Regina crosses her legs and rubs her index finger anxiously along the edge of her once-filled-to-the-brim glass of iced water. Her eyes wander, taking in the other patrons as they sip on expensive bourbon and stuff themselves full of steak and lobster tails, as she searches for the wall clock, cursing herself for forgetting her wrist watch that morning.

She sighs as her eyes settle on the clock—nearly twenty minutes after noon.

Robin is late.

And she's annoyed.

That morning, Robin sent her a note explaining that he was on a shoot and wouldn't be in the office that morning, but wanted her to have lunch with him. In the note, he'd said it was important, so she scraped her own (albeit unimportant) plans, and at eleven-thirty began making her way toward The Rib Room at the Mayflower Hotel.

The Mayflower was one of DC's many upscale hotels, and in its early heyday, she thinks she might've enjoyed it. But now, in its current form, it embodied everything she detested about the culture of DC. The menu catered to its preferred clientele, serving barely cooked roast beef sandwiches, creamy rich soups, and more cuts of steaks than she even knew existed. It was revered as a "Man's Menu" and that was reinforced by the space itself. The Rib Room's atmosphere was dark and smoky. The deep mahogany wood was accented by heavy wine-colored drapes and tablecloths, the blinds on the windows were almost always drawn and cigarette smoke wafted through the air making the whole place look hazy.

It gave off an air of privacy—secrecy, even—and though they couldn't advertise it as such, it was unofficially known around DC as a Boys Only Club.

It was no wonder Robin enjoyed it so much.

Finally, she sees him weaving his way through the crowded room toward the table where she waits, wearing his signature brown leather bomber jacket and his camera bag slung over his arm.

"You're late."

"I know," he says, grinning at her as he slips into the circular booth, opposite her. "I'm sorry."

"I almost left."

"No, you didn't."

Her eyes roll. He's not wrong. "I never even got a refill on my water," she tells him, motioning to the empty glass in front of her. "I had no reason to stay."

Now, it's his turn to roll his eyes. "I stupidly chose to drive today. I could've walked faster."

"Where were you?"

"Ribbon cutting ceremony. Totally uneventful."

"And you had to shoot that? The Post couldn't have gotten—"

His brow arches. "Not all of us were able to secure such a cushy beat."

"I cover Congress, that's hardly cushy."

"It's your dream."

"The White House is my dream."

"Close enough."

"I follow stodgy old men around and talk to them about infrastructure, Robin. Don't glamorize it."

"You wanted to be taken seriously. You didn't want to collect recipes from senators' wives or work at some seedy tabloid. A boring congressional beat is serious work."

Her brow furrows and she pouts. "I feel like I'm having lunch with my father."

At that, Robin laughs gently. "Better than your mother?"

"Minimally."

"I'll take it," he says, settling back and opening up his menu. "I think I'll also take a shrimp cocktail appetizer."

Regina watches as he motions for a waiter, and she can't help but grin as Robin's eyes trail up and down him, taking him in from head to toe as he approaches. She smirks as she, too, eyes him—the waiter is much more her type than his, and so far that's been the one saving grace of this entire luncheon. But nonetheless, their interaction with him is fleeting as they order quickly. Robin orders his appetizer along with his usual T-Bone and The Rib Room's specialty creamed spinach and potatoes, and she picks a small filet and rice medley and a bottle of red wine for them to share, and as soon as they've completed the order, the waiter scurries off and disappears.

"So, what have I done to deserve lunch at the Mayflower?" she asks, leaning in and returning her attention to Robin and the reasoning behind their impromptu lunch date.

"Hm?"

"You only take me here when I'm in trouble for something. Part of the punishment, I assume."

Robin shakes his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do."

"I simply wanted a good steak."

"Then we shouldn't have come here." Robin's lips twist into a smirk, but he offers no defense or retort. "So, you… worked up quite an appetite today, then?"

He blinks. "Early shoot. No time for breakfast."

"Or late night?"

She watches as his cheeks flush a little beneath his stubble. "Both."

"The date went well?"

"It did," he says easily.

She waits for him to divulge more—to divulge anything, really—but he stays quiet, simply smirking at her from across the table. He knows this kind of thing drives her crazy and usually, by this point she's dragged something out of him.

"You like this one."

"I told you that I did."

"But you're keeping all the details close to the vest."

"I am."

