Page 63 of Enemy of My Enemy
Ethan stared back at her.
“Crocuses would look lovely.” Barbara reached across the couch and patted Jennifer on the knee. “Oh shoot.” She sent Ethan a pained look. “Your state china won’t be ready in time. Does the president have any thoughts on what service he’d like to use?”
It was Ethan’s turn to look pained and out of his depth.
“What about a retrospective?” Brandt leaned over the back of the couch in between Barbara and Jennifer. “We can pull china from past presidents and set them up at different tables. Pull some information about each setting and president at the tables.”
“Oh, I like that.” Barbara patted Brandt’s arm and beamed. “So, black tie, the Yves Delorme silk linens, red, blue, and white floral centerpieces, white candles, and a guest list around a hundred.” She made quick notes on her notepad. “I need to contact the chief usher, the chief of protocol, the chief calligrapher, and the White House chef. We have to set the menu, oh, and pick the entertainment…” Barbara chuckled, a helpless laugh. “If we pull this off, Mr. First Gentleman, I want this on my headstone.”
Ethan grinned. “If there is anyone who can do this, it’s you guys.”
* * *
The next tendays passed in a blur of flowers, linens, and blind panic.
Word got out that the White House was planning a state dinner for President Puchkov. Pete and Brandt spent most of their time beating back the press and trying to fend off the worst of the malicious media, hungry for a cheap attack on Jack. The invitation list was a closely guarded secret until members of Congress started leaking their invitations days before the event.
They kept the list small. Congressional leaders, justices, governors, and statesmen who had come out in support of Jack and Ethan. Sergey’s Russian embassy in Washington DC and his ambassador to the UN. America’s ambassador. Jack’s Cabinet, including Elizabeth, who was seated at Jack, Ethan, and Sergey’s table.
When Barbara and the chief of protocol fretted about filling out the guest list but worried over inviting the right people, Ethan joined them in the hallway, listening to them argue back and forth about the merits of inviting contentious and oppositional figures as a potential olive branch, or whether that was legitimizing their hate.
Ethan smiled at the display lining the walls. Barbara had taken his suggestion to showcase the supportive cards he and Jack had received to heart and had arrayed hundreds of them along the wall, tacked up at angles so that they could be flicked open and their messages of love and support read.
“Barbara,” he interrupted when she huffed out her annoyance at the chief of protocol. “What about inviting some of these people?”
She beamed.
He was in a conference call with Cooper, analyzing satellite imagery over Somalia and discussing Madigan’s seemingly complete disappearance when Barbara and Jennifer barged in with a décor emergency. Cooper heard, but wisely said nothing, when Barbara and Jennifer asked him for his final decision on the napkins—medium Persian blue was closer to the Russian Federation’s flag color but clashed with the crocuses, while Liberty Blue was a safer choice and went well with the cream table linen and gold accent chairs. Would President Puchkov be all right with that? No one wanted a repeat of the disastrous insult paid to the French president all those years ago when the colors hadn’t matched.
Ethan gave his approval and thanked them very seriously for their foresight.
He and Jack skipped hosting an official tasting event and instead spent an afternoon in the White House kitchens with Ethan’s staff, sampling round after round of options prepared for the dinner. Russian cuisine was featured for the main course, but the hors d’oeuvres were all-American, with gourmet sliders, crab cakes, guacamole bites, Caesar salad spears, deviled eggs, and even Buffalo wings. Laughter flowed, along with the wine for Barbara and her team, and Jack loved every minute of getting to know Ethan’s staff. He thanked Jennifer for her flowers, which sent her over the moon and had Barbara clucking and clutching her pearls again.
Ethan rubbed his hand down Jack’s back, the beers he and Jack were sharing making him just bold enough to sneak a squeeze of Jack’s ass.
Jennifer and Barbara practically moved into the East Wing days before the event. They checked into the InterContinental hotel across the street, collapsing for a few hours of rest before they headed back to set up the State Dining Room and oversee preparations to the North Entrance and the Cross Hall, where the receiving line would take place.
Ethan gave the hotel his credit card and told them to give the women anything they wanted. He set up a champagne breakfast for the two the morning after the state dinner.
Ceremonial Marine Corps honor guards practiced their movements in the morning and the evening when Jack and Ethan would depart and enter the Residence. They watched their precise maneuvers together, sitting on the Grand Staircase and sharing a beer.
Heoohed andahhed appropriately with Brandt when Jennifer and Barbara showed off pictures of their gowns and drank beers with Scott and Daniels, who bitched up a storm about the massive security headache that came with all state dinners. He sat in meetings with Irwin, reviewing—ultimately useless—interrogations of the few recaptured prisoners they had managed to grab from Madigan’s jailbreaks. He and Cooper pored over drone footage shot over Somalia, but the detail was poor and grainy since they had to overfly at such a high altitude thanks to the anti-aircraft weaponry Somalian rebels had acquired.
And at night, he and Jack fell into each other’s arms, sometimes too tired to do anything more than nuzzle a bit before snoring. Other nights he took Jack to the brink, fingers deep within Jack while he sucked Jack’s cock, or he dove into Jack’s ass, rimming him until Jack’s trembling body arched and he shouted, gripping their headboard as his knuckles went white and his arms shook. Ethan licked Jack’s release off his chest as Jack groaned, his dick valiantly trying to rise again.
“If that feels that good, the rest of you will probably kill me.” Jack ran his hands through Ethan’s hair as Ethan lay next to him, bodies pressed tight.
“There’s no rush,” he said softly. “Whenever you want. Or never, if that’s what you decide. It’s not for everyone. And we’re doing just fine.”
“It’s not never.” Jack shook his head. “I want to. I want to feel you inside me. I’m working up to it.”
“Take all the time you need. I’m happy no matter what.” He kissed Jack, nice and slow until Jack’s eyes drooped and he rolled his head against Ethan’s on the pillow.
* * *
“Mr. President,President Puchkov will be leaving the Russian embassy shortly. He’ll arrive at the White House in one hour.” Irwin, almost despite himself, smiled.
They had managed to pull it off. Wing a state dinner in ten days. Jack, decked out in his best tux and a crisp black bow tie, led a toast in the Oval Office, his staff and Ethan’s gathered around. He’d passed out the champagne flutes personally when everyone entered. “To the best staff the White House has ever seen.”
