It was a rare sunny morning in Starling City, but the fight raging in the Queen apartment was better suited to a dark and stormy night. It ended, as the last couple of their fights had, with Felicity telling Oliver to get out. But this was the first time he actually took her up on the offer. As the door slammed behind him, Felicity knew two things: First, she would never forgive him for this. And second, she would never let him know how much it hurt.

TWO AND A HALF YEARS LATER

SOCIAL WORLD AWAITS WEDDING SATURDAY
Starling City society looks forward to the wedding Saturday of Ms. Laurel Lance, Starling City ADA, to Queen Consolidated Executive Vice President Oliver Queen. The Ceremony will take place at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Queen, the groom's parents.

The scratching of a pencil on paper and the testy tap of Ferragamos on tile greeted Oliver as he walked into the sunroom, where his mother was perched on the edge of a custom floral-print sofa. She looked up when she heard his approach, her foot stilling its motion. "Finally. Oliver, you really must pay more attention to gifts as they come in, rather than letting them pile up like this! What are you and Laurel thinking?"

Oliver crossed the room to kiss her cheek. "I'm sorry, mother." He looked around. "Wasn't Thea supposed to be helping you?"

As if his words had conjured her, his spirited little sister sauntered into the room. "Right here, Ollie, reporting for duty." She joined Moira on the couch, leaning her head on her mother's shoulder. "Although why Mom and I are stuck doing the dirty work for YOUR wedding is still an open question."

Oliver sighed as he sank into the armchair next to the sofa. "Speedy, you know Laurel has been swamped with a case, and with father . . . occupied in our New York offices, things haven't exactly been easy at Queen Consolidated."

Moira frowned. "Oliver, do we have to talk about this in front of Thea?"

Thea rolled her eyes. "Mom, I'm 19 years old. I know Dad isn't missing Oliver's wedding to see that 6-hour adaptation of Wolf Hall."

"Darling, being CEO of a company like Queen Consolidated is very demanding," began Moira, but her defense rang half-heartedly.

This time it was Oliver's turn to interrupt. "Mom. Thea's right. There's no need to pretend. I know how hard it is to face the facts squarely, and admit that your marriage isn't what it should be."

Moira sighed. "I suppose neither of us has had much success at this marriage business."

"We just picked the wrong people the first time around," said Oliver. If he felt a pang at the admission, it wasn't obvious. He'd come a long way in the last few years.

"Well, you wanted me to take a stand, and I've taken one," said Moira with a frown. "Your father isn't coming back. Probably wouldn't if I asked him, at this point."

Oliver leaned forward and placed a consoling hand on his mother's knee. "Let's forget about the past; we both deserve a little happiness now. And I for one intend to have it. With Laurel."

"I hope you can do just that, my beautiful boy." Moira said, resting her hand on his.

Thea broke the silence. "But I liked Felicity," she said, saying what was better left unsaid as usual even as she innocently butted her head against Moira's shoulder.

At the mention of that name, Oliver tensed. "Well, why don't you postpone the wedding then? Catch smallpox or something." Thea stuck her tongue out at him, and he mussed her hair as he stood. "I've got to go meet Laurel at the benefit. Thank you again for your help."

THURSDAY EVENING
Starling City Country Club

Soft music wafted on a cool evening breeze as Oliver got out of the limo in front of the Starling City country club. He straightened his tie and strode into the banquet hall, where the low light glinted off champagne-filled glasses, scanning the crowd for a willowy brunette. He spied his fiancee talking to the mayor, wearing a fitted red dress that somehow managed to be both elegant and sexy. Laurel knew how to find the most important person in the room, and she also knew how to get noticed. Just one of the things that made her a good partner for a CEO.

"Oliver," she murmured as he approached, lifting her chin to give him a light kiss in greeting. "Mayor Blood and I were just talking about Queen Consolidated's generous donation to earthquake relief fund for The Glades."

"The least we could do," Oliver said. Even two years later, the earthquake wasn't something he liked to think about much, given that it had left his best friend dead, along with some 500 others. Laurel didn't seem to dwell on it much—but on the bright side, that meant she didn't push him to talk about it either.

"And of course I saw the story about your upcoming marriage in Star," said Mayor Blood.

Laurel smiled. "They snagged some paparazzi pics and I didn't even notice. I was a little bit flattered, but Oliver said some nasty things about the type of person who made that their career." She patted his arm.

"Call me old fashioned, but that seems like a sad sort of job for a grown man. I'm not interested in having someone with a camera coming into my home."

