Page 98 of No Vow Broken

“What?” I exclaimed. “What does that mean?”

“It means, we are to keep the press, spectators, and paparazzi at a safe distance so no one gets hurt.”

Then, as if realizing what he said, might make me even more nervous, Amanda jumped in. “No need to be concerned, Lexi. The Secret Service and police have everything under control. You’ll be safely hidden behind an impenetrable barrier.”

Her words did not comfort me. In fact, I started to breathe so fast I was afraid I’d hyperventilate. Sensing I was veering and accelerating onto the freeway toward Panicville, Slash squeezed my hand gently.

“It’s okay,cara. I’m here. Nothing is going to happen.”

“Listen to him, ma’am,” Agent Jolly said cheerfully. “You’re completely safe, protected by the most elite group of men and women in the world. We’ve restricted the airspace in a twenty-mile radius of the church, and we’ll have an armed helicopter patrolling the skies looking for intruders or any other unauthorized aircraft. The media has been warned we’ll immediately terminate any airborne drones that are detected anywhere near the venue. You can relax. Your dream wedding will go off without a hitch.”

“I never dreamed about my wedding,” I said between breaths.

My mom threw me an exasperated look, and then, seeing the look on my face, patted my knee. “Oh, Lexi, it’s all going to work out just fine. Please don’t be so stressed. No detail of the wedding has been left to chance, and the Secret Service and police won’t let anyone in that doesn’t belong there. Just put it all out of your mind and focus on the joyful event at hand.”

That was easier said than done, but for her sake, I tried to calm the frantic beat of my heart with several deep, cleansing breaths.

Agent Jolly rolled down his window and spoke with the four police officers staffing the stop. I focused on a spot in the distance to keep from looking at the crazed spectacle outside. The mysterious white truck had continued on the road past the church for about a mile and had slowed to turn at the top of a rise just beyond the gaggle of cars and spectators. For the first time, I could see the side of the truck as it turned. All I could make out was a dark figure and some lettering, and then it disappeared.

I shifted in my seat to face Slash. “Do you remember seeing a white truck anywhere?”

He stared at me. “What kind of white truck?”

“You know, a box truck, like a U-Haul truck that has a roll-up rear door.”

“A U-Haul truck?” he repeated.

“Not as big as a moving truck, but truck-size. It’s weird. I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

Slash was on high alert now, studying me carefully. “Why? Where did you see it?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t even know if it’s important. But I just saw it at the gas station. A minute ago, it was on the road in front of us, and I could swear I’ve seen it before. I’m think I’m losing my mind.”

Slash peered up the road. “It went up that way?”

“Yes. It got stuck in traffic like we did, but it turned at the first rise. It’s probably nothing, just wedding jitters speaking.”

“There are a lot of trucks and trucks on the road today,” Agent Jolly offered. “Many of those media trucks look the same.”

“True,” I admitted.

Slash, however, still stared intently at me. Finally, he released my hand. “I trust your intuition, so if you need to discuss it more before the wedding, let me know.”

It seemed silly to worry about some random truck when there were so many more important things to stress out about at the moment, so I pushed it aside.

Agent Jolly drove us up to the front of the church, where a white awning had been set up. We piled out of the car, grabbing the garment bags with our wedding clothes and two small bags that contained shoes, makeup, and other toiletries. My mom had also brought her dress to put on in the small dressing room at the church, so she gathered her items, too.

Just as we were headed into the church, three photographers with cameras around their necks came up to greet us. I recognized Rose, our photographer, but didn’t know the others.

A thin man with a shock of gray hair and an easy smile stretched out a hand to me. “Hello, I’m Henry Baumgartner, White House photographer. Nice to meet you.”

I shook his hand. “I’m Lexi Carmichael, the bride, and this is Slash the groom. Behind me is my mother, Clarissa Carmichael, and Amanda, our wedding planner.”

He shook everyone’s hand. “Yes, I’ve met Amanda before. Happy to meet all of you and congratulations. Just to let you know, I will stay out of your way as much as possible. If you would like to get a picture with the president and the first lady, please let me know.”

“Sure, if that’s something they’d like to do,” I said.

The other photographer was a younger man with dark hair, probably in his late thirties. To my surprise, he greeted Slash in Italian, and the two of them began to speak rapidly.

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