"Why?"

Robin shrugs. "You know that new-relationship thing—"

Her eyes roll. "Usually when I'm in that position, I say nothing because—" Suddenly, she stops and her eyes widen. "Oh… oh, my god, why didn't I think of this sooner?" A little laugh bubbles out of her and she feels like an absolute idiot. Whenever she's been secretive about a new relationship it's been because the relationship could get her into trouble—usually she or the new man in her life was married—and the fewer people in the know, the better.

"He's married, isn't he?"

Robin blinks. "Perhaps, but then… many of the men in my life have been. It kind of comes with the territory, you know?"

"You're not married."

Robin shrugs. "I don't have the need for it."

Regina's eyes narrow as she considers his choice of words—the need for it. "He's… important."

"Everyone is," Robin teases.

"You know what I mean."

He only smirks.

"Who is he?"

"Regina, I am not going to tell you."

Bristling, she leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Well, then, tell me what he does."

"No. That's… basically the same thing."

"So, if I knew his name, I'd automatically know what he did?"

Robin shifts, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "No. They're just… two very personal details about a person."

"Come on," she sighs. "What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Write a column about me." He scoffs. "Or tell Graham or…" A little chuckle escapes him as he looks away from her. Regina's eyes narrow as she watches him—watching as he reaches behind himself and rubs at the back of his neck—he's nervous. "Or who knows," he continues as he looks pointedly at her. "Maybe you won't do anything, but someone else might overhear us."

She considers that for a moment, but still is stuck on the first part. "You really think I'd write a column about you?" she asks, feeling a twinge of pain. "Robin, I wouldn't. You're my only friend, and besides that…"

Oh.

A column.

Written by her, the lead journalist on the Congressional beat at The Post.

"He… works at the capital."

Robin inhales. "Regina. You can't—"

His voice halts, stilted—and once more, she feels a pang of hurt.

"I won't say anything."

"You can't."

"How could you think I would?"

"Oh, come on," he says, eyeing her as a sly little grin edges onto his lips—he must see the hurt in her eyes because suddenly his demeanor is softer. "The reason our friendship works is because there's no pretense—we accept each other as we are, flaws included. You just accept how not-straight I am and I accept—"

"That I'm a self-serving bitch?"

A little laugh bubbles out of him. "Well, I wasn't going to put it that way…" Robin draws in a breath. "Do you have dinner plans?"

"Only with Graham."

"So, he still doesn't know?"

"Not yet."

"You should just tell him. Cut him loose. Let him go and be with the blonde, and you can… move onto greener pastures."

Regina's eyes narrow. "I thought we were talking about you."

"We were. Then you brought up Graham."

"Because you asked—" she sighs and folds her arm. "I can get out of my dinner plans. He'll be caught off guard, but something tells me a spur of the moment evening without the wife wouldn't bother him in the least."

Robin grins. "Great. We'll have dinner, too. Since I picked lunch, I'll let you pick dinner." He pauses for a moment, then quickly adds. "But I'm not cooking."

Frowning, she considers her options—Robin makes a killer salmon that she often dreams about, and that's what she'd been planning to ask for. "You won't complain, no matter what I pick."

"I won't."

"So, I can choose whatever, and you'll be fine with it?"

"You always do—and no complaining from me." He holds up three fingers. "Scouts honor."

Regina can't help but grin. "Well, if it were true that I always get what I want, we wouldn't be lunching at The Rib Room."

Robin's eyes only roll in response as she considers.

"Chinese," she decides. "We'll pick it up and eat it at your apartment."

"Sounds like a plan."

Their conversation pauses as the waiter brings their drinks and Robin's shrimp cocktail—and she giggles gently as she plucks a piece of shrimp from the rim of the glass bowl and plunges it into the sauce. Robin watches, sighing as he shakes his head, and then inevitably, he grabs one of the little plates at the end of the table to share his appetizer with her.

"So, why am I lunching at The Rib Room?"

"Because, in spite of every flaw you have, you are a good friend."

"Love how you made a compliment sound like an insult."

"It's a skill."

Her eyes roll. "You're deflecting."

"Another skill."

"I assume you made me come here to… do more than deflect, though?" Robin shoves a piece of shrimp into his mouth and nods—and her brow arches as she waits. "The suspense is killing me," she says flatly.

"It's about Graham," he says, finally.