"Hey, we're getting married this weekend. Don't you mean our home?" asked Laurel.

Oliver pulled her snug against his side. "Yes, Laurel—most definitely our home."

THURSDAY EVENING
Star City Magazine offices

It was 7pm and the halls of Star City Magazine were nearly empty. Which meant that Iris West's determined voice fairly echoed through them. "I'm not going do it, Barry. I'll tell Harrison Wells very plainly and simply: I'm a writer. I'm not a society snoop. I'm going to tell him just that."

"Just that," Barry agreed weakly, running a hand through his tousled brown hair.

"Let Wells fire me! I want to get back to investigative journalism anyway. That book about the Starling City quake wasn't the only piece of writing I had in me."

"Iris, you are the most talented writer I know, but the bills won't pay themselves," Barry pointed out, as they waved to Wells' receptionist. "Let's just see what Wells has to say." He pushed open the office door.

"Ah, Iris. Barry. Thank you for coming." Harrison Wells, publisher of America's hottest gossip magazine, kept an office that was a throwback to the good old days. The large wooden desk held stacks of paper, a bronze nameplate and piano lamp with a green shade, a razor-thin tablet on the leather desk blotter the only nod to modernity—unless you counted the state-of-the-art wheelchair he sat in behind it. He gestured to the two chairs across from the desk, and Iris and Barry sat down.

"Your assignment will be Star's most sensational achievement: Oliver Queen. Scion of the city's best-known businessman. College playboy turned CEO in training. Married on impulse and divorced in a rage. And always unapproachable by the press. 'The Unassailable Oliver Queen . . . Inside the Wedding of Starling City's Most Secretive Family.' Yes, I think we could sell some magazines with that cover line."

"Or 'What the Kitchen Maid Saw Through the Keyhole," scoffed Iris. "No way. That's not for me. Close quotes."

"Close job, close bank account," muttered Barry. Then, louder, "Listen, Wells, this is all well and good. But how are we going to get onto the Queen estate? It's not like they're going to invite a writer and photographer from Star into their home."

Iris turned to Barry. "Are you seriously considering this? It's degrading."

"So is an empty stomach," Barry pointed out, "and you know what my appetite is like." He turned to Wells. "How do we get in?"

A slow smile spread across Wells' face. "Ah." He pressed a buzzer on his phone. "Send her in."

The door opened to reveal a petite blonde, who nervously adjusted her glasses.

"I understand we understand each other," Wells said to her.

"Quite," she nodded, moving into the room and taking the remaining chair.

"Very well," said Wells. "Iris, Barry, I'd like to you to meet a friend of mine. Felicity worked for our digital magazine for a time, on a few high-level projects. She'll take you to the Queen estate and introduce you to the family as friends of Roy Harper, a manager that Queen set up in the company's New York City branch a couple of years back. Luckily for us, Roy is on a trek through Antarctica at the moment and can't be reached, so your cover story should be solid enough."

"So we're friends of Roy Harper, here for the society wedding of Oliver Jonas Queen," said Iris. "Ah, the power-hungry, privileged white American male." She turned to the woman. "How do you know Queen, anyway?"

The woman smiled slowly. "You might say we grew up together. In the most complicated manner possible. Like emo teens, especially the hormones . . . but I'll stop talking in 3, 2, 1."

"You might also say you were his first wife," said Barry. Hers wasn't a smile a photographer could forget—and the blush that ran up onto her cheeks as she counted wasn't forgettable, either. "Felicity Smoak Queen, isn't it?"

"I didn't change my name, but yes. How did you know?"

"Oh, I was taking photos of you as you left for your honeymoon," he replied. "A cruise, wasn't it? On The Queen's Gambit? I was sure you were going to smash my camera or demand the memory card, but instead you smiled. And then two hours later my computer's hard drive got wiped out by a virus, not 10 seconds after the photos had been downloaded to it and deleted from the card. Funny coincidence."

"Definitely a coincidence. Totally a coincidence," muttered Felicity.

Iris' eyes narrowed, and Barry cringed slightly. He knew that look: Iris was about to get ruthless. "So you're doing this because you want to get even with your ex-husband? That's cold," said Iris.

Felicity swept an icy glance over Iris before saying, "I'll meet you here at 10 am tomorrow to go to the Queen estate. Don't be late."

As the door slammed behind her, Barry turned to Iris and handed her his handkerchief. "Here, Iris. You've got a little spit in your eye. It shows."

