spilled on it yet. I pulled on a toque and straightened it. “Do I look okay?”
Cyan laughed. “I swear, Ollie. You’re more worried about how you look for Sargeant than you are for your own wedding.” Coming close enough to whisper, she added, “Maybe Virgil isn’t so far off.”
“Bite your tongue,” I said.
A wave of worry slammed as the words escaped my lips. I’d often said that very thing to Gav—whenever he made casual mention of dying or getting hurt. We both knew that being involved in potentially life-threatening scenarios was part of his job description. I’d learned to accept that he faced danger on a regular basis, but that didn’t mean I liked to talk about it. “Bite your tongue”—I’d said that so often. And right now I worried, a lot, that he was in even deeper trouble than usual.
CHAPTER 6
AS I MADE MY WAY UPSTAIRS VIA THE PANTRY staircase, I decided that the thousand worries dancing in my head had to go if I had any hopes of making it through the day with my sanity intact. I’d start now. This was Sargeant’s moment and I needed to be there for him. Even though he’d caused me grief in the past—lots of grief, if I were being totally honest—we were facing a new beginning here today. Sargeant and I had reached a détente of sorts. If my appearance and support here at his appointment helped continue that truce, I was happy to comply.
Because the White House was open for tours at this time of the day, I could hear the gentle murmurs and happy exclamations coming from the adjacent State Dining Room. Tourists were still making their way from that room across the Entrance Hall to exit out the home’s front doors. Visitors weren’t, however, allowed into the Family Dining Room, which is where the press conference was being held.
As news went, Sargeant’s appointment didn’t rank as high as, say, the president’s message announcing peace talks with Durasi. That one had been held in the East Room, just across the hall. Good thing, too. The number of reporters, cameras, and dignitaries in attendance for that earth-shattering news wouldn’t have been able to squeeze into any other room in the White House. I’d snuck upstairs to listen and watch, myself.
President Hyden had been passionate and vocal about how the time had come for compromise. Surrounded by members of his cabinet, he’d talked about plans, about how these meetings with the president of Durasi might herald new hopes for global harmony, and he very eloquently called upon all citizens to pray in their own way that this unexpected opportunity with the Durasi would prove beneficial not only to both countries, but to the entire world.
Today’s press conference was nowhere in the same league as that had been, but personnel changes at the White House always made good news copy. This promotion and its ancillary attention meant the world to Sargeant, and I truly wished him the best.
Like every room on the residence’s first floor, the Family Dining Room had high ceilings and classic lines. Painted a buttery yellow, there were two north-facing windows draped in mustard-colored silk with coordinating tassels. A lectern had been brought in and set up between the two windows. Sargeant fidgeted behind it, shuffling a small stack of index cards. Although he looked as put together as always—starched shirt, careful tie, sharp-edged handkerchief in his suit’s breast pocket—his eyes darted about the room, seeing nothing. I could tell because he’d glazed over me twice as I approached. My presence hadn’t yet registered.
There were about eight reporters in attendance. A couple of them had cameras, but all in all the mood was calm rather than rapacious, the way it had been in the East Room for the president. Sargeant’s appointment would make a decent article in tomorrow’s papers and, of course, online. If Sargeant was lucky, his news might even garner a Twitter hashtag.
Secret Service agents were stationed throughout
Cyan laughed. “I swear, Ollie. You’re more worried about how you look for Sargeant than you are for your own wedding.” Coming close enough to whisper, she added, “Maybe Virgil isn’t so far off.”
“Bite your tongue,” I said.
A wave of worry slammed as the words escaped my lips. I’d often said that very thing to Gav—whenever he made casual mention of dying or getting hurt. We both knew that being involved in potentially life-threatening scenarios was part of his job description. I’d learned to accept that he faced danger on a regular basis, but that didn’t mean I liked to talk about it. “Bite your tongue”—I’d said that so often. And right now I worried, a lot, that he was in even deeper trouble than usual.
CHAPTER 6
AS I MADE MY WAY UPSTAIRS VIA THE PANTRY staircase, I decided that the thousand worries dancing in my head had to go if I had any hopes of making it through the day with my sanity intact. I’d start now. This was Sargeant’s moment and I needed to be there for him. Even though he’d caused me grief in the past—lots of grief, if I were being totally honest—we were facing a new beginning here today. Sargeant and I had reached a détente of sorts. If my appearance and support here at his appointment helped continue that truce, I was happy to comply.
Because the White House was open for tours at this time of the day, I could hear the gentle murmurs and happy exclamations coming from the adjacent State Dining Room. Tourists were still making their way from that room across the Entrance Hall to exit out the home’s front doors. Visitors weren’t, however, allowed into the Family Dining Room, which is where the press conference was being held.
As news went, Sargeant’s appointment didn’t rank as high as, say, the president’s message announcing peace talks with Durasi. That one had been held in the East Room, just across the hall. Good thing, too. The number of reporters, cameras, and dignitaries in attendance for that earth-shattering news wouldn’t have been able to squeeze into any other room in the White House. I’d snuck upstairs to listen and watch, myself.
President Hyden had been passionate and vocal about how the time had come for compromise. Surrounded by members of his cabinet, he’d talked about plans, about how these meetings with the president of Durasi might herald new hopes for global harmony, and he very eloquently called upon all citizens to pray in their own way that this unexpected opportunity with the Durasi would prove beneficial not only to both countries, but to the entire world.
Today’s press conference was nowhere in the same league as that had been, but personnel changes at the White House always made good news copy. This promotion and its ancillary attention meant the world to Sargeant, and I truly wished him the best.
Like every room on the residence’s first floor, the Family Dining Room had high ceilings and classic lines. Painted a buttery yellow, there were two north-facing windows draped in mustard-colored silk with coordinating tassels. A lectern had been brought in and set up between the two windows. Sargeant fidgeted behind it, shuffling a small stack of index cards. Although he looked as put together as always—starched shirt, careful tie, sharp-edged handkerchief in his suit’s breast pocket—his eyes darted about the room, seeing nothing. I could tell because he’d glazed over me twice as I approached. My presence hadn’t yet registered.
There were about eight reporters in attendance. A couple of them had cameras, but all in all the mood was calm rather than rapacious, the way it had been in the East Room for the president. Sargeant’s appointment would make a decent article in tomorrow’s papers and, of course, online. If Sargeant was lucky, his news might even garner a Twitter hashtag.
Secret Service agents were stationed throughout
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