"Oh."

"And your pending divorce."

"Robin, I'm—"

"Look, I know you think you want to humiliate him for… whatever reason, but I think you should scrap the plan, serve him the papers and just move on."

Her brow furrows as she scoffs. "Why?"

"Because… I like Graham. Of all your husbands that I've known, he's… easily the most tolerable."

"Quite the endorsement there."

"He's not a bad guy, Regina. He's just… not for you, and you're not for him. It's simple. It doesn't need to be ugly."

Regina feels her stomach churn—it's a familiar feeling whenever this topic comes up, she's realized—and she smothers it, squashing it down with another piece of shrimp.

"Just be done with it."

For a moment, she says nothing, simply staring at him from across the table. "I… can't have another marriage fail because of me. I just can't."

"It's really a mutual failure."

"My mother would disagree."

"I don't think the circumstances matter to your mother."

Taking a breath, Regina looks down. "I'm not… proud of a lot of the things I've done, particularly when it comes to men." Exhaling, she looks up. "But I don't regret any of it. The playing field is uneven, and… I was just leveling it out. The husbands were just collateral damage."

"That's very… desensitized."

"It is what it is," she says, shrugging. "But… I really can't say that about Graham. He was just… different."

"So, don't steamroll over him."

"He'll be fine."

"You don't know that."

"I just… need this to not be my fault."

"It doesn't have to be anyone's fault."

"Again—"

"I swear, if you bring up your mother, I'm going to lose my mind and embarrass the shit out of you in this restaurant."

Her shoulders stiffen. "Do it. It's all the more reason to never return."

"Oh my god…" Regina watches as Robin's face falls into his hands. "You are impossible."

"Look, Graham was… the one I could bring home. My parents didn't like him, but he was… you know, acceptable and he kept me company. Or, he was supposed to."

"Until you decided that you couldn't stand him."

"That's beside the point."

"Is it?"

Regina sits back, remembering the conversation she had with her mother about Graham—how Graham was supposed to be the last of the husbands. He was someone who cleaned up nicely and could be trotted out for weddings and family functions, and he did things like hold doors for her and refill her drink. He was nice—and as she'd just explained, acceptable. There wasn't a scandal around him, he was simply a guy she met and married—she wasn't with him for his money or for professional gain. When she introduced him to people—or rather, her parents did—there wasn't that 'oh, so that's how she got to where she is' sort of moment.

And she liked that.

She just didn't like Graham a whole lot.

"Regina, listen. I get it. You don't want to disappoint your parents…"

"For the umptheenth time."

"But you can do that without humiliating Graham. Just… tell them it didn't work out. Throw him under the bus, sure, but… do it privately. Sit them down and—"

"Tell them I've failed again?"

"No. Sit them down and tell them your husband had an affair. Make it his fault for them. Tell them whatever you need to tell them. Just… don't do it so publicly."

Sitting back, she pouts. "Sometimes, I think I should've just married you instead. You're the only person I know who can talk me off a ledge."

And to that, Robin laughs, shaking his head. "Yeah. Sure. That'd be just swell, until your mother caught me in a coat closet with a footman or the driver or some other guy in their employment."

"That wouldn't happen. You're far less slutty than I am."

"So, you'll agree? You'll call off the party and put an end to this little plan you've cooked up?"

Regina catches the waiter from the corner of her eye, carrying their food toward them on a large try. "If I say yes, does that mean you'll tell me all about this mystery man you've been seeing?"

"Well, I won't tell you all about him, but… I guess I can divulge a detail or two."

"Then I'll think about it."

Robin's eyes roll as the waiter arrives—and she can't help but notice that that gnawing guilty feeling at her core is letting up.

Damn him, she thinks, as a little smirk edges onto her lips.

It's only a few minutes after five when David comes in, humming softly to himself as he shrugs off his coat and hangs his hat on its hook by the door.

Mal grins, folding her novel closed and setting it aside, as he comes into the living room, his shoulders at ease.

The date, obviously, went well.

"Hey stranger," she says, as he picks the newspaper up from the coffee table and sits back on the sofa adjacent to her. "I was beginning to wonder if you and the new man in your life ran off together."

David smiles—in fact, he beams. "No, I, uh… I had an important, early meeting, so ended up going straight to my office this morning." Looping his thumb through his suspenders, he snaps them. "Luckily, I've got a couple changes of clothes in my office."

