Chapter 5


THEN:


June, 2011

Blueberry Hill Bed and Breakfast
Middlebury, Vermont


"I just want to know why it had to be him."

This again. Ignoring the urge to roll her eyes, Olivia glanced up from her task in the direction of the person's voice. A very un-presidential-looking President Grant was slouched and sour-faced in the oversized armchair off to the side of the room. He was mismatched in suit pants and a gray Navy sweatshirt, having somehow gotten cherry danish all over the top half of his tux earlier that morning. So of course, rather than waiting in the room downstairs that had been designated as the president's emergency changing room for the valet who was bringing him another suit, Fitz had instead snuck upstairs to the honeymoon suite to harass her.

Olivia took another few long-stemmed roses from the bouquet resting on his lap and pointedly busied herself with plucking off the petals and dusting them across the king-sized bed.

This was a fight Fitz had been picking ad-nauseum over the past week or so, ever since he found out who she was bringing as her date to Cyrus and James' wedding. Frankly, Olivia had too much to do before the start of the ceremony to rehash this again.

In an unsubtle bid to make the Grant administration's stance on gay marriage as blatant as possible, a slew of high-profile RINOs and Democrats had been invited to Cyrus and James' wedding, Senator Edison Davis among them.

Having heard through the grapevine that Olivia would be a part of the wedding party and that she still didn't have a date less than two weeks out, Edison had shown up at K-Street one evening with a bouquet of tulips and proposed they attend the Beene-Novak wedding together, as friends. Saying no would have led to questions from Edison and other wedding guests about why she was so insistent on attending alone. Already losing sleep over how she would manage to have enough self-control for both herself and Fitz, showing up with another man on her arm was an easy solution. But one that presented another problem: getting Fitz on board.

Olivia had hoped that agreeing to leave for Vermont early so that they could spend a few days together before the wedding would be enough to pacify him. She had underestimated Fitz's commitment to being petty. A few days after she told Fitz she was bringing a date to Cyrus' wedding Edison was forced off the Senate Ways and Means Committee.

They'd fought over this nearly every day leading up to their leaving for New England, neither of them willing to budge from their respective stances. Olivia was adamant she couldn't attend a high-profile wedding alone without raising suspicion, and that he had no right to abuse his authority to attack her exes. While unable to disagree with her points, Fitz refused to let up.

Once in Vermont, however, it became a non-issue. Neither of them wanted to waste the precious time they had with each other fighting. Olivia had assumed their truce meant the matter was resolved.

But now, here they were.

She kept her back to him and mentally counted to ten. "Edison and I are here as friends," she reminded him.

"You dated for four years. You lived together in New York. And Georgetown."

"We broke up before I took the bar."

"You were engaged."

"I broke it off."

"I told Cy I want him off the Intelligence Committee."

"Fitz!"

Olivia whirled around, brandishing a fistful of rose stems at him. Fitz was already on his feet. They faced off, Fitz menacing her with a half-serious 'You only have yourself to blame' glower. Olivia glared up at him, hands on her hips, wildly unimpressed but still losing the fight to keep up her scowl.

"He's going from the ceremony to the airport. He's got a donor event in Gainesville tomorrow."

"Then why does he have a room for two booked at the Hilton off the next exit?"

Olivia frowned. Edison certainly hadn't shared that piece of information with her. Letting the rose stems drop, she took both of Fitz's hands in hers' and pulled herself up on the balls of her feet to give him two quick pecks on the lips.

"We just have to get through the reception," she promised with another soft kiss. "Just a few hours of speeches, and drinks, and schmoozing, and then you'll have me all to yourself. It doesn't matter where Edison stays tonight because you and I know where I'll be."

They were staying at Lark Fell Lodge, a five-acre hunting lodge on the edge of Middlebury that had once belonged to a Vanderbilt before being bought at sheriff's sale by its current owner, who converted it into a bed and breakfast. The administration bought out the whole place to accommodate the president, his staff, and a private guest while he was due to be in Vermont for his Chief of Staff's wedding. Although the First Lady was also set to attend, due to prior engagements scheduled during the week leading up to the Beene-Novak wedding, she would be flying in and out of Vermont on the same day.

Olivia tried to release Fitz's hands to go back to finishing getting the room ready for Cyrus and James, but Fitz's grip tightened.

"Don't dance with him at the reception."

This time, Olivia did roll her eyes. "Fitz…"

He wouldn't budge. His face was grim. "If I can't dance with you, he can't either."

Choosing to be the bigger person and not bring up the fact that he was also attending the wedding and the reception with a date—his wife, no less—Olivia tugged herself free and went back to plucking roses.

"Will you and Mellie be back up here again next weekend to bring the kids home for the summer?"

It was the lowest common denominator she could opt for as a topic changes, but desperate times.

Fitz winced. She could tell that it wasn't just because she'd brought up Karen and Jerry. This had to do with his wife.

"What?" she prodded.

"Mellie wants to enroll them in summer session," he said. "We promised them at the beginning of the year that they could come home this summer, spend some time with us, go back out to Santa Barbara and see their friends. But now she's all swept up in laying the groundwork for her senate run, 'it'd be more feasible to keep them in New Hampshire.'"

"What about a nanny?"

"She argued-and, on this I actually agree-that they're at the age now where kids stop listening to nannies, especially ones that haven't been with them from a young age. With Mellie and I as busy as we are, we need a sterner approach if we're going to keep two preteens out of trouble."

"Secret Service?" Olivia suggested. The turn this conversation was taking made her think back to her own experiences with boarding school. Particularly the first year or so it took to sink in that she was in Switzerland to stay. That not even flunking out would prompt her father to let her come back to D.C., to her old life, her friends, her home. She felt for Karen and Jerry.

Fitz shrugged helplessly. "They're both pissed. Karen especially, she threatened to fail all her summer classes on purpose if we didn't let them come home."

Olivia chuckled wryly to herself as a memory surfaced. "I did that my first year, it got me the beating of my life."

The look of utter shock on Fitz's face jerked her from the hazy recollection.

"What?"

"Your father hit you?"

Folding her arms across her chest, Olivia tried to keep her face blank. So they were having this discussion, then.

"Yes."

Pursing his lips, Fitz let the answer hang in the air. Apparently, deciding to take the politician's route and tread delicately.

"With a...with a belt?"

"Mostly."

"MOSTLY?!"

"Stop." Olivia held up her hand. "It's not what you're thinking."