FRIDAY MORNING
Queen Mansion

Felicity strode up to the wide front steps of the Queen estate, Barry and Iris trailing behind her. The large front door was framed by twin white pillars, pristine against the perfectly weathered brick and mirroring the columns that held up the front portico. She heard the click of the camera as Barry stopped to snap a quick photo, and it made her jump, ponytail skimming her shoulders along the thin strap of her pink summer dress.

Realizing she was a little too on edge for this, but not wanting to show it, she paused for the briefest of moments to straighten her shoulders and let out a deep breath before knocking on the door. There was nothing weird about showing up on your ex's doorstep the day before his wedding, right? Nope. Nothing at all.

One of the large double doors opened silently—it looked like the sort of door that was heavy enough to creak, but of course nothing was anything less than well oiled chez Queen—and a middle-aged woman appeared. "Why, Miss Felicity!" she said, in a pronounced Russian accent. "What in the world," she wondered, even as she held her arms out to hug Felicity.

"Hello, Raisa. It's been too long." Felicity sank into Raisa's comforting embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of blinis mixed with the Cuir de Russie that Oliver gave her each Christmas. Raisa always chided him for his extravagance, but she used it daily anyway.

"Oh Miss Felicity, you must know, Mr. Oliver is getting married tomorrow," Raisa began as they broke apart.

"I know, that's why I'm here." Raisa frowned, confused, and Felicity continued, "Well, not why I'm here, exactly, it's not like I'm here to be the person with an objection or anything! It's just why I'm bringing them here, you know," and she gestured to Iris and Barry. "Because of the wedding."

Raisa's raised eyebrows said it all.

"They're friends of Roy's," said Felicity, finally coming up with an answer that would smooth some of the worry out of the other woman's face. "Don't worry, Raisa, I'll explain to the family—are they out at the swimming pool? I can find my way. Can you show Iris and Barry in to the south parlor?"

Raisa nodded and clasped Felicity's hand warmly. "It was a pleasure to see you, Miss Felicity."

Felicity blinked away the mist that briefly covered her blue eyes as she replied. "Ditto, Raisa. Take care." She walked off, leaving Barry and Iris to Raisa's capable hands.

As she crossed the green lawn toward the pool, she heard voices coming from the west parlor, off the back patio. She followed the sounds. Thea's trilling laugh came first, followed by Moira's sharp tones and finally the bass rumble of Oliver's response. Was it possible to feel it in her chest from this distance? Felicity paused, took a deep breath and stilled her fingers, which had been nervously rubbing against each other. But before she could raise her hand to knock, the door flew open.

"Felicity?" Thea said, astonished.

"Yep, it's me," Felicity said, with a nervous laugh. "How are you—" but her words were cut off by Thea's squeeze.

"Oh it's so good to see you!" the other woman squealed, leaning back and shooting Felicity a mischievous grin. "Please tell me you're here with some interesting news. Secret baby? Are you and Oliver not really divorced?" At Felicity's blank stare, Thea sighed dramatically. "Probably none of the above. Nothing exciting ever happens here."

Thea had been drawing Felicity into the room as she spoke, and her wave of words was cut off by Oliver's glare. "That's enough, Thea." He folded his arms and focused his gaze on Felicity, blue eyes meeting blue for the first time in more than two years. Felicity tried not to tremble. She wished she could read what he was feeling, but his stony expression revealed little. Was it too much to ask that he feel something when he saw her? Suddenly, his adam's apple moved in a nervous swallow, and Felicity felt a glimmer of triumph. There was something still, after all.

Moira moved forward just behind her son, and her steely glare was almost as formidable. She and Felicity had worked their way to a positive relationship before the breakup, but afterward—well, mess with one of Moira's children and you would live to regret it. Felicity had no idea what story the older woman had heard from Oliver, but leaving a Queen was no doubt an unforgivable sin.

"Hello," said Felicity, putting as much sun into her voice as possible, as if walking into the Queen mansion was not something she had never expected to do again. Oliver's eyes narrowed.

"Felicity Smoak." He crossed his arms over his chest. Was it a protective gesture, or was he just trying to keep from physically pushing her out? She tried not to notice the shape of his biceps under his fitted henley. Not interested, no sir. "While it's always a pleasure, this timing is less than ideal."

"I'd leave, but Thea already confessed she was dying for some drama. You look well, Oliver. How does Laurel feel about the henleys? I can't remember seeing you wear one before, you were fonder of that grey hoodie…"

Oliver closed his eyes in an attempt to compose himself. "Felicity, you can't just walk in here like this after two years—"

Though she was no longer Felicity's biggest fan, smoothing over societal gaffes was almost instinctual for Moira Queen. "Felicity, tell me, how is Roy doing? You were in New York with him for quite some time, weren't you?"