"Do you think anyone would actually notice something like that?"

David shrugs. "I don't know what people do and don't notice, but I'd rather not have to worry about it."

"Better safe than sorry," she agrees.

"Exactly."

For a moment, he says nothing, instead skimming the headlines and looking for something interesting to read—all the while knowing that she's there, just waiting for details.

"You know I live vicariously through you these days," she murmurs, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. "Tell me how it went. I've been waiting all day for this."

David looks up at her. "No run-ins with the woman at the coffee shop?"

Mal frowns. "I saw her today. I think she's married."

"How do you know?"

"She usually gets her coffee to go, but today… she sat down at one of the tables, and I could see her holding her cup. She was wearing a wedding ring."

David considers that for a moment. "You are also wearing a ring."

"That's different."

"Is it?"

Her brow arches. "For the vast majority of women a wedding ring means something entirely different than what it means for me."

"Still."

Mal's eyes roll. "She was sitting with a man—her husband, I can only assume. They looked…" her voice trails off and she offers an exaggerated sigh. "They looked happy. Like one of those couples who are still head-over-heels in love after a decade or so."

"People say that about us."

"Yes, but our situation is quite different than most."

David nods, agreeing. There's really no denying that. Their relationship truly is unique, and though she'd venture to say it isn't so unique that it's one of a kind, she would absolutely label it as rare. "So, does this mean… the love affair you've been having in your head is over?"

"I don't know," she murmurs. "But it's certainly put a damper on it."

"Does it have to?"

"I'm not a homewrecker, David."

His lips press together—he's stifling a laugh. "Love, your entire relationship with this woman was imaginary. Can you just… unimagine the husband?"

"No," she says, pouting. "Because even in my head, there was the possibility of it turning into something real."

David's eyes narrow. "But—"

"But she's married—happily married."

"Things aren't always as they seem. The man she was with might've been a friend, or better yet, her divorce attorney."

"Don't give me false hope or try to bring logic into this. Please. I just… want to wallow in my irrationality tonight."

"Whatever you want, love."

"Such a good husband," she coos, perking up as her thoughts shift. "Now, tell me how things went. I've been dying to know."

"We had dinner."

She blinks. "That's… really all you're going to tell me."

"At an Italian place," he adds. "I had linguine with clam sauce and he had the chicken parm. We had chocolate cake for dessert."

Sighing, she sits back and folds her arms. "I get that you really like this one, and I understand that you want to keep the details to yourself. I don't like it, but I get it. And I know that there's a lot at stake, but… come on. It's not like anyone's here to overhear anything, and… it's me. I'm certainly not going to blab."

"I know."

"So, tell me about him. Please?" David laughs as she "Or are you just not telling me because you know it's driving me absolutely insane not knowing."

"Honestly… it's a bit of both."

"That's mean."

"I don't mean it to be."

"But it is." Again, she pouts. "Please, just… a little?"

For a moment, she thinks David will keep his resolve—but then, a little laugh bubbles out of him and his smile turns sheepish. "Alright, so… his name is Robin."

"And what does he do?"

David just stares at her—he won't divulge that.

"Fine," she sighs, her eyes narrowing a bit. "So, will you at least tell me what he looks like?"

"Blue eyes," he begins. "Dimples—"

"Your weakness."

"Dirty blonde—"

"Just how you like 'em."

David laughs. "We, uh… we met at the Gayety Buffet."

Mal's eyes widen. "You went there?"

"And pretended I had no idea what it was, that I just happened to be in the neighborhood."

"Smooth."

David laughs. "I had this really elaborate cover story. I even brought an old newspaper clipping that raved about the seafood."

"I mean… the fact that it's called Gayety really is just a coincidence. Or, it's supposed to be, anyway."

"Well, we met at the buffet while we were in line for food."

Mal feels a smile tug up at the corners of her mouth as she pictures David and his dimple-faced beau reaching for the same roll. "Was it love at first sight?"

"Uh, I'm… not sure. I was too nervous," he admits. "But we had a very long chat about calamari."

"Calamari as in… just calamari. That's not some manly euphemism that I've never heard of? It's just… calamari?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

"He likes to cook, so he ended up inviting me over—said his recipe was far better than what was served at the buffet."