She had learned early on, well before boarding school, of the dichotomy in disciplinary methods between blacks and other people of color, and whites. Many of her Black and Hispanic friends in elementary and middle school came from homes like hers', where putting a foot out of line meant the belt, or being sent outside to pick a switch. Some had parents who were 'New School' and didn't believe in spankings. But none of her white friends' parents had ever hit them. There had been one incident in particular where the subject had come up during recess, and Olivia had spent the rest of the period railing at Anna Harlow-who was her desk partner but more importantly had a mother who was a social worker-that it wasn't bad for her dad to give her a beating when she did something wrong, that he was a good dad, and he loved her, and Anna couldn't understand because they were just different; until Anna had sworn not to tell her mother and have Olivia's dad sent to jail. That had been the last time Olivia ever brought it up to a peer.

For a year after that first summer session of boarding school, every visit from her father began and ended with a beating: To remind you of what you're here to do, and the price of wasting my time and money. She returned to campus at the end of every weekend visit with welts along her legs and thighs that made sitting unbearable and swimming impossible. Friends wondered why she quit the swim team that year, and why she sometimes walked with a limp. She told them a story about a car accident she'd been in as a little girl leaving her with lower spinal trauma that sometimes caused flare-ups. And that was that.

Olivia quickly shot back up to the top of her class, and remained there. And, after her yearlong punishment was up, things went back to normal, with her father only pulling out the strap (the stick, the iron cord, the dog chain, a cushion of dried grits upon which she was to kneel for hours while he drilled her on Mandarin conjugations) when her work fell below His satisfaction.

My Livvie, my baby, is the most intelligent, hardest working, and highest achieving pupil that school has ever seen. You know it. I know it. THEY know it, but they won't act like they do unless you go above and beyond. They climb a hill, you scale Mount Everest, you understand? Twice as good, Livvie.

Twice as good.

The white boy sitting just below her in the class rankings had been fluent in four languages. Olivia was fluent in six by the end of her junior year, eight by graduation. In freshman year, she qualified for the junior Olympics in swimming; her team just missed the cut. Her father ordered her to quit the following year, lest they drag her down. She joined the debate team and He was pleased, even more so when she was later made captain. The team was ecstatic when they placed second at the championships; He, having taken leave from work to attend, was less than impressed. Olivia hadn't been able to eat for a week after that. The school infirmary had had to intervene.

That was her father. It wasn't wrong. He didn't do it to be cruel, He did it because He loved her, and that was what He knew. Fitz-like Anna Harlow-wouldn't understand. There would be no getting through to him on this.

She opted for another subject change.

"I think Otakon is a big part of the reason Karen and Jerry are so adamant about coming home."

"Ode of what?" said Fitz.

"'Otakon,'" Olivia corrected, enunciating the foreign-sounding word. "It's an annual convention that takes place in Baltimore. It's primarily an anime convention but it's expanded over the years to include video games and comic books and whatnot."

Fitz's brow furrowed. "Uh, huh...and you know this, how?"

Olivia smirked and pulled out her phone. Sitting down at the foot of the bed, she patted the spot next to her. Fitz followed suit.

"I had a roommate in college who supported herself by designing costumes for cosplay artists."

"Designing what?"

"People who dress up as fictional characters, mostly from video games and comic books."

"Like Batman?"

She patted his cheek. "Yes, baby, like Batman. Anyway, she's now a textiles engineer. She's done costume design for a few theater productions in the DMV and New York but she still mostly does cosplay while she tries to get a foothold in the industry."

"Right," Fitz nodded along. "But, what does this have to do with Karen and Jerry?"

"They follow her."

"Follow her where?"

Olivia laughed, unable to help herself. "On Instagram. They follow her account on Instagram."

Pulling up the app on her phone, she beckoned Fitz closer so that she could better explain.

"They have a shared, secret account under a fake name," she said as she pulled up the page. "Karen's more into fashion design. She posts a lot of sketches. Jerry's into photography and concept art from different film and animation projects. Anyway, I can tell from what they post that they're both big fans of Brittni's-"

"Your old roommate?"

"Right. Karen, especially, seems to really look up to her," said Olivia. "She's going to be a guest at Otakon this year."

"So they want to go to meet her?" Fitz said, leaning further into the phone screen as Olivia scrolled further down the posts. She handed it to him.

"More than likely. I think they were also planning on cosplaying. Karen posted some sketches a few weeks ago."

"I see them here. These are incredible," he said, looking over at her and pointing down at Karen's post of a sketch she'd done of a Cruella De Ville costume. "How did you find out they had an Instagraph?"

"Instagram," Olivia corrected with a smile. "I had Huck do a sweep to see whether they were on any social media accounts. When he found their Insta I made a fake account so that I could keep an eye on them."

"You didn't tell me?"

"I figured you either already knew or it was a secret, and if it was the latter I didn't want to ruin it for them. They've been through a huge adjustment, it's not easy living in the spotlight. Having something private, something normal-like a secret from their parents-well, I didn't see the harm in letting them have their fun so long as they were being safe."

Handing her back her phone, Fitz wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his side. He planted a long, soft kiss on her forehead.

"You're incredible," he murmured to her.

Olivia leaned into the embrace, letting his praise wash over her before gently pulling back.

"You should go. I have to get the room ready before it's time to ride to the chapel."

"Right," Fitz agreed, despite hanging onto her hand as she tried to extricate herself fully.

"You need to get into your suit."

"I know." He grinned, and began playing with her fingers.

"Fitz?"

"Hmm?"

"Give Edison back his senate committee appointments. Believe me, he's been put through enough for my sake."

With a smirk, Fitz yanked her forward. Stumbling in her four-inch heels, Olivia fell forward into his arms, and Fitz flipped them so that Olivia landed on her back amidst a plume of rose petals. Fitz leered over her.

"No dancing." He kissed her, refusing to release her lips so she could reply.

"It'll-" kiss "-look-" kiss "-ugh, stop-" She pushed him back just slightly. "-weird if I don't"

"Not my problem." He sought her lips again. Olivia turned her head.

"This is Cyrus and James' bed. We can't," she protested.

"They won't know," he said, moving from her lips down the side of her neck. His hand crept between her legs, inching its way up.

"Don't..." Olivia tried to wiggle out from under him, once again pushing at his chest. Fitz sat up. With a boyish gleam in his eye, he plucked a stray rose petal from her hair and flicked it away.

"Go," she ordered, pointing at the door.

He bent down for one final kiss. "No dancing."

"Senate Committees."

"No dancing or no committees, Livvie. What'll it be?"

"Go get dressed."


