The ballroom was dimly lit with posh gold and silver decorations. Clay beelined for the bar and ordered a whiskey and another glass of champagne for Andrea. He swore, she was worse than he was. She’d had three glasses in the limo.

He sipped the contents and searched for Brady in the crowd. It was easy to find him. He just had to look for the gaggle of people who wanted to kiss his ass.

Andrea followed Clay over to the group of supporters that somehow always seemed to find Brady, even at exclusive events such as this.

Brady’s fame had only risen after the public declaration of his relationship, followed by engagement, with Liz. They’d been in the middle of a heated reelection campaign for his House of Representatives seat in North Carolina when it came out that Brady had slept with a college reporter. Shit had hit the fan, miring him in months of bad press right before the election. But Brady and Liz had ridden out the wave, despite the nasty things thrown their way—some in an attempt to unseat the Maxwell political dynasty and others just jealous that Liz had snagged the most eligible bachelor in both D.C and North Carolina. It just proved that any press, even bad press, could work in his brother’s favor.

“You made it!” Brady said with a genuine smile when Clay pushed through the throng of people.

He firmly shook his brother’s hand. “Yep. Just like you’d requested, Congressman.”

Brady looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but he just kept that smile on. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. You, too, Andrea.”

He pulled her into a hug, but she quickly stepped away.

“So, was it you who put our tickets under the same name?” Clay asked Brady.

“What are you talking about?”

“Clay and Andrea Maxwell,” Clay said pointedly. “You’re the only one around here getting married.”

Brady’s eyes found Andrea’s, and she smiled and then hurried over to Liz, who was wearing a knockout dress.

“I didn’t secure the tickets. Andrea did,” Brady told him.

“What?” Clay asked.

Why would Andrea have put our names down together like that? She had never done that before, and she was the last person he knew who would even want that.

Brady shrugged. “Maybe she’s finally starting to like you,” he joked. “How are you feeling anyway?”

“Perfectly fit as ever.”

“Look who finally showed up,” Savannah said, when she wandered over with her boyfriend, Easton.

“Just your favorite brother.”

Savannah wrinkled her nose. “That’s debatable.”

“Are you drinking?” Clay asked, staring down into her clear glass.

“I’ve been drinking since I was fifteen. You were the one who used to sneak it out for me,” she said, as if remembering a fond memory. “At least now I’m legal.”

“God, you’re twenty-one? You’re so old now, Savi. What are you going to do with your life?”

“If I’m old, what does that make you two?” Savannah raised her eyebrows at her two brothers. “Seven and ten years older than me…you both must be ancient!”

Brady and Clay laughed. And, for once, it felt like family bonding. Clay didn’t know the last time that had happened.

“Congressman, do you mind if I spare a minute of your time?” a woman said, coming up to his side and interrupting the moment.

Oh right. That’s why.

Clay didn’t bother excusing himself. He just slumped away from the obnoxious intruder and wandered toward Andrea. He wanted to know why she had put their names together like that. It shouldn’t have bothered him that much, except she’d never done it before. Coupling that with the smothering after his accident, and he really didn’t know what was up with her.

But, when he got near her, she just took his hand and led him out onto the dance floor. When she pressed her body against his, he decided to let it drop for now. It wasn’t that important. They would figure it out.

After a couple of dances, he hated to admit that he was winded and aching. His ribs were throbbing, and a headache was burning in the back of his head. He found an empty seat at a table and watched his friends mingle. Liz came to check on him at some point, but he waved her away and held up his drink. His best friend. His one true solace.

The night wore on with the practiced ease of the D.C. elite. The pain in his side kept him on the outskirts of a crowd he normally reveled in, but tonight, he watched them differently. Maybe it was the obscene amount of alcohol he had been consuming, but something in the scene had lost its luster.

“Darling,” Andrea crooned into his ear. She snaked her hand around his neck. “You have to come out and enjoy the party. It’s almost midnight.”

“I’ll enjoy the party later when I have you back in my bed.”

“If you can’t even party,” she said, coming around to sink into his lap, “then how will you fuck me properly?”

“My dick is fully functional.”

Andrea ran her nails down his face and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “You are mine, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are mine, Clay Maxwell, and no one else’s.”

“I like to think I belong to myself,” he said cautiously.

“We’re not playing games tonight. How do you really feel about me?”

“I don’t know where all these questions are coming from,” he said.

He stood and easily deposited her to her feet. She was a good head or more shorter than him, but something in her eyes made him feel small.

“I just want to know what I am to you. It shouldn’t be so difficult to discuss,” she said crisply.

“Yeah, well, I thought we already knew the answer to that. You’re my girl.”

A triumphant smile played on her lips.

“But we’re still the same as we always were.”

Then, it drained from her face.

“What? Do you want to change the way things are?”

“No,” Andrea said immediately. “Why would I want that?”

Clay didn’t feel like delving any deeper into that conversation. He grabbed Andrea’s hand and pulled her back out onto the dance floor. He just wanted to get to midnight, get home and pop some more pain meds, and then ring in the New Year properly.

They found Brady and Liz in the crowd. Liz was standing next to a small woman with a black bob and blunt bangs, who was gesturing animatedly. She looked oddly familiar.