Biting down on her bottom lip, she eyes him. "So… was it? I assume you took him up on the offer."

"I… didn't know if it was a serious offer, but… I figured if it went awry, I could just play dumb and pretend I was just some sort of seafood aficionado and an amateur food critic or something."

"Again. So incredibly smooth."

David laughs, biting awkwardly at his bottom lip. "It sounded good to me at the time."

"So, he had no idea who you were?"

"Not at all."

"So… then what?"

"So, I went. The next evening, actually."

"And… was the calamari as good as the restaurants?"

"I don't know," he tells her, his face flushing. "I, uh… didn't end up having anything to eat that night." He considers it for a moment, and his face turns even rosier. "He, uh… he made excellent pancakes the next morning, though."

Her jaw drops and a laugh bubbles out of her. "That's so… scandalous. And adorable." She grins. "He really made you pancakes?"

David shrugs and nods. "He's a nice guy and just as he said, he is a fantastic cook. He's… easy going, interesting to talk to, takes gorgeous photographs—"

"A photographer and a chef, how nice…how domestic."

"Things cooled off during the election, but…"

"Then you picked right up when you left off?"

"Pretty much."

Mal lets out a contented sigh—she likes that David's happy. And though there's a twinge of jealousy that she feels, it has little to do with David or his relationship and everything to do with her lack of one. "Does he know you're married? I mean, if he knows what you do and follows the papers, it'd be impossible to not know you're married, but… does he know… well, how we are together?"

"He does."

"But I can't meet him?"

"Not yet."

Mal frowns. "Why the delay? I won't be a third wheel if you bring him home."

"That isn't what I'm worried about." David stares at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "It's complicated."

"How?"

"It just… is."

Mal nods—despite wanting to argue, she understands. Their affairs always were, given the spotlight they found themselves in; and yet, over the years, they'd both find ways to be discreet.

"We're, uh… going on a fishing trip. We planned it out last night, over dinner."

"You don't fish."

David nods, smirking. "Neither does he."

At that, all she can do is laugh as David gets up and sits down on the arm of her chair, looping his arm around her shoulders. "I'll tell ya what," he begins as he hugs her into his side, "we'll see how things go after that trip. Maybe he can help me carry in my bags or something, and pop in and say hello."

"Really?"

"We'll see how he's feeling about it."

"I'm harmless. He knows that right?"

"Of course," David says as he hugs her a bit closer. "Hey… are you okay?"

"Hm?"

"I was just wondering. I know it never went anywhere, but you were awfully smitten with that woman from the coffeeshop."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course I'm fine, I'm just… disappointed."

"It's okay if you're not."

Mal looks up at him. "It'd be stupid to be upset."

"Sure. But feelings aren't always rational. You and I probably know that better than most." She nods—and it's then that she feels a lump rise into her throat. David rubs his hand over her arm and rest head atop hers, and when he suggests ice cream sundaes for dinner, she can't help but laugh.

After all, she might not have romantic love in her life, but maybe, she has something even better. Or at least, that's what she tells herself as they make their way to the kitchen.

She's always been relaxed in Robin's company—and at the start, that had been somewhat unnerving. It bothered her that he didn't treat her the way other men did, but now, it seems silly to be bothered by something like that, to be bothered by the notion that a man treated her as he would another man. It seems silly to feel anything but totally comfortable and confident in his presence.

After lunch, they'd gone back to the office. She worked on a couple of things, tying up loose ends on a story that was going to print in the Sunday edition about a pending deal in the Senate that would mean actual funding for Eisenhower's Highway Plan, and Robin worked on developing his photos before they'd headed out for coffee. Normally, she grabbed it to go and headed back to work, but Robin convinced her to sit down. He'd brought proofs to look through and needed help picking a few, and that, after all, was work; so they stayed, talking and looking through the pictures, finally narrowing it down to four. His editor would have the final say.

Then, once that was decided, they went back to her apartment. Graham wasn't home yet, so she quickly changed into a sweater and lounge pants, and taped a note to the fridge—eventually, he'd have to see it there, she'd reasoned.

They'd walked across town to the Chinese place, ordered their takeout, then took a cab back to his apartment—and though she'd been there a thousand times, she found herself in awe of how cozy and clean it was. For as long as she knew him, Robin had collected things—all sorts of things, from frosted green Depression glassware to arrowheads to rustic knick knacks. And though none of it actually went together, in the traditional sense, everything in the apartment was perfectly suited to his tastes and interests, that it did.

