My mother said I should stay in the kitchen during the wedding photos—only until the “important guests” were gone. I didn’t mention that for the past year I had been dating a man whose arrival required a presidential security sweep. Then the security team cleared the main hall.

I dressed in a modest navy dress I’d originally planned, something simple and safe. My mother wanted me to arrive late, so I timed my drive to slip in invisibly.

At 10:00 a.m., my phone rang and my mother’s voice hit my ear like an alarm. “Penelope, what did you do?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There are Secret Service agents here at the Redcliff estate,” she hissed. “They are doing security sweeps and asking about you.”

I closed my eyes and leaned against my car door. “I didn’t do anything.”

“They said something about a protected individual attending the wedding,” she said, her words barely comprehensible. “Please tell me you didn’t contact the White House.”

“I’m dating someone, Mom,” I said, surprised at how steady I sounded. “Someone who requires security protection.”

A long pause followed. “Who?”

“Christian Moore,” I said. “The president’s son.”

Silence so complete followed that I checked my screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“You’re dating the president’s son?” her voice wavered. “And you never mentioned this?”

“You never asked about my personal life,” I replied. “You stopped being interested years ago.”