"Roy is doing well. Heartbroken of course not to be here for the wedding. But I'm sure you'll like the people he did send."

"People?" asked Oliver.

"That Roy sent, to Ollie's wedding?" asked Thea. Felicity suddenly remembered how the girl had always tended to perk up at Roy's name.

"Yes, you don't happen to know Iris West and Barry Allen, do you? I'd better come along with you and introduce you, then you can tell them which rooms they're to have. And Iris wants to know if—"

"Felicity. I used to be able to follow your rambles, but you've lost me on this one," said Oliver, in a tone that suggested he was only just holding onto his temper.

"Roy's friends want to stay here over the wedding? That's very strange," said Moira.

"Well, you know how Roy is, always making friends. He got close with Barry and Iris and when he heard they were coming to Starling, he said they could stay with his friends the Queens—"

"Felicity," Oliver said again. He always had liked saying her name, and she had learned the meanings behind each inflection. This way of saying "Felicity" meant "you are full of it," so she barely needed the sentence that followed. "You're lying, I can always tell."

Now it was her turn to narrow her eyes. "Can you really, Oliver?"

But he didn't back down. "You changed jobs after the divorce. Freelance IT, right?"

"Well, that's a pretty simplistic way of putting it—it wasn't just support, I was building systems and advising on security issues," she said.

"And who was your first client?"

Felicity shrugged. "A magazine."

"It wasn't Star CIty Magazine, was it?"

"You are a mass of intuition."

"And I don't suppose Iris or Barry happens to be a photographer? This is rich, Felicity. You know how I feel about publicity. And after everything that's happened. How could you think about doing this to me? I'm going to go in there right now and throw them out," Oliver's last sentence was in his growly voice, so Felicity knew he meant business. But she couldn't stand down.

"You're slipping, Oliver. I used to be intimidated by that voice."

"If that were true, you wouldn't be here now."

When angry, Oliver didn't yell or wave his hands. He just got more controlled. So when his eyes met Felicity's, totally shuttered, she expected his next move—a few steps and smooth push to the door on the other side of the room, and he was out into the hallway, with her at his heels, leaving Thea and Moira behind them.

"Oliver, wait." Her hand on his arm made his step stutter for a second, but he kept moving. "Wait—Oliver. Don't. OK, you're right. About everything. But there's more. Just hear me out."

"Felicity, I don't know what you're doing or why, but I don't have time to figure it out. I'm going to get these people out of my home and you need to leave too."

"Yes, yes, your majesty, but first, can I interest you in some small blackmail?" she fumbled in her purse as he finally stopped and stared. "Photos, an article, quotes from witnesses. Ready to publish in Star and featuring your own dear old dad and a certain vice president."

"Isabel Rochev?"

"Well, it's not Walter Steele," said Felicity. "I always thought he had a soft spot for your mom anyway, at least judging from the way he looked at her—not that I thought that she would—or he would—it's just, OK, I'm stopping in 3,2,1 . . ."

She thought she caught a glimpse of a smile in his eyes at her ramble before he grabbed the paper to scan it. "He can't publish this. Even if it's true! We're about to close that deal with Palmer Tech, a Queen Consolidated scandal is the last thing we need right now."

"Well, he won't. At least, not if you give him something else to publish instead."

Oliver's eyes widened in understanding. "The wedding."

"Exactly. An intimate day with Oliver Queen and his," she cleared her throat, "lovely fiancée. They want every detail. Photos, the whole shebang."

"So I'm to be examined, undressed and generally humiliated at $4.95 a copy," he sighed, pacing the hallway. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

"Am I?" replied Felicity. Their eyes held for a long moment. Oliver scrubbed his hand over his face.

"Fine. You win. I'll welcome them." He turned and walked back to the parlor, where his mother and sister were waiting.

"Well mother, Thea, we've got houseguests."

"Are they reporters?" asked Thea, wide-eyed. "Or are they really Roy's friends?"

"They're not anyone's friends, but we have to pretend they are."

"Why, exactly, is that?" asked Moira, shooting a chilly glance at Felicity as she hovered in the doorway.

"Father. And Isabel," said Oliver in a grim tone.

"Is there no such thing as privacy anymore?" lamented Moira.

"Only in bed, mother—and sometimes not even there," said Oliver, shooting a dark look at Felicity. "But if we have to submit to it to save father's face, we can give them something to write about."

A slow grin spread across Thea's face, making her look even more elfin than usual. "You've got it, big brother."