31
The rest of the night turns into a blur of ballrooms and orchestras. The angelic choir parties like the rock stars they are. I dance with everyone: Lincoln, Mom, Dad, Cissy, Walker, Octavia, and even Connor. Just because Lincoln’s father is a useless pile of dung doesn’t mean I can’t be gracious on my wedding day.
I’m gabbing it up with some of Cissy’s senator buddies at who-knows-what o’clock in the morning when I feel a familiar warmth at my back.
Lincoln.
His voice is all low and yummy in my ear. “Time to leave, my Queen.”
My mouth winds into a sneaky grin. “Lead on, my King.” Lincoln is an expert at bagging out on long formal events. And even though this is one hell of a party, it’s not as fun as being alone with my guy. The thought of it sends heat coiling through me. Now that