XXX

The first gay wedding of a senior Cabinet member serving under a sitting U.S. president doubled as political theater by default. That these nuptials were between a Beltway journalist and one of the most prominent GOP strategists of the past several decades, not to mention the president's top adviser, made spectacle and punditry a given. Rather than pretend to ignore it all, Cyrus and James had played it smart by incorporating subtle nods to the historicity of their special day into the pomp and circumstance.

Their color theme was "All American:" the groomsmen and Best Man sporting navy blue tuxedos, and the bridesmaids and Maid of Honor in ivory gowns, holding bouquets of red and white roses and blue peonies. The men all wore white carnations boutonnières underpinned with the commemorative red AIDS ribbon to symbolize the lives lost due to the neglect of the Reagan and Bush Sr. administrations. The grooms exchanged vows in an outdoor chapel on the inn's grounds. Their officiant was the controversial Reverend John MacNamara, a former United Methodist pastor who had been defrocked by the church for presiding over homosexual wedding ceremonies some years before Vermont had legalized same-sex unions. Catering for the reception was being provided by Dalihla's, a local institution owned by one of the first lesbian couples to be married in the state.

The grand ballroom had been the inn's crown jewel when The Blueberry Hill first opened in 1881, and so it remained today. Its high-beam ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and Shaker-made antique furniture striking the perfect balance between Gilded Age opulence and salt-of-the-Earth, New England Americana to fit James and Cyrus' personal tastes as well as the story they wanted to sell.

Never one for the spotlight, Olivia-whose position as Maid of Honor designated her a seat at the Head Table, front and one over from the center, to Cyrus' right- feeling more than a little claustrophobic despite the reception hall being a far cry from at-capacity. She had to continually remind herself that everyone's focus was on the newlyweds. The fact that two of the most high-profile guests at the wedding had had their eyes glued to her since she and the rest of the wedding party had arrived made Edison and Fitz the exceptions, not the rule.

The hall was designed to accommodate four hundred. The Beene-Novak guest list totaling a bit over half that number allowed the planners to go for a more sprawling floor plan. The result was twenty-seven guest tables laid out banquet-style along the circumference of the dance floor, all arranged to face the direction of the Head Table.

Edison and Fitz were sitting on opposite sides of the room, nowhere within one another's line of sight. But the Head Table being at the focal point of the room made avoiding the stares of either man impossible. Looking down at her place setting was out of the question. That left the dance floor, where James and his Best Man were about to begin the last First Dance to close out the ceremonial portion of the reception.

Cyrus' parents were dead, and James was estranged from most of his immediate family. It had been James' idea to put a new spin on an old classic by substituting the mother-son/father-daughter dances that traditionally followed the couple's First Dance, with each groom instead sharing a dance with their Best Man/Maid of Honor. As a show of good humor, Olivia and Cyrus had danced to Paul Simon's Father and Daughter. Now, side-by-side, together they cringed over identical glasses of Château Lafitte at the spectacle taking place on the dance floor.

Rather than go for schmaltzy sentimentality, James and Connor, his Best Man and (supposedly, straight) best friend since childhood, had chosen to mark their dance with a deliberately rhythm-less rendition of The Hustle to You Got A Friend In Me; clearly a reference to an inside joke no one else in the room was being let in on, including the other groom.

One need not know Cyrus Beene as well as Olivia to be able to surmise from the gusto with which he drained his glass of red that he was as nonplussed by his husband's performance as their guests. But it gave Olivia a sorely needed chuckle to know she wasn't alone in wanting to dissolve into her seat.

"You're fired," Cyrus deadpanned. Olivia sipped her wine.

"For what?"

"Abandoning me the night before my wedding, for starters," he grumbled. "Here I thought my Maid of Honor and I were on the mend, only for her to stand me up on my last night of freedom."

"You specifically told me-weeks ago-that you didn't want a bachelor party. The other night, after the rehearsal dinner, when I asked you if you were absolutely sure you didn't want to do anything, you said you were planning to finalize your shortlist of Supreme Court nominees to go over with Fitz next week."

"Exactly, I thought the invitation was obvious."

"And what would give you that inclination? That isn't what I do anymore, Cy."

"Isn't it?" Cyrus tipped his head knowingly in her direction, steering both their gazes down the path leading to the president's table.

"This is what you call being 'on the med'?" Olivia asked rhetorically, taking the deliberate provocation in stride. Motioning for her to keep facing forward, Cyrus bowed his head as he spoke, his voice less than a whisper.

"You spent the past few days with him," he said, neither a question nor an accusation: plain matter-of-fact. Without turning her head, Olivia looked to her right to make sure the bridesmaid sitting there was still engaged in a three-way conversation with the other two on the far end. The two seats to Cyrus' left were, of course, empty.

He continued. "I don't suppose he gave you a chance to talk to him about what we could be looking at with Sally once we go through with this, while the two of you were having dinner under the stars and going for day cruises on Lake Champlain?"

"I'm not discussing this with you," Olivia said in a tight voice. "Cyrus, you're his Chief of Staff, there's no way you two haven't gone over the ramifications of antagonizing Sally and her base with this Supreme Court pick."

"Sure, we agree there'll be consequences and repercussions up to and including a VP vacancy and Sally spending the next three years shoring up support for a 2014 run, but he goes deaf as soon as it's time to talk about how he wants to counteract."

"Sounds like a problem."

"One that needs a fixer."

"Wrong," Olivia said firmly. "The problem here is that your president feels he can't trust you. Whether he's justified in feeling that way is a moot argument when we're dealing in the realm of emotionality. There aren't any shortcuts or intercessions here, Cy. If you want Fitz to trust you again, you're going to have to earn it. I can't fix that for you."

"And this is still only about him and me, right?"

"Meaning?"

"I'm sure the two of you spending an extra few days together before the wedding was just an excuse to have another long weekend getaway, and had nothing to do with you trying to make up for bringing your ex-fiancé as your date"

"That's correct," Olivia snarked. "I don't have anything to make up for. I am, however, trying to butter him up."

"Oh?" Cyrus' lips twitched with genuine interest.

"It's something you may be able to help me with, Cy, now that I think about it. If you agree, I'll mention-mention-to Fitz your concerns about a Langston contingency plan."

"I'm listening."

"Senator Davis' committee assignments: I need you to get him back on the Ethics Committee, and to stand firm when Fitz tries to pull him off Intelligence."

"Oh-ho!," Cyrus whisper-yelled, dropping his fist against the table in a dull slap, so as not to rise above the room's din. "When I thought this day couldn't get any gayer, here comes this tea!"

"Don't start." Olivia massaged the corner of her temple, fully exasperated.

"No, this is delicious. Do I smell a love triangle on the horizon?"

