Every time he thinks he has Henri figured out, she does something that surprises him. It’s one of the many reasons he likes making love with her, because she never hides herself away once the bedroom door closes.

He’s anxious to hear what happened at the hotel dinner, but he can tell she's not going to bring it up. She refuses to bother him with what she calls small drama. She doesn't seem to realize that no drama is too small when it comes to her.

He saw her come out of the bathroom followed by Catherine Gautier, a viper if there ever was one. Catherine looked victorious and mean, until Henri stopped at the doorway of the ballroom to say hello to Catherine’s bodyguard, a handsome young man named Corey. Corey smiled and hugged Henri before remembering that he was the help, so he wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. Catherine looked furious as Henri whispered something and moved on. Furious in the jealous sense.

Byrne might have felt jealous himself if he hadn’t known about Catherine and Corey. He wonders how Henri found out. He feels that chill of pride and fear again. Going for the soft spots. Just as he would.

He comes in the bedroom as she is signing off with Jessie. She’s smiling, better after talking to her friend. Henri hands him the receiver and pushes him into a chair, rubbing his shoulders while he asks his daughter about the fundraiser. Not for the first time, Byrne congratulates himself for putting his foot down about Henri living with him.

The protocol advisors and campaign consultants didn’t always agree on things, but when it came to this particular subject, everyone connected with the campaign stated that Henri was to be banned from both houses in the evenings. The governor’s mansion in Argun and the family home on the Main Line. The two were not to be seen living together without the benefit of marriage. America would never go for that.

Byrne insisted. He wasn’t going to spend a night without her. Carter and friends asked how badly he wanted to be President. Byrne asked how badly everyone wanted their jobs. Henri jumped in with a suggestion that there were ways to be discreet. She reminded everyone that many presidents and governors had long-term mistresses who came and went with no one being the wiser. Byrne watched Carter try to decide whether to verbalize what everyone else in the room was thinking, including him: they wouldn't need to be discreet if she would just marry him.

Henri assures him that she will. She assures him that she wants to. But she won't set a date. She won't even talk about it during the time they communicate best, during sex or immediately afterward.

She told him once she wanted Evan to give her away, but that would hurt the campaign. She couldn't see Evan for a year without violating the terms of the court agreement anyway. Written correspondence was the only form of communication allowed by Judge Allen.

Byrne had already thought of this objection, and suggested a private ceremony at the summerhouse that Evan could attend with Judge Allen's permission. The real wedding could be followed by a public ceremony. Henri was nodding her head right up until the last part, whereupon she turned pale and said she couldn't imagine being at the center of a media spectacle. Thousands of people attending and hundreds of thousands more watching on TV. Byrne dropped it then. There was always another day with Henri. To be surprised by her and to love her.

Byrne created the promise about never spending more than a night apart because he could see how overwhelmed she was. He saw that her normal support system—Bryce, Jessie, and Evan—couldn’t be there for her in the ways she needed them to be. So that was all part of the calculation. But it was also true that he didn’t want to be away from her, that their relationship kept getting better all the time.

Not just the physical part, but that’s an important piece of it. That keeps getting more intense instead of less. Something Byrne McConsas doesn’t have much experience with.

When he hangs up the phone, Henri wordlessly moves onto his lap. They hardly ever speak during the first time they come together after a long day, both of them acting as if it has been sixteen days instead of sixteen hours since they’ve been alone.

She quickly unbuttons his shirt and moves her lips to his skin, her other