I didn’t have time to acknowledge the quip. “What does a person wear to a state dinner?” I asked.

“Why?” Asher said. “Are we invited?”

“You aren’t,” I told him. “But with a little luck, I might be.”

“I’d tell you that was pretty much impossible,” Asher replied, “but you’re Tess Kendrick. My spidey senses tell me that impossible is kind of your thing.”

After I got off the phone with Asher, I tried Ivy one last time. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, she still wasn’t picking up. I’d written down a phone number Asher had gotten for me, and I pulled the trigger and called it.

“Hello?”

“Anna?” I said. “It’s Tess Kendrick.”

“Tess!” The vice president’s daughter sounded delighted to hear from me. “What’s up?”

I walked to the window and stared out at Ivy’s front lawn. “I need a favor.”

CHAPTER 50

Asher was supposed to bring me something to wear. Instead, he brought me his twin.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Emilia told me, thrusting a trio of garment bags at her brother, who obligingly took hold of them. “Asher seems to think your presence at this state dinner is essential for Henry’s continued well-being.” She eyed the foyer, seemingly decided it would not do, then marched up the spiral staircase. She set up camp in my bedroom and pulled out my desk chair. “Sit.”

I cast a pained look at Asher, then sat.

“We don’t have much time,” Emilia told me, opening what was apparently not a toolbox, but some kind of makeup kit. “Don’t flinch.”

Over the next hour and a half, I came to the conclusion that Emilia Rhodes was either the devil incarnate or the second coming of Coco Chanel.

She suggested the second option herself.

Emilia threw Asher out of the room around the time she had me start trying on dresses.

“You’re lucky Di goes to a ton of these things,” she told me. “And that she’s about your size.”

I was not lucky, however, when it came to the ambassador’s daughter’s views on cleavage. After I’d nixed a second dress for being too low-cut, I thought Emilia might exact vengeance with an eyelash curler, but she just nodded to the third garment bag.

“It’s that one or nothing,” she told me.

The dress was sapphire blue, dark enough that I could almost tell myself it was navy. It was full-length, with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt. I eyed the neckline.

“Here.” Emilia slipped it off the hanger and ordered me to turn around. She helped me step into the gown, then fastened it up the back. I glanced down at my chest, and seeing it tucked firmly away, allowed myself to be turned toward the full-length mirror.

The sheen off the sapphire fabric made it look almost like flowing water. There were gathers at my waist, and the bottom half of the dress rippled to the floor, arcing out around me in a full skirt that swayed slightly as I turned. The bodice fit perfectly, clinging to every hint of a curve my body had to offer. A light scattering of beadwork caught the light just so.

“Well?” Emilia said.

I forced myself to stop staring at my reflection. “This will work.”

Emilia stepped in front of me and examined her handiwork. She reached a hand out to rearrange a tendril near my face.

“Why are you doing this?” I couldn’t help asking the question.

Emilia gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. “Asher’s the nice twin. He’s the one people like.” She paused. “I’m the one who gets things done.” She handed me a tube of lipstick. I stared at it like she’d handed me a snake.

“In case you need to reapply,” she said briskly. Clearly, she’d shared as much of her motivation as she was going to share. The doorbell rang downstairs. I took a deep breath.

On my way out the door, Emilia’s voice stopped me. “If I asked you what was going on, would you tell me?”

I glanced back at her.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, averting her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Asher’s the one people confide in, too.” The doorbell rang again, and Emilia walked past me. “Whatever you’re doing,” she told me, “don’t mess it up.”

I managed to walk down the stairs without killing myself, but it was a near thing. Emilia hadn’t brought shoes, so we’d borrowed a pair of Ivy’s. Luckily, my sister seemed to have a fairly elaborate collection.

When I reached the front door, Asher opened it for me. A man in a navy suit stood there. He held out a card to me.

“Special delivery,” he said. “Courtesy of Vice President Hayden.”

The invitation was engraved on white linen paper. At the top, there was a gold seal, an eagle surrounded with stars, so intricate in detail that it looked as if it had been painted on by hand. Below that, black-inked calligraphy declared, The President and Mrs. Nolan request the pleasure of the company of Theresa Kendrick at a dinner in honor of Her Royal Highness, Queen . . .

I stopped reading when I reached the word Queen.

The man who’d delivered my invitation gestured toward the car he’d driven here. “Miss Hayden also thought you might appreciate a ride.”

I glanced back at Asher and Emilia.

“Like I said,” Asher told me, slinging an arm over his sister’s shoulder, “impossible is kind of your thing.”

CHAPTER 51

Walking in heels while wearing a ball gown was, as it turned out, more difficult than finagling an invitation to a state dinner. I made it past White House security without incident but had to fight to keep my balance. Head held high and trying not to grind my teeth, I strode past the photographers documenting the arrival of the president’s guests, my heels clicking audibly against the marble floor and my heart thudding inside my rib cage. The gown swished lightly around my legs as I was ushered into a long hall lined with massive columns. A red carpet the length of Ivy’s house separated me from my destination. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead.

No pain, I thought, no gain.

I walked the length of the carpet, one step after another, my eyes on the prize. When I stepped into the expansive receiving room at the end of the hall, few of the president’s guests marked my entrance—but one who did went ramrod stiff.