"Between you, James, and Connor? Possibly. Are you sure he's straight?"

Cyrus glowered. "No need to be catty."

"Will you do it or not?"

"Ways and Means is out of my hands," he said, clipped and unequivocal to underscore the veracity. "The Majority Leader thought he was being wasted there anyway. When I mentioned the direction the President is looking to go in as far as his Supreme Court nomination, we both saw an opportunity to swap Davis out and give him Senator Pittman's spot on the Judiciary Committee in time for the hearings without it being obvious."

It was a smart move. Senator Pittman, a Maine Independent who caucused with the Democrats for the most part, would face pushback at home for confirming a pro-marriage equality, pro-choice justice. Edison risked considerably less ire from Floridians, not least of all because his stance on those issues won him his seat.

"Has Edison been told?" To Olivia's knowledge, there had been no update to any Senate committee assignments aside from Senator Davis' removal from Ways and Means.

"He has. Pittman too. The reassignments go into effect on Monday. It'll be public but don't expect it to make any rounds."

Unsexy administrative changes such as these seldom did. Olivia nodded.

"Back to my original question," Cyrus began, with a playful gleam. "Are we, or are we not, both in the doghouse at the moment?"

Olivia huffed. "I'm not answering that."

"Am I supposed to pretend he didn't drop half a cherry danish down the front of his suit when he noticed Senator Davis asking around for you this morning, so he'd have an excuse to cloister you inside my honeymoon suite?"

"I'm not discussing this with you."

"Do I even want to ask if my marital bed is in-tact?"

"It's not your marital bed, don't mix definitions," Olivia snapped. Reaching for her glass, she took a quick sip of wine. "And yes, it is."

"Credit where credit is due." Cyrus patted her hand magnanimously. "But for your sake, I hope you two had a heart-to-heart about ground rules and where poor Edison is and isn't allowed to place his hands because here comes the Good Senator now."

It was only then that Olivia noticed for the first time that Connor and James weren't alone on the dance floor anymore. The ceremonial portion of the evening was now over; the bar was open, there was a line queuing at the hors d'oeuvres station in the buffet section of the room, and everyone not eating, drinking, or schmoozing was crowding the dance floor.

Following the direction of Cyrus' turned head, Olivia saw a determined Edison fighting his way to her through waves of guests moving in every opposite direction, like a buoy during high tide. He approached in slow-motion. She could hardly hear his question over the boom of the DJ's set; his lips moved soundlessly as he held out a gentlemanly hand.

She took it, biting back a scowl when Cyrus jostled her shoulders with a burst of sarcastic paternalism. Enough for Edison to gather that he'd walked in on the end of a joke, but primed for him to miss that he was both the setup and the punchline.

Batting away the twin daggers Olivia was shooting directly into both his pupils, Cyrus waved them off.

"You kids enjoy the party, I'm off to find my sweet husband!"

Incalculable was the allure of the familiar. Even putting aside her carrying on an affair with the President of the United States, Olivia's life was overflowing with complication. Edison, by contrast, was a sturdy bridge over still water. At one time, his paint-by-numbers simplicity had been her biggest comfort in life, finally having found a constant after years of impermanence and maybe/what-ifs. It was enough for her to say 'yes' to a lifetime with him. Were it not for Fitz, it still would be. After all, it hadn't been lack of affection on either of their parts that brought about the end of their relationship, but fear, her fear. Fear that hung over her head to this day, as heavy, as potent and all-consuming as ever. Only now-as was the case with the love she'd once felt for Edison-it had exponentiated, and was reserved for Fitz, and Fitz, alone.

Alit by the window of opportunity Olivia had opened by accepting his proposition to attend this wedding together, Edison was too blinded by his aspirations for where tonight could lead to see that they were one-sided. Olivia let him hold her close as they slow-danced to the smooth jazz set-list calling all the room's couples to get into the mood, and the single pairs to shoot their shot. She let his hand boldly inch its way as far down the small of her back as it dared until it hovered just above the curve of her ass; returning his We can go there if you want to bedroom eyes with a half-assed, You better quit it now smirk. He kept his gaze locked on her, warm, and soft, and overflowing with the prospect of rekindlement. Olivia stared back placidly, and let Edison fill that blank canvas for himself.

All the while, another pair of eyes were burning a hole through her from across the room. Metaphysically trapped between the two; at the liminal crossroads of what was right and what felt right, and what was rational and what made sense, and who loved her and who she loved back, and safe bets and risky payoffs, and could and would and should; there was the guilt, heavy and thick and seeping in from all directions to encase Olivia into a block of cement.

They took a break from the dance floor once the line dances started up. Edison brought her back to his table.

The seating chart put all the senators at the same table, irrespective of party affiliation. Though no one in the Republican caucus had voiced support for marriage equality, three GOP senators had shown up that day, and several who had declined their invitation had sent gifts with their names attached. All this boded well for Fitz's goal to legalize gay marriage with bipartisan support.

The seat next to Edison was taken by Senator Poole, a Dem from North Carolina. In true southern fashion, he offered his seat to Olivia before Edison could open his mouth to ask. The senator grabbed a spare chair from the table behind theirs' and squeezed in between Olivia and Senator Whitley of Montana.

Although this was Olivia's first time making any of their acquaintance, she was of course familiar with each of their work, and they with hers', as the former White House Comms Director and one and only protege of Cyrus Beene. Compliments and pleasantries were exchanged in regard to both her impressive resume as well as on her Maid of Honor toast to Cyrus and James. There was a bit of friendly teasing from Senators Whitley and Hodgson, who were closer to Edison than the others, about whether their heating up the dance floor meant they could be seeing Olivia on Edison's arm at the next couple of 'work functions'. Edison, with his hand on Olivia's knee, flipped the question around, suggesting he would be the one on her arm, and left it at that.

From there, the conversation circled back to what the table had been discussing before Edison had left the group to find Olivia: their jam-packed schedules. The Majority Leader was pushing hard to have a budget resolution passed, the House's education spending bill brought to a vote, and the last few admin confirmation hearings wrapped, all before the upcoming recess next month. Democrats were unhappy with the president's picks for the State Department and the DOD, Edison and his colleagues were pessimistic about them making it through committee. On the positive side of things, the sudden shakeup in the Judiciary Committee membership had speculation on the Hill a-buzz with whether the Grant administration was looking to fill the vacancy on the Supreme Court with a moderate in the hopes of getting the Dems to compromise on some of the White House's other appointments.

