Page 2 of No Vow Broken

Lexi Carmichael

Bluff House, Maryland

8 hours earlier

Monday—five days before the wedding

“Do you think the blue bow or the white bow goes best on the back of the chair? Lexi, are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm?” I lifted my gaze from the name cards I was pretending to sort. My best friend, Basia Kowalski, stood next to an antique dining room chair, tapping her foot impatiently. Two different silk bows were draped over her arm. I racked my brains, trying to remember the logic or importance of the bows but came up empty. Was this really a thing?

“Remind me again why a bow has to go on the back of the chairs?” I finally asked.

Basia gave a dramatic sigh and lowered her arm, clearly disappointed by my answer. I tried not to wince, but it was hard.

I guess I couldn’t blame her, since the wedding rehearsal dinner we were prepping for was mine. The problem was, I wasnotinto the whole planning, decorating, and coordinating thing. I’m a geek girl—a computer hacker and programmer—and I’d much rather have eloped, which, technically, I already did. But a church wedding could not be avoided, especially when the pope was part of your extended family. So, here I sat, the bride-to-be, staring at a bow that was supposed to go on the back of a chair for a reason that completely escaped me.

Basia had been a bit cranky lately—my fault entirely. Even though I’d hired a wedding planner and had already agreed to a lot of things regarding the wedding and the rehearsal dinner, the details were killing me. Basia, whom I’d asked to be my matron of honor, had volunteered to help me, thank God. I deferred to her on almost every decision, because I’d much rather have been gaming on my computer while eating a bowl of Cheerios than be stuck in decorating hell. However, she occasionally asked my opinion, like now, so I tried to accommodate her.

I studied the bows again as if the answer might present itself. “I may need some help on this issue,” I finally admitted.

“It’s part of the table decoration,” Basia patiently explained. “You agreed to a chair bow, remember? We decided to wait until we were actually in the dining room to decide which color bow would be best suited, given the ambience. Did you forget?”

Was she kidding? Of course I’d forgotten. I’d banished the mere thought of chair bows to the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind.

I glanced at the exquisite dining room of the historic Bluff House located on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay. The house was constructed with overlapping wood siding, as was typical of houses on the East Coast in the eighteenth century, and the interior walls were decorated with rich wood paneling It was filled with beautifully carved antique tables and credenzas displaying period porcelain, and large windows that faced the bay and provided a spectacular view of the water from atop the bluffs. Amanda—our wedding planner—Basia, and Mom had been arranging the dining room of Bluff House like a team of highly professional event coordinators, effectively directing staff, caterers, and delivery personnel with scary efficiency. No one really needed me, but I was there presumably to make any important decisions they couldn’t, which was a ridiculous thought.

Lucky for me, Basia loved this kind of thing. It was no wonder the staff of the Bluff House thought she was the bride while I was perfectly happy to blend into the background.

“Excuse me,” a tall blonde woman dressed in a formfitting jacket and matching pants said to Basia (of course!) as she entered the room followed by another similarly dressed woman and two men in suits. “Are you the bride or the person in charge?”

Amanda, my wedding planner, crawled out from underneath a table and brushed off her pants. “I’m Amanda McCormick, the wedding planner. That’s the bride, Lexi Carmichael, over there.” She pointed at me and since I was outed, I gave a little wave.

The woman held out a hand. “Oh, Ms. McCormick. It’s nice to see you again. I’m Agent Lucy Glass, Secret Service, assigned to the first lady. You may recall, we met at Samantha Paulson’s wedding several months ago.”

Recognition crossed Amanda’s face. “Oh, yes. Agent Glass. How lovely to see you. I presume you’re here to review the security for the first lady at the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

“I am. I’d like to introduce you to Agents Cox, Bloomsfeld, and Jones.” She gestured toward the two men. “I think you met Agent Cox at Samantha’s wedding as well.” The agent with dark hair nodded at her.

“Of course, I remember you, Agent Cox. Let me introduce you to the bride.” Amanda waved me over. “Lexi, please join us. I’d like you to meet some of the first lady’s Secret Service team.”

It was odd to think the Secret Service would be swarming around Bluff House and the grounds during my wedding rehearsal dinner, but when the first lady of the United States was a guest, that was part of the package.

I dutifully rose from my chair and went to greet the agents.

“Agents, this is Lexi Carmichael, the bride-to-be. Her groom isn’t here now as he’s presently at the airport picking up guests and family.”

“Congratulations on the happy occasion,” Agent Glass said, shaking my hand. Her grip was firm and professional. “I want to assure you, Ms. Carmichael, we’ll be as invisible as possible, so please enjoy yourselves.”

“Thanks, and please call me Lexi. Ms. Carmichael sounds like…my mother.” I glanced over at Mom, who was chatting with one of the caterers.

“Sure, Lexi,” Agent Glass said. “We’re here for our final check and sweep of the property. We’ll have an explosives dog and some electronic gear, but I promise we’ll do our best to stay out of your way. Once we’ve completed our sweep, Bloomsfeld and Jones will remain here, screening anyone entering or leaving the property. We’ve also established a police perimeter at the end of the driveway that will stay until the end of tonight’s event. Their job will be to ensure only those guests you’ve previously identified are allowed in. They’re also responsible for keeping any news crews or paparazzi at a distance.”

Paparazzi? That was a hard right turn into a street I didn’t know existed. Not that I hadn’t seen them around the Vatican, but here in rural Maryland?

“Does the first lady regularly attract paparazzi?”

“Not really, as she is routinely covered by members of the White House press corps. However, this is a private event on her schedule that didn’t have any published details. Those circumstances occasionally attract the curious looking for some sort of a scoop.”

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