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about her and Trey. “Of coursenot. I just want you to talk to her about proper business attire. Tell her that tight, see-through blouses are
not
on the list.”
    “Don’t worry. I will,” he said drily, ready to end the conversation.
    They rode the rest of the way in silence. They were both preoccupied with their individual thoughts. Ariel was thinking about the impossible predicament she was in. Each new day brought with it the possibility of Preston’s memory returning. And that thought scared her to death. She felt as if she were living in a house of cards, and with any slight movement, the entire structure would come crashing down without warning. And Preston was thinking about how he was going to broach the subject of Michele’s inappropriate wardrobe to her without sounding like an old prude.
    “We’re here, Justice Hendricks,” the driver said, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them. He got out, hurried around to the passenger side, and opened the door.
    The Oglesbys lived right outside of D.C., in Arlington, Virginia. The neighborhood reeked of old money. The mansions on their block were valued in the seven figures, many with six-figure renovated coach houses in the back, which served as temporary housing for out-of-town guests. The luxury cars in the driveways punctuated the residents’ wealth.
    “Thanks, José,” Preston said, before reaching inside and taking Ariel by the hand.
    They walked up the winding redbrick walkway toward the front door, and Preston couldn’t help but marvel at the opulence of the Oglesby home. He had been there a few times before, and with each visit, the historic-looking colonial house seemed grander. The landscaping of the front yard was precise, with perfectly shaped evergreens adorning the sides of the handsome door, and perennials strategically planted in all the right places. Preston rang the bell.
    “Good evening, and welcome to Oglesby manor,” said the uniformed butler, opening the door and waving them inside with a white-gloved hand.
    The moment they stepped inside the marble foyer, Angelica approached them with warm hugs and air kisses. She wore a black,floor-length Michael Kors evening gown with her signature multi-carat diamond necklace—an exquisite anniversary gift from her husband.
    “I’m so glad you two could make it tonight.”
    “Of course we’d be here to celebrate your birthday,” Ariel said, giving her a tight hug in return. She genuinely liked Angelica. They had so much in common. They were both married to politicians, and they each harbored secrets from their husbands. “Happy birthday.” She handed Angelica the gift. “This is for you.”
    “Thank you; what beautiful wrapping,” she said, admiring the silver foil and organza ribbon. “Ted, can you put this with the other gifts?” she asked the butler.
    “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, took the package out of her hands, and scurried away.
    “Come on in. Robert’s in there drinking and holding court.” She chuckled and led the way into the living area where guests were sipping cocktails and noshing on gourmet hors d’oeuvres.
    Ariel saw a few familiar faces, but really wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat. Most of the political wives didn’t work a regular nine-to-five. They were consumed with their husbands’ careers, and their jobs entailed planning elaborate dinners and swanky cocktail parties to keep their social status intact. Ariel didn’t feel as if she had anything in common with these spa-pampered, event-planning women. She had a high-powered career of her own, and aside from their housewarming gathering, she hadn’t planned a single soiree.
    “I was just asking Laird if you guys were coming tonight,” Leona Forester said, standing next to her husband. She leaned in and gave Ariel a friendly hug.
    Ariel returned the hug. She admired Leona. Unlike most of the stay-at-home wives, Leona came from old money and was a politician in her own right. She came from a