Just as Senator Hernandez, Democrat and Chair of the Senate Judiciary was preparing to ask whether Olivia had any lead on who the White House was considering, Cyrus popped by the table on cue; allegedly in the middle of making his rounds at all the guest tables. Olivia couldn't tell who pounced first: Senator Hernandez, at the chance to invite Cyrus to join their off-the-record conversation; or Cyrus, at the chance to take him up on it.

Cyrus pulled up a chair between Senator Hernandez and Senator McMallon-Republican and another Senate Judiciary member. The spot he'd chosen put him directly across from Olivia, making it nearly impossible to avoid eye-contact without it being obvious. Averting her eyes, she took the last dinner roll from the basket and began buttering it intently.

"Your ears must've been ringing," Hernandez opened the floor congenially. "We were just going back and forth on whether the White House was looking to throw us a curveball with this top secret Supreme Court nom."

"Then let me mix metaphors and shoot straight," said Cyrus with a plain-faced expression. "The president knows the split in the Senate doesn't work in his favor, so even if we were interested in a pick that wouldn't send Langston and her base on a holy crusade we all know they wouldn't make it through committee. The president wants the seat filled before the July recess. With that goal in mind, we have no intention of wasting the Judiciary Committee and the Majority Whip's time."

"Meaning, what?" asked Senator McMallon.

"Or rather, 'who?'" Senator Hodgson spoke up.

"Alvin Ibarra," Cyrus said. "Senior Judge on the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals; pro-choice, pro-marriage equality, lukewarm on the death penalty, Mexican…"

"First Hispanic appointed to SCOTUS," said Senator Harland, another of Cyrus' fellow Republicans. "That'll score us points with Latinos in the midterms."

"Sounds like an easy sell," said Hernandez. A round of murmurs sounded off as the rest of the table agreed.

Then, Edison, bless his well-meaning heart, prodded her. "What's your read on him, Liv? You haven't been gone from the White House for too long, I'm sure you've seen Beene's shortlist even if you didn't get a chance to leave your stamp of approval."

Cyrus looked about ready to leap across the table and kiss him.

"In fact, my lady left me high and dry well before we could get to it," he said dramatically. "I don't have to tell you that grass doesn't grow under Olivia Pope's feet, Senator. I've only been able to go over names with her here and there, what with her work schedule and wedding planning and all. But since we're here, and you brought it up…"

He trailed off. The entire table went silent with expectation. Olivia set down her knife and roll.

"Ibarra ruled in favor of the defendants in a case his court heard six months ago involving bomb threats being called into a Jewish nursery school, allegedly by members of a Neo-Nazi hate group. The state's case was circumstantial, but the national and regional divisions of the ADL have been rallying against the court's decision and digging into Ibarra personally ever since. They're not likely to let up."

A loud series of groans set off around the table.

"Damn Jews," Harland grumbled, loud enough for the whole table to hear. He ducked his head at the few disapproving looks sent his way.

Cyrus was the only one to look unsurprised by Olivia's assessment.

"Any more skeletons in his closet?" He pressed her. "Holocaust denial, new world order conspiracy?"

"None that I found. But still…"

Cyrus nodded, having landed at the same conclusion. "The controversy will taint the administration."

"Not to mention, overshadow an otherwise historic moment," Olivia added dryly.

"That, too."

"Well, he's shitcanned," Senator Whitley dismissed crudely. "Who's next on the docket?"

"Richard Schmidt," Cyrus offered. "District Court judge out of New York. Constitutional scholar, big on civil rights, never married, rumors about his sexuality abound, pro-abortion, ambivalent about the death penalty…"

"Old," Olivia cut in.

"He's sixty-one!" Cyrus shot back, borderline offended considering he and Schmidt shared the same birth year.

"He lost a testicle to cancer two years ago," Olivia informed him. "He's been in remission but remaining on the bench while going through treatment and surgery took its toll. He's aged twenty years in two. There'll be calls for him to retire before he's even confirmed."

"We are a country obsessed with appearances," Cyrus conceded.

Senator Poole banged his fist against the table, imitating a gavel. "Next!"

"Diana Larrimore," said Cyrus. "Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals. Began her career working for the Southern Poverty Law Center. Strong believer in free speech and separation of Church and State. Big on gender equality in the workplace. No surprise there as she spent the better part of her career as a working mom, which gives her the Rosie the Riveter, women can have it all angle. Celebrated by prosecutors and defense attorneys alike for putting her gavel where her mouth is in terms of zero-bias."

"I'm not hearing any objections," said Edison, nudging Olivia's side.

Whitley asked. "Does that mean we have a winner?"

Olivia pretended to mull it over despite her stance on Larrimore being long since decided. She, Abby, and Huck had gone over Cyrus' shortlist of judges with a fine-toothed comb days ago. No one in politics was ever squeaky-clean, but Larrimore's personal and professional history was that of one who lived as they ruled. What little specks of dirt were there weren't enough to smear a narrative. She was in the clear.

"Add her to the 'Maybe' pile."

"Tough critic," Hodgson observed.

"The committee will be tougher."

"She's right," said Hernandez. "Culver and the rest of the progressives will want to push for a more hardline liberal pick. Revenge for Scalia."

"Go too far and you risk riled up GOP voters taking the House next year," Olivia pointed out. "Dems and progressives are already complacent voters. Things going too well will give them even less urgency to turn out for midterms."

"C'mon, give the American electorate a little credit," Edison fake-admonished, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "We can always use these early wins to energize the base."

"Fury is a bigger motivator than excitement," Olivia said mildly.

"Ms. Pope's got history to back her up," said Whitley.

Hernandez added. "It's a given that no matter how we play this, Langston and her base are gonna whip each other into a holy frenzy."

"Giving Democrats fuel to fire up your base in kind."

"Fear's as big a motivator as anger," Edison concurred.

"It'll certainly be an interesting midterms," said McMallon. "Give the media something to chew on."

"Which'll be good cover for both sides of the aisle," Olivia pointed out. Democrats and RINOs alike shared conspiratorial looks with one another.

"Brilliant!" Hernandez crowed, slapping his hand against the table. He turned to Cyrus. "She's brilliant! What the Hell were you thinking letting her leave the White House?"

"Better question is, how do I manage to get anything done without her," said Cyrus, laying it on way too thick.

Getting up from the table, he gave everyone a polite smile and a mock salute by way of parting, and excused himself to finish making his rounds.

As Cyrus walked away, Hodgson said to Edison. "I was kidding earlier when I mentioned bringing your girl around more, Ed. But seriously, don't let her go a second time. We need her."