"This is new," she says, pointing to a framed watercolor of a mountain range on the mantle, just above the fireplace. "Isn't it?"

He nods. "Got it at an estate sale. Cut new mats for it, found a cheap frame. And, voila! There it sits in it's new home."

She grins. "I'd have spent a fortune doing something like that."

"You'd never have purchased anything at an estate sale," he counters.

Regina chuckles softly. He isn't wrong. But before she can make some sort of smart ass retort, she hears Robin mutter an oh no from the kitchen, and she peeks into the kitchen instead.

"We got an extra egg roll," he tells her, his eyes wide.

"I… don't see a problem. I love egg rolls. I'll take it."

"But that's the problem. I do, too."

"We could split it," she offers. "Though…"

"You want it."

"Yes."

A little smirk twists onto his lips and he reaches into the carton, plucking up the third egg roll. "How badly?"

Her brow furrows. "What?"

"How badly do you want the extra egg roll."

She stares at him. "Why is this sounding like extortion all of the sudden?"

"Call it what you want. I prefer to say we're about to make a deal."

"Some might define extortion that way."

"So, do you want it?"

Regina's arms fold. "What do you want for it?"

Robin grins. "Promise you call off that party and you won't publicly humiliate Graham."

"I said I'd think about it," she says, sighing. "And I—"

"You've had plenty of time."

"I thought I was here to talk about your new boyfriend."

"That discussion was conditional, remember?" She frowns. She does remember—she was hoping that he'd forget. "So, do you want the extra egg roll, or are you going to watch me eat it?"

"Is there extra plum sauce?"

"Yes."

Regina groans a little, and then sighs. "Fine."

"You'll call off the party—"

"Well, I can't actually do that. Graham knows about the party and—"

"I'm sure that once you explain to Graham that you know about the blonde and your marriage is over, he'll understand that the two of you won't be hosting a dinner party."

"I already have a caterer."

"Cancel."

"I put down a deposit."

"Do you want the egg roll or not?"

Her eyes narrow. "Fine. I won't do it."

"Good girl," he says, dropping the extra egg roll onto her plate. "That was well worth the extra twenty-five cents."

Regina's jaw drops. "You tricked me."

"I made a deal. Plain and simple. The details don't matter."

Her eyes roll as she takes her plate—he looks so smug and satisfied.

Robin follows her, chuckling softly to himself and they settle on opposite sides of his couch, plates in their laps.

"You know," she begins as she takes a bite of her kung pao chicken. "Now that I've held up my end of the deal… don't you have something to tell me about?"

Robin nods as she bats her eyes expectantly at him. "That didn't take you long at all."

"We agreed you'd tell me about your mystery congressman over Chinese food and…" Regina's voice trails off and she waves her hand over her plate. "Here we are, feasting on Chinese food."

"Alright," he says, drawing in a short breath and exhaling it in a puff. "What do you want to know?"

"His name."

Robin winces. "Do we have to start with something so… personal?"

Regina sighs. "Alright, then… what committees is he on?"

"That's basically giving you a name."

"Robin, someone's name is… the most basic piece of information. It's not personal. It's… a name."

"But you'll recognize it."

"You're making it sound like I'm asking about the first time the two of you had sex."

"I would rather talk about that."

Regina's brows arch. "Robin. I am not going to… confront him. Or write about him. Or use him as leverage. I just want to know who you're dating. I care about you. I care about your life, and he's obviously a pretty important part of your life."

For a moment, he hesitates—and then, he nods. "Okay," he says. "I'll tell you who he is."

Regina grins encouragingly. She can tell he's nervous.

"David Nolan," he says in a burst, all at once, as if it's all one name. "I've been seeing David Nolan."

Immediately, she pictures him—kind blue eyes, slightly curly blonde hair, a charming, boyish grin, and a reputation for his moral compass. Rarely did she hear a negative word about him—and that, in and of itself, said a lot, given the environment in which he worked. Immediately, she can picture the two of them together.

"You're dating David Nolan," she says, a little grin tugging up at the corner of her mouth. "Thats—"

Regina's voice halts and her heart skips a beat.

