Emilia gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. “Asher’s the nice twin. He’s the one people like.” She paused. “I’m the one who gets things done.” She handed me a tube of lipstick. I stared at it like she’d handed me a snake.
“In case you need to reapply,” she said briskly. Clearly, she’d shared as much of her motivation as she was going to share. The doorbell rang downstairs. I took a deep breath.
On my way out the door, Emilia’s voice stopped me. “If I asked you what was going on, would you tell me?”
I glanced back at her.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, averting her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Asher’s the one people confide in, too.” The doorbell rang again, and Emilia walked past me. “Whatever you’re doing,” she told me, “don’t mess it up.”
I managed to walk down the stairs without killing myself, but it was a near thing. Emilia hadn’t brought shoes, so we’d borrowed a pair of Ivy’s. Luckily, my sister seemed to have a fairly elaborate collection.
When I reached the front door, Asher opened it for me. A man in a navy suit stood there. He held out a card to me.
“Special delivery,” he said. “Courtesy of Vice President Hayden.”
The invitation was engraved on white linen paper. At the top, there was a gold seal, an eagle surrounded with stars, so intricate in detail that it looked as if it had been painted on by hand. Below that, black-inked calligraphy declared, The President and Mrs. Nolan request the pleasure of the company of Theresa Kendrick at a dinner in honor of Her Royal Highness, Queen . . .
I stopped reading when I reached the word Queen.
The man who’d delivered my invitation gestured toward the car he’d driven here. “Miss Hayden also thought you might appreciate a ride.”
I glanced back at Asher and Emilia.
“Like I said,” Asher told me, slinging an arm over his sister’s shoulder, “impossible is kind of your thing.”
CHAPTER 51
Walking in heels while wearing a ball gown was, as it turned out, more difficult than finagling an invitation to a state dinner. I made it past White House security without incident but had to fight to keep my balance. Head held high and trying not to grind my teeth, I strode past the photographers documenting the arrival of the president’s guests, my heels clicking audibly against the marble floor and my heart thudding inside my rib cage. The gown swished lightly around my legs as I was ushered into a long hall lined with massive columns. A red carpet the length of Ivy’s house separated me from my destination. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead.
No pain, I thought, no gain.
I walked the length of the carpet, one step after another, my eyes on the prize. When I stepped into the expansive receiving room at the end of the hall, few of the president’s guests marked my entrance—but one who did went ramrod stiff.
To say that Henry Marquette was surprised to see me would have been an understatement. As the shock wore off, he began making his way toward me, weaving through the designer gowns and tuxedos, a polite smile on his face and murder in his eyes. I took possession of the card with my table assignment on it and awaited his arrival.
I didn’t have to wait long.
“What are you doing here?” he asked me sharply. I took his arm as if he’d offered it to me—partially to irritate him and partially for balance.
“I told you I wasn’t letting you do this yourself,” I replied, my smile just as perfunctory and polite as his own. “I’m at table twelve. Where are you?”
He walked me along the edge of the vast, oval-shaped room. “I do not even want to know how you managed this,” he said. Dressed in a long-tailed tuxedo, his resistance to using contractions didn’t seem as out of place as it would have in the halls of Hardwicke.
A waiter came by and offered us appetizers. I spotted the president and First Lady on the other side of the room, near a quartet of windows that looked out over the White House lawn. They were standing next to an older woman wearing a sash and crown, who I could only assume was the queen of Denmark.
“I deeply suspect this is a bad idea,” I told Henry.
He executed an elegant shrug. “The room is crawling with Secret Service. What could possibly go wrong?”
Before I could answer, his mother approached the two of us, clothed in a deceptively simple black gown with sleeves that hugged her shoulders. “Tess,” she said. “We thought that was you. Is your sister here?”
She looked around, as if Ivy might materialize at any second.
“No,” I said. “A friend from school was supposed to come, but she got sick at the last minute, and she thought I might enjoy taking her spot.” I couldn’t help looking back to the president and First Lady. “Apparently, I’d already been cleared to visit the White House.”
“Of course you had,” Henry said dourly.
Across the room, the Nolans spotted us and began making their way through the crowd. I tried not to read anything into that but found myself taking a step closer to Henry.