His fellow senators all nodded and murmured their agreement. Taking their compliments and ribbing in stride, Edison gave Olivia another one-armed hug before covering his hand over hers' and giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek, eliciting more jeers and whistles from his colleagues. Olivia played along, ever-mindful of the objective.

The table at which the president and First Lady were seated was three spaces down and to the right of where the senators' were. Olivia and Edison's placements positioned their backs to the Commander in Chief. Even so, as it had been at the Head Table, Olivia felt Fitz's gaze on her the entire time, felt the flare in intensity with every smile and soft chuckle she exchanged with Edison, every touch she abided, every kiss she pretended to welcome. And knew, he was on fire.

As the Maid of Honor, Olivia was expected to stay for the full reception in order to help out afterward. Edison remained at her side over the next couple of hours as the banquet hall emptied out. They bid farewell to his senate colleagues together, and exchanged stilted hello/goodbyes with the president and First Lady as the couple left the venue, separately, 'for security reasons.' Even those not in the know could see how eager the First Lady was to get away from her husband and his foul mood. Olivia, for her part, couldn't bear to look Fitz in the eye as they shook hands and pretended this was their first time seeing one another since her resignation.

Determined to wait her out, Edison was finally sent off with the very last of the stragglers once it was time for the staff to begin cleaning up. Olivia thanked him for coming with her and showing her a nice time while reiterating with just enough coldness in her voice to drive home that for her, this was just a night out with a friend, nothing more. Edison accepted the subtle rejection with class. He kissed her on the cheek, and after bidding the grooms a final congratulations, followed James' drunken frat brothers out to the parking lot.

Cyrus followed her to the gift table, where the valets were busy packing everything away to ship back to D.C.

"Well, at least you let him down gently."

"That's enough out of you for tonight."

Snagging a stray champagne flute from an unclaimed place setting, Cyrus carried on. "Shame it didn't work out, the two of you go well together. You give off D.C. Huxtable vibes."

He went to take another sip. As he tipped back, Olivia grabbed the base of the glass and pushed it upward. Cyrus choked and sputtered, spraying champagne all down his front.

"The worst Maid of Honor," he groused, dabbing at his shirt with a napkin. "No marks."

"Wedding's over, Professor," Olivia deadpanned. She quickly changed the subject. "So Larrimore..."

"I had the same thoughts on Schmidt and Ibarra. I just needed your feedback for confirmation."

"But she isn't your first choice," Olivia's gut told her.

"Runner-up," Cyrus sent her a knowing look. "Between her and my first pick, I'd stake Connor's life on Fitz going with Larrimore. I'm holding out hope I'll be able to sway him to John Palnero."

"Hm, pro-Hyde Amendment, pro-death penalty, B-rating from the NRA."

"Strong on corruption and vocal with his support for marriage equality," Cyrus countered. "Larrimore's lukewarm on the latter. If we don't look as though we're pushing for it now after the big hubbub surrounding this wedding he'll look like a hypocrite. The people hate a hypocrite."

"Good thing he's not seeking re-election," Olivia said, lowering her voice.

"We'll see," Cyrus placated. Before she could say anything to that, he added. "Regardless, there's the legacy of this one term to think about. No matter what he says, I know it's a concern for him. And you."

"I'm not doing this."

"Oh stop it!" Cyrus snapped, impatience rising to the surface. "I'm so sick of the two of you acting like some lovelorn martyrs adrift in shark-infested waters. Neither of you are victims. This is the world you both chose to stick yourselves in knowing damn well how ugly and treacherous it is. Grow up and start acting like he has a country to run!"

"That's right, he has a country to run!" Olivia hissed. "Not me! I'm not in this. I have no role here."

"Not officially, but what do you think will happen when he gives Mellie the boot and marries you?" Cyrus sneered. "We all serve at the pleasure of the president. Don't think you're exempt simply because you aren't doing so in an official capacity, yet."

Olivia's face went slack. Her whole body numbed. Mortification stung at the corners of her eyes, as they darted everywhere but at the smirking face of her mentor, of one of her oldest friends.

They both glanced at the front of the room, at the two secret service agents standing at attention at the double doors leading out into the black night. Fitz had left her Tom and Daniel to escort her back.

"You know," Cyrus tutted. "Had you gone over my shortlist with me like I'd asked I wouldn't have had to invite all those senators and have you put on a show like that in front of him."

It went unacknowledged that the 'him' Cyrus was referring to was not Edison. Olivia's lip curled. But she said nothing.

Cyrus nodded at the secret service. "No sense in delaying the inevitable, is there? I'd ask you to butter him up on Palerno tonight, but I'd wager you'll be too exhausted doing your own groveling."

Keeping her face neutral, Olivia turned and began walking in the direction of the exit, only for him to follow her.

"Enjoy your night, Cyrus."

He patted on the shoulder, and waved to Tom and Daniel. "You try to as well, kiddo."

Tom and Daniel fell into step behind her as they led her out to the only car remaining in the parking lot. Without a word, they loaded her into the back seat of the unmarked, black sedan, and alerted the president's security team that 'Dove' was en-route to the Lodge.


XXX

Olivia barely made it all the way into the suite before Fitz was on her. Pinning her against the door she'd just come through, he claimed her lips in a wet, bruising kiss; cradling the back of her head as he tipped her back to plunder her mouth, his comparatively larger hands swallowing her as he bore down on her, the fervor he'd been holding in all evening finally set loose.

He flipped her around so that her back was to his front. His lips attacked her neck, kissing, nipping, sucking, while his hands cupped and squeezed her breasts, Olivia's heady moans of pleasure driving him on. Panting, out of breath, Fitz pulled back.

All evening he'd watched her on Senator Davis' arm, watched while another man held her, be affectionate with her, make her smile, make her laugh, show her off to his friends and colleagues, and preen at their remarks on how lucky he was that Olivia Pope deemed him worthy of a second chance. Fitz knew it was all for show. And, despite his earlier petulance, he couldn't fault Olivia's logic. Beyond a duty-bound instinct to protect him from his own worst impulses, Olivia had to protect herself first and foremost. Rationally, Fitz understood. But seeing her with Senator Edison Davis undid something in Fitz; a thing more potent, more rage-inducing than jealousy because it was solidified by fact.

Senator Edison Davis was single, childless, and not President of the United States. He was free: of baggage, of scrutiny, of the danger of ruinous fallout. If Olivia wanted a partner she could claim, someone who could take her out on dates, whom she could introduce to her friends and bring home to her parents, who could show up at her apartment whenever she pleased, someone whose existence wouldn't ruin her professionally, destroy the business she was working hard to build; a man she could plan a future-a life with-without having to factor in media fallout, the court of public opinion, and having to cut short a career that had only just taken off; Edison Davis was ready, waiting, willing, and road-tested. On paper, the two of them made sense. In person, their attraction was palpable, albeit mostly on Edison's part. It was obvious that although their engagement had ended, the former couple hadn't parted on bad terms.