The other night, Graham told her he'd overheard two men talking about an affair that David Nolan was having and how it nearly came up during his last campaign. They seemed to think had that sordid bit come out, David wouldn't have won reelection, that it might've completely ruined his career.

Suddenly, she feels sick.

"I swear, Regina, if you—"

"No, no, no. I don't… I don't have anything on him. I just…" Her eyes sink closed. "There's this rumor and…" She stops, watching as the color drains from his face. "How long have you been seeing each other?"

"Um… that's complicated. We were seeing each other for a bit, then he was running for re-election, so we ended things. But then…"

"He won and you two started up again."

Robin nods. "Yeah. Exactly." For a moment, she wonders if there was someone that David might have been seen with, but in the end, that didn't matter. She doesn't even know if this person was seen at all. "Regina, what are you… not saying?"

Swallowing hard, she sets down her fork—and she tells him. She tells him everything that Graham said he overheard, and she watches as Robin turns even paler.

"Have you, um… have you met his wife?"

Robin shakes his head. "No. I… I think it'd be weird. She really wants to meet me, but… I don't know. I just… can't quite wrap my head around that, you know?"

"Oh, I can't imagine it being anything other than weird." He tries to grin, but doesn't quite manage it. He looks squeamish instead—and desperately, she wants to make it better. "Well, it's lucky for you I have that caterer booked."

Robin's brow furrows. "What?"

"I'm throwing that party, after all."

Robin sighs. "Regina…"

"Next Saturday, I am hosting a party. You'll be there, of course, and we'll invite the Nolans."

"That sounds like a… collassaly bad idea."

"Why? I was going to invite them anyway. An invitation is already printed."

"Why were you going to invite them?"

Biting down on her bottom lip, she hesitates. "I… was going to see if I could get to the bottom of that rumor."

"Regina—"

"Of course, I won't be doing that now." Her shoulders straighten. "I have a new plan. A better one."

Robin's eyes widen. "You're putting me, my boyfriend and his wife all together in a room full of people. This plan sounds like it'll be a colossal—"

"It'll be the perfect way to squash a rumor." Suddenly, she feels confident in her idea—it could work. Politicians are always attending fundraisers, always looking for money and potential donors. "After the party, I'll do a whole write up, waxing poetic about how wonderful the Nolans are, how in love they are, how lucky Washington is to have them… that sort of thing."

Robin blinks—he looks dizzy. "That… sounds exactly like the sort of thing you've spent your entire career avoiding."

Regina shrugs. It's absolutely the sort of thing she's worked hard to avoid. "Consider it payback."

"For what?"

She can't help but laugh. "Oh, come on. I'm sure there are a thousand things I owe you for, a thousand uncomfortable situations you ended up in because of me."

A little grin tugs up at the corner of his mouth. "Taking those sleazy pictures of your husband in bed with that blonde comes to mind."

"So if you can do that, I can write one measly little article."

Robin considers it, and then he sighs. "You really think one article will squash that kind of rumor? I highly doubt that."

"I'm slightly insulted that you don't think I can sell this, but sure, one article might not do it, but it'll cast doubt on that rumor."

Robin nods, considering it.

"And if the three of you look chummy—"

"Or incredibly awkward—"

"Hey. Who knows, you and the wife might hit it off… in a totally platonic sort of way."

"Well, I'm glad you're not hinting at some sort of ménage a trois situation or something." Slowly, he draws in a breath. "So, this rumor… was there any idea who David was cheating with?"

"No," she says. "At least not that Graham alluded to. He assumed David had a girlfriend on the side."

"No offense, but… Graham's not the most perceptive guy. If I had a nickel for every girl he tried to set me up with…"

Regina grins. "You won't get an argument from me. He thinks you're in love with me." Robin sighs and she laughs. "But Graham's perception… isn't uncommon. And we can use that. People will believe what they want to believe."

"You… sound so sure about this."

"I am a very convincing person."

"I can't argue there." Robin draws in another breath and slowly exhales it. "I'll, uh… run it by David and see what he thinks."

"Sure," she murmurs, keeping a watchful eye on Robin as she picks up her egg roll and biting into it. "So, uh… for research purposes, I need to know everything about your relationship with David Nolan. Start at the beginning. Leave nothing out."

She grins as he turns to her, staring wide-eyed—and then a laugh bubbles out of him as he tells her about the afternoon they met at the Gayety Buffet.