Savannah showed up every afternoon to help out despite her rigorous coursework and the school paper. Some days Easton would come with her to help, and he joked with Liz about how she needed to come back to tennis lessons. She missed them, but she didn’t even have time to plan her own wedding. Tennis was a little farther down the list.

The Saturday before Election Day, Brady addressed an outdoor Halloween festival. Hundreds of people showed up to hear him speak right before the election. Alex always stressed the importance of face-to-face contact. It was the old shaking-hands-and-kissing-babies branding, but it worked. He spent half the day doing just that—speaking to the people. Each contact brought him that much closer to winning the election; each person was one more vote.

When the event was nearing a close, Brady finally returned to her side. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t tell anyone I’m exhausted.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“I still have to talk to the press. Come with me?”

“Of course,” she said, taking his hand.

They walked over to the reporters and questions immediately started flying for Brady. He answered them all with his campaign mask firmly in place. No traces of his exhaustion were present. In fact he looked as vibrant and confident as ever.

Heather came to stand at Liz’s side as she stood idly by, more as a source of comfort than anything.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” Liz mused softly to Heather.

“It’ll be back before you know it.”

Liz wasn’t sure if that was meant as encouragement or not but she let it slide off of her. There were only two more days until Election Day.

“You know,” Heather said, “you should go stand up there with him. I bet there are more than a few reporters who wouldn’t mind asking you a question or two.”

Liz’s head whipped so quickly to the side that she got a twinge in her neck. She cringed and massaged the aching spot. What the hell was Heather getting at? “You . . . want me to talk to . . . reporters?” she stammered, certain she had heard her wrong.

“Do you think that you’re not capable?”

“No. Oh no, I do. I just . . . I’m confused.”

Heather sighed and then did something miraculous. She smiled at Liz. A real smile. “I believe you’ve earned that position at his side. I might not always approve of your methods, but they are effective. You stopped a potentially election-threatening scheme from unfurling. You have been with him every step of the way, even when it fatigues you considerably. You help him with his speeches and give him strength when he seems to be flagging. Though no one would know that but you or I. He loves you. The media will learn to love you. Go show them why.”

Liz stumbled over a thank-you, too shocked to know whether Heather understood what she was saying. She hadn’t thought she would earn Heather’s approval for years to come. She had been prepared to fight for it. And somehow she had earned it before the end of the election.

She took the few meager steps to stand at Brady’s side. The temperature had gradually dropped since they had arrived, and she was glad that she had the blue scarf knotted around her neck and the white peacoat to keep her warm. Raising her chin and pushing her shoulders back, she let Brady’s confidence flood through her, warm her, and then she smiled.

He glanced at her with tenderness in his eyes. He didn’t have to ask to know that Heather had sent her up here. One nod from him was all she needed to know that she was doing the right thing.

Reporters looked hesitant for a moment, unsure of whether she was taking questions. Brady started talking to the woman standing beside him. Liz waited patiently, not sure whether she should offer first. She had never done this before. Then one reporter stepped forward through the throng and stuck his microphone out toward her.

“Miss Dougherty, how did you and the Congressman meet?”

Liz sighed. That was an easy question. She could do this.

“At a press conference. I asked him a particularly troubling question. I don’t think he liked me very much,” she said with a wink.

The reporter laughed. A few others did too when they realized it was a joke. “Did you start a relationship that night?”

“Oh, no. It wouldn’t start until many weeks later. I wasn’t interested in getting involved with a state senator, but eventually he changed my mind.”

A particularly brave reporter stepped forward. “Was it simply a sexual relationship?”

Liz tried to keep from blushing, but wasn’t sure how well she succeeded. She glanced over at Brady and he seemed ready to jump in whenever he was needed. “No,” she barely whispered. Then louder. “No. Where my fiancé is concerned it was never purely physical. Next question, please.”

The questions turned from their relationship to who she was, what she enjoyed, what she was studying, her dreams and aspirations, and on and on. She was sure details about her life would show up in newspapers all over the country this week. Who was the mysterious Liz Dougherty?

She had once told Brady that the only secret she had was him, and now everyone knew that one. But she was strangely okay with it. Her place was at Brady’s side, and she wanted to see him to the White House. Their home, as Brady had jokingly called it.

Brady stepped away to do a video interview with a reporter, which Liz suspected would air in clips on the evening news. Her questions kept coming and she was surprised to find how exhausting it was. She had never considered how much work it was just to stand around and answer the incessant questions hurled at her. People were polite, but she couldn’t keep from feeling tired. But this was her life now, and she wanted to do her part. After Tuesday, she would return to D.C. to finish the semester and start planning her wedding to marry Brady. The thought strengthened her, and she kept going.

Numbers lessened and it looked as if they were about to close down the Halloween festival when one last reporter started asking Liz questions.

“How do you feel about the accusations of being called a slut, a whore, and a home wrecker?” she asked impassively.

Liz swallowed. She hated those names. They were so false and hurtful. “I’d encourage people to stop using those terms. Brady and I have been together for nine months now. It’s quite clear that those things aren’t true.”

“Nine months,” the woman said disapprovingly. “So, then you didn’t have his child? Or did you cover it up and have it hidden somewhere?”