Olivia Pope was it for him, Fitz knew it the moment he met her. No other woman would compare. If he couldn't have Olivia once he was free from Mellie, Fitz would die a bachelor. But he wasn't so full of himself to believe the same was true for her, a woman not yet thirty with the world in the palm of her hand. Nor would his pride ever allow him to ask straight out. Today had confirmed his worst fear: if Olivia one day decided she no longer wanted to endure the strain and humiliation of having a secret, married lover, she had the good Senator Edison Davis waiting in the wings.

Trailing the pads of his fingers lightly down the column of her neck, Fitz stopped at the tiny silver clasp at the back of her dress. He smoothed his hands across her shoulder blades before balling the back of the collar in both fists and pulling it apart.

The clasp popped off, that one sharp tug enough to rip the embroidered lace fabric completely in two, from Olivia's collar down to the small of her back. She gasped, startled, whipping around to ask him what the hell he called himself doing only for Fitz to cut her off with another blazing kiss, brushing his tongue past lips and teeth to cover hers' and breathe in her whimpers of surprised lust and pleasure. He tore the dress off her and did the same with her bra and panties, his hands now roaming freely over the plains of her silky skin.

Pulling away, he locked eyes with her. "I never wanna see you in that again," he growled against her lips. Panting too hard to speak, Olivia merely nodded.

Fitz's hands resumed their exploration as his mouth once again found hers'. With one hand, he cupped her breasts, tweaking each nipple between his fingers until they hardened, while his other dipped lower along her taut belly until it reached the juncture of her hips. Olivia moaned as he cupped her sex and drew a painfully slow line along her slit with one finger before unceremoniously plunging it into her wet center.

"Oh!" she gasped, breaking away from him for a moment before Fitz reclaimed their kiss.

"So wet already," he murmured, dragging that lone finger in and out, coating her center in her own wetness. "Is this leftover from Edison, Livvie? Or is it all for me?"

"For you," she breathed, reaching down to grab his hand and hold it in place, a wordless plea for more. "Only you."

"'Only me.' Are you sure?" Fitz teased, abruptly sliding another two fingers inside her. Olivia cried out as she was stretched.

"Just you. Only you. Please, baby…"

Fitz continued to pump her, dragging each digit out and dipping back in with slow, deliberate strokes, every so often sliding bits of wetness up and circling it around her steadily engorging clit. Until finally, he felt an all to familiar tightness in her muscles. Olivia's legs snapped shut, trapping his hands between them as her whole body began to tremble. She came with a silent wail, her body sagging into him. Fitz withdrew slowly, and she whimpered at the loss.

He swept her up bridal-style and carried her into their sleeping quarters. Setting her down gently on her back in the middle of the king-sized bed, Fitz positioned himself on her left, propping himself up on his forearms to gaze softly down at her. Still coming down from her orgasm, Olivia's chest rose and fell deeply with each breath she drew. Her eyes, half-lidded, shifted between Fitz and the ceiling above them, skittish. Fitz reached over and settled his hand flat against her belly, letting it rise and fall in time with Olivia's measured breathing. Then, after a beat, he moved up to cup the swell of her breast, rolling a hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Tell me something," he said. Olivia's head turned in his direction, her glazed stare now fixed solely on him. Fitz traced her lips with fingers still coated in her essence. "What's the most he's ever made you come in one night?"

Olivia's brow knitted. Her lips mouthed formless words of confusion, as though the question didn't fully sink in.

"Twice?" Fitz prompted her. "Three times?"

Squirming in discomfort, her gaze shifted back to the ceiling. The naked embarrassment let Fitz know right away the answer would be uncomfortable for them both.

"Just once," she answered softly.

Perhaps she really hadn't heard him all the way. "I said 'the most.'"

"I know." Still looking away, she added. "I'd never been with a man who gave me multiple, until you."

Well, that made his mission for tonight that much easier.

Shifting so that he was over top of her, Fitz kissed her lips and began moving down. "I suppose that means I have a title to defend."

He made his way down her body with wet, open-mouthed kisses; eventually arriving at her inner thighs, where he began a new trail with his tongue, laving at the remains of her earlier orgasm, licking and sucking, every so often adding in a little nip with his teeth that made her leg spasm. Spreading her legs over his shoulders, he cupped her ass and drew her in. With two fingers, he began exploring her center again while his mouth moved to her clit. Olivia let out a sharp cry as he took the sensitive bud between his lips, curling his tongue around it while his fingers worked her into a frenzy. In no time at all, she was cumming again. Fitz didn't let up. His tongue continued its assault on her steadily engorged bundle of nerves while his fingers, drenched in her fluid, were yet again joined by a third. Olivia howled. Her back arched, her lower half bucked and thrust up into him as another wave of pleasure overtook her.

Fitz teased her through the third wave before removing his lips and hands to bring himself up into a kneeling position. He looked down at Olivia, splayed out, fucked open, bare and freshly spent; admiring his handiwork while impatiently stripping off his collared shirt and suit trousers. With a heated smirk, Olivia reached up and ran her painted nails down the contours of his bare chest until at last she stopped at the hem of his boxers, yanking them down and exposing his erect member.

Kicking his boxers off, Fitz crawled up the length of her to capture her lips once more. They kissed greedily, Olivia winding her arms around his neck to pull him further down, her fingers running through his curls. He leaned back up on his haunches. Gripping Olivia's hips, he flipped her onto her stomach and dragged her lower half up so that she was on all fours. He bent over her, cloaking her in his bulk; bracing himself with one hand, he cupped her sex with the other.

Pinching her clit between his thumb and forefinger, he kissed the shell of her ear before moving back to her mouth, swallowing her throaty moans with his own.

"Look at me," he demanded. Brown eyes obeyed. Releasing her clit, he traced her lower lips. "You're mine, Livvie. Say it."

"I'm yours'."

"And what about this?" he asked, dipping the tip of his finger into her wet core.

"Yours'," she breathed.

"Only mine?"

"Only yours'."

Fitz removed his finger to line the head of his dick against her entrance.

"Again," he said.

"Only you-oh!"

Olivia pitched forward, her groans of pleasure-pain at the sudden intrusion muffled by the mattress as he sank in all the way to the hilt. He gave her a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion, moaning in relief as her soft, warm walls conformed around him. He slipped out just a bit, then drove back in with another deep thrust. Then another, Olivia's muffled cries making it impossible to resist the urge to move.

