The president stopped in front of Henry’s mother. “Your Highness,” he said to the older woman on his arm, “may I present to you Pamela Abellard-Marquette?”
The queen peered at Henry’s mother. “I believe I know your father,” she said in faintly accented English. “Louis Abellard, yes?” She saw Henry and processed Mrs. Marquette’s married name. A fleck of sorrow crossed her eyes.
Henry’s mother saw it, too. Appreciation flickered briefly across her features as she offered a curtsy so naturally that it didn’t even strike me as odd. “And this is my son, Henry,” she said, “and his friend Tess.”
Georgia Nolan looked at Henry and me with a gleam in her eye. “The Marine Band will be playing later,” she told Henry. “You and Tess will have to dance.”
Those sounded more like the words of a matchmaker than someone who, in any way, considered Henry or me a threat. The president didn’t address either of us at all. As the Nolans continued greeting people, I exchanged a glance with Henry.
Either they’re excellent actors, I thought, or they have no idea that we went to the press.
Henry read my expression, then arched an eyebrow slightly in return. Wait, I could almost hear him saying, and see.
Soon, we were herded toward the Grand Staircase. The president and First Lady, as well as Her Highness, were announced. Slowly, the rest of us descended into the State Dining Room, like Cinderella walking into the ball.
After dinner, there was indeed dancing in the East Room. Music echoed off the twenty-foot ceilings, a trio of chandeliers casting light on the gathered Washington elite below. I caught sight of a graying A-list actor leading his philanthropist wife out onto the dance floor. As others followed suit, a somewhat reluctant Henry offered me his hand.
“I don’t dance,” I said flatly.
“You do,” he replied, “if you want to get a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the room with no one the wiser.”
I gave him my best thousand-yard stare. He was undeterred. “Henry,” I bit out his name.
“Yes?”
I gave in to the inevitable. “Would you like to dance?”
Henry walked me onto the floor. He settled one hand near the small of my back and used his other hand to take mine. After a moment’s hesitation, I wrapped my free arm around his waist.
As we began to move, I tried my best not to step on his toes. He went left. I went right.
“Just follow my lead,” he said.
I got the sense he wasn’t just talking about the dancing. Slowly, we found our rhythm.
“What are we looking for?” I asked as we spun.
“Anyone who’s watching us,” Henry replied.
I caught sight of the Nolans again. The president’s arm was around his wife’s waist. Behind them, I saw a trio of Secret Service agents doing their best to fade into the background. A dozen yards away, William Keyes was talking to a man in his early forties. Every once in a while, Keyes cast a subtle glance away from the conversation he was having, but it wasn’t to look at Henry and me.
Each glance was aimed at the president and the First Lady.
“Smile,” Henry murmured into my ear. A photographer snapped a photo of the two of us, then moved to get the money shot: the president leading the First Lady out onto the floor. For a couple in their sixties, they moved with easy grace.
“What now?” I asked Henry as he led me off the floor.
“Now,” he said, “I go for a little walk.”
Before I could respond, Henry was ducking through the crowd, toward the balcony. He’d made sure we’d been seen, and now he was removing himself from the crowd.
Making himself a better target.
I started after him but didn’t make it three steps before I was intercepted—by William Keyes. He looked dapper in his tuxedo. Powerful, but harmless.
Looks could be deceiving.
“Ms. Kendrick,” he said. “Tess, wasn’t it?”
You know my name. You’re the one who had the police bring Bodie in for questioning. You’re the reason they called Social Services about me.
“Yes,” I told Keyes, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s Tess.”
I looked past him and tried to find Henry, but couldn’t.
“I understand you’ve been spending some time in the company of my son.” Adam’s father had a disconcerting stare. His eyes were hazel, close in color to my own, but there was an uncanny awareness in them—like he knew what you’d had for breakfast that morning and how you would sleep that night.
“Adam volunteered to teach me how to drive.” Even as I said the words, I sensed that there was something to this conversation that I was missing. It was like the two of us were playing chess, except I didn’t know the rules of the game.
What do you want? I thought, on guard and on edge.
Keyes gave a small shake of his head. “My son always did have a weakness for your sister.”
The song wound down. The first couple finished with a flourish, the president dipping his wife. The crowd applauded, and then the Nolans melted back into the masses. I tried to track them, both of them, my attention temporarily distracted from Adam’s father.