24.3
I hiss at her to be quiet.
"No, wait. You're saying that what's-his-name, your college boyfriend – Stefan? Andreas?"
"Stewart," I say flatly.
"Oh, God. Stewart." She wrinkles her nose. "You're saying that Stewart rocked your socks more than the two hunks of man-flesh you're getting schtupped by right now?"
I give her a blank look. "It's plausible."
Vi grabs another glass of champagne from a passing waiter with a tray. "You're delusional. And you're in denial."
"Don't throw your fancy self-help words at me."
"Seriously, you haven't dished a bit, and I'm your best friend. And you've been holed up with them for weeks. As an aside, I'll point out right now that I had the self-control to not turn that last statement around to be a comment about how they've been in your holes for weeks."
I exhale heavily. "You're like a frat guy. How are we still friends?"
"We're yin and yang," Vi says, sipping her champagne. "I'm the id to your superego. And you love me."
"I do love you," I agree. "And its… okay, the – " I glance around before leaning in close to her and whispering. "The sex is amazing. Insane. And we haven't even, you know… "
"I do know." Vi raises her eyebrows. "One in the pink and one in the sti –"
"Don't even finish that sentence. That is really the worst thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth," I reprimand her. "And yeah, that."
"What the hell have you been doing?"
I cock my head to the side. "Do you want me to draw diagrams?"
"Would you?" Vi smiles. "I can whip out my iPad right now. I have some graphic design apps."
"It's more than just the… sex," I say, dropping to a whisper at the end. "We've been hanging out."
"Does anyone know?"
"I told my security I was talking to them about donations."
"You really need to get better at lying, doll," Vi says, shaking her head. "That's the worst cover story I've ever heard."
"Trust me, I know."
"So you're hanging out and the sex is great. And your eyes light up when you talk about them," Vi muses, eyeing me. "Are you falling for them?"
"What?" I squeal. "No. I mean, no. No way. Definitely not. It's exactly what you said before – it's casual. That's it. I'm having fun and they're really easy to hang out with."
"Uh-huh," Vi says, her tone betraying her obvious disbelief. "So tell me about them."
"What do you want to know?"
"What do you think about them now that you've spent the last few weeks 'hanging out' with them?" Vi uses air quotes to emphasize her words.
"Adriano is really outgoing and flirty and funny. I thought he was a goof off, that he didn't take anything in life seriously, but there's really a lot more to him than that. And Nathaniel is this grumpy, grouchy asshole on the surface, but he's a good guy underneath and – why are you looking at me like that?"
"Looking at you like what?" Vi bats her eyes innocently.
"Like you are right now."
"You're falling for them."
"I certainly am not."
"I know you better than anyone else. You can't bullshit me."
"I'm not," I protest, then say it again, to reassure myself more than Vi. "I'm not."
"Whatever you say, doll."
"This is not the kind of press your father needs right now," my mother hisses. She stands in my living room wearing a light blue suit and a pillbox hat. A fucking hat. She flew here wearing this outfit, like she'd dressed up to be photographed for the cover of a magazine… fifty years ago. She looks insane. The fact that she's standing here, gesturing wildly as she berates me doesn't make her look any less crazy.
"I just can't believe you flew to Colorado to lecture me about something so stupid," I snap. "I'm an adult. Even if I were in a relationship with Vi, which is obviously silly, it wouldn't be any of your business."
"Not my business?" she huffs.
"My personal life is no one's business," I protest, suddenly more filled with bravado than I ever have been. "No one's. Not yours, or dad's, or the press, or anyone's. And if I were seeing Vi, it would be my relationship."
"So you are seeing Vi." My mother's eyes go wide. "I'm not seeing Vi," I say, exasperated. "But if I was, I wouldn't stop just because you didn't think it was politically expedient."
Look at me, all brave and… full of shit. Brave enough to talk about what I wouldn't do in the case of dating Vi, not brave enough to come clean about Nathaniel and Adriano and I.
"You're not seeing Vi," my mother repeats, her voice skeptical.
"I'm not seeing Vi," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "She kissed me on the cheek. It's not like we were making out at the event. The whole thing is more than ridiculous."
"Georgina Carter Aschberg," my mother cries. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but your language ill-befits a woman of your breeding."
"My breeding?" I laugh. "I'm not a horse."
She ignores the comment. "Brandon Redding. Harvard and Yale. He's going to be seen in public with you. You've been dating for three months, keeping things quiet so as not to distract from the campaign. You're hopeful about where the relationship is going and you can see a future with him. He's already been briefed. He'll pick you up at seven o'clock tomorrow night. Paparazzi are on notice."
"I'm not going out with some guy you've hired to play my boyfriend," I protest, appalled.
She waves at me dismissively. "He's doing it for free."
"I'm not going out with him, mother."
She ignores me. "He'll take you out this weekend, and he's already been told to clear his schedule for the Fourth of July. That will be your introduction to the Washington crowd."
"I'm not–"
She's out the door before I can even finish my sentence.
Later, my father calls me. “Gracie, I heard about your mother’s visit.”
"Your wife is insane. I'm not being set up with some guy for PR purposes, Dad."
"You know your mother," he says. "She thinks it'll be good press. It will be good press. You're not seeing anyone, are you? She swore you weren't seeing anyone. Brandon is from a good family – he's even attractive, too. It’s not like she set you up with an ugly man."
"No. I'm not seeing anyone," I lie.
"So what does it matter? It's one date, Gracie. Do it for me and I'll owe you."
"You'll owe me," I repeat flatly.
"I'll owe you," he says again. "The President of the United States will owe you a favor. What do you need? Does the foundation need more donors? Is there another event I can attend?"
"Yes," I say, thinking of the quarterly report and the decrease in donations. "I mean, no. I don't need you to attend functions or lean on one of your corporate buddies."
"I'd never do that," my father says, his tone the same one he uses when he talks to the press. "In fact, I'm shocked that you'd even suggest something like that."
More of my dad's ass-covering in case the NSA is listening in, even though this is a secure phone line. I think he does it without even thinking about it now, his self-preservation instinct. I roll my eyes hard. "I'm not doing it, Dad. You can figure something else out."
"Why are you being so difficult, Gracie?" he asks. "It's not like you. You've always understood that we all do what it takes to help the campaign. The campaign is the important thing."
"Yeah, it’s always the important thing," I blurt out, before he can stop me, or before I can chicken out and just go along with his grand plan. "Dad? I have to go.”