"I didn't hear you, Livvie. Tell me who you belong to." He delivered the command with an open-handed slap to her ass. Then another, for good measure. Whimpering, Olivia, burrowed her face further into the bedspread.

Reaching for her hands, Fitz pinned them at her sides as he resumed his rhythm inside of her. Wrapping an arm around Olivia's middle, he brought her up flush against his chest as he kept his rough but steady pace.

"I'm yours','" Olivia panted heavily.

"Mine," Fitz grunted. His thrusts quickened the closer he got to his own release. Olivia's muscles clenched and fluttered around him, and with shuddery cry, she came again. Fitz let her drop, boneless, as he fucked her through her release. His grip on her lower half tightened the harder he drilled her, the closer he got. Until finally, he followed her into bliss, and collapsed beside her on the bed.

Neither could speak. For a long moment, the only sound in the room were their labored breaths. Seemingly in sync as they lay side-by-side on their stomachs, facing each other.

Fitz reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. Kissing it softly, he clasped her tiny hand in both of his and laid them across his chest.

"I'm sorry."

Frowning, Fitz tipped her chin up with the crook of his finger. "What for? I'm not actually mad at you, you know. I never was."

"Not for Edison," Olivia clarified. Fitz frowned deeper at the mention of her ex's name so soon after they finished making love. Rolling onto her back, Olivia sighed guiltily. "Cyrus cut a deal with the Majority Leader. He took Edison off Ways and Means like you wanted but put him on Judiciary. Every senator who showed up today is on the committee with him."

Fitz nodded as everything began to click. "That's what you all were discussing when Cyrus popped up right after Edison brought you back to his table, his shortlist of Supreme Court nominees."

Olivia nodded.

"It figures."

Ducking her head away, Olivia said, "I didn't want to get involved."

"It's fine," Fitz said before she could utter another unnecessary apology. "He was bound to go to you with this behind my back."

Olivia opened her mouth to speak before just as quickly snapping it shut.

"What?"

She continued to look away, steadily avoiding his gaze.

"Hey," Fitz said softly. He sat up halfway to cup the side of her face. "I'm not upset, Liv. Not at all."

"I hate that I let him back me into a corner like that. I should've known. I should've been expecting…"

"He's been at this longer than you, longer than both of us."

"I know, but still."

"Was there really any harm in giving your honest opinion on his picks?"

Olivia stared at him, stunned. "I thought you didn't want my help."

Ah. So that was it. "I don't want you fixing me, handling me," he explained. "What I want is for us to be a team. You and me. Not you working with Cyrus, or, God forbid, Mellie and Cyrus and whoever else behind my back."

"That's what happened today," Olivia said glumly.

"No, it isn't." Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Fitz pulled her into his arms. "You told me everything that happened afterward. You kept me in the loop."

"Not everything," Olivia admitted. "Of the judges on his list, he likes Palnero and Larrimore. He thinks you'll go with Larrimore but he wants you to go with Palnero, and he wants me to convince you."

Already familiar with both candidates' histories and policy records, Fitz shrugged. "Palnero, because of his stance on gay marriage."

"Right."

"Fine."

Flabbergasted, Olivia shot up. "What? Just like that?"

"What's wrong?"

"We're not picking a restaurant for date night, this is a Supreme Court Justice! You can't just agree with whatever choice your mistress puts up."

"First, you're not my mistress. Don't you ever call yourself that again," Fitz said sternly. "Secondly, unless I'm missing something, you didn't put up a choice at all, you relayed a message. I was already familiar with the records of both, and quite frankly, I was torn. I'm partial to Larrimore, but I agree with Cyrus that it's a mistake not to seize on the narrative of his wedding. People want change, I promised to give it to them. Plus, it's a chance to be on the same page as my Chief of Staff for the first time in months. Cy and I need a win."

His answer seemed to mollify Olivia. She lay back down across his chest.

"I don't want him-or anyone, but especially not Cyrus Beene-to feel like they can use me to pull your strings."

"I get that. I don't want it either. They can't, so long as we're in each other's corner. So long as we trust each other."

"You trust me?" Wide, brown eyes stared up at him, astonished and hopeful in a way that made Fitz's heart ache.

"Of course," he said, cupping her chin. "But more importantly, you trust me. Just now, you thought I would be angry with you for reviewing Cyrus' shortlist with him, but you told me anyway and I'm grateful. I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it, Liv. There's nothing-not a thing in this world-you could say or do that I wouldn't forgive, or that would make me stop loving you. Nothing."

Olivia's face cracked and began to crumple with something that was a cross between relief, love, and fear. She flung herself back into his arms and burrowed into his chest, hiding. Fitz held her, brushing a hand softly through her mussed tresses.

"I love you. I want you," she said after a long silence. She pressed a soft kiss over his heart. "Only you. So, stop harassing Edison."

Fitz's face fell.

"I mean it. He's been through enough because of me," Olivia murmured solemnly into his chest, still for some reason refusing to look up at him though her hold around him tightened. She rose slightly, now laying atop him, her face nestled in the crook of his neck, legs wrapped around his middle; almost like she was trying to hold him in place. Fitz knew there was no need for him to ask what she meant by that. Everything about her body language in that moment said she was gearing herself up for one hell of an explanation. He held her, rubbing circles into her back with the knuckle of his index finger. Olivia's whole body began to tremble.

Warm breath pricked the shell of his ear ominously.

"There are things you need to know about my father."


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Author's Note:

Well, this chapter was kind of a hodgepodge of different plot elements, wasn't it? This story will have 10 chapters, which means we're at the halfway point.

Thoughts on Olivia's memories of Eli/Rowan and her time in boarding school? I think now would be a good time to reiterate the point that characters' views don't always reflect the author's beliefs. Olivia has her own means of rationalizing her father's treatment of her. *I* beg to differ. Although it was never stated one way or the other, her body language and fear of him, in addition to the way he would speak to her, and his callous attitude toward her autonomy always made me believe Eli wasn't above corporal punishment.

On the light-hearted side, I just LOVED being able to write a scene where Liv introduced Fitz to social media. The 'Instagraph" line was one of my most favorite lines of dialogue I've ever written for Fitz.

What did you all think of Cyrus and Liv's interactions?

How did you feel about Liv getting involved in the Supreme Court selection?

Am I the only one who felt sorry for Edison? :')

What do you guys think Fitz's reaction will be to what Liv tells him?

Any other thoughts? Let me know! Your reviews are my lifeblood 3