Alex Claremont-Diaz was absolutely sure that that day would be the first, and the last time he told June that he loved her. Never again, the risk of the mischievous smirk and tears budding in her eyes was too high. Her lanky arms were looped around his neck, possibly wrinkling his immaculate tux—Zahra was going to kill him for that—and her tears dripped down her nose onto his neck.
"Well then," she sniffled, pulling back with her arms grasping his shoulders to get a good look at him, "This is it. My baby brother is finally getting married."
Alex scowled, though delight and longing bloomed in his chest, the happiness evident in the twinkling of his eyes, the ache for forever with Henry visible there.
Nora bustled into the room then, in a yellow dress, with her arm full of yellow flowers, and with the ear-to-ear grin she housed, she looked like a little ray of sunshine.
"The White House Trio, for the last time?" she asked, depositing the flowers. Her voice cracked with unshed tears. "You cannot be the first of us to get married," she said lightly.
Alex threw his head back and laughed. It eased some of the tension he carried—would everything go according to plan? The last wedding the palace hosted was... far from perfect, he thought to himself, unbidden images of his fiancé on him as the cake toppled over rose to his mind.
This would be the ultimate union between America and England. The FSOTUS and the Prince of Wales getting married was an international spectacle, especially since it was the last year of his mother's second term. Four long years, full of love and laughter, full of tears of happiness and sorrow mingled together in a utopia harmony. They were not the perfect couple around, not by a long extent, they fought over the weirdest things, whether the flowers should be canary yellow or butter yellow, whether the jeans Alex wore had a hole or were just "artfully ripped in the true American sense". They were mindless arguments, lasting a day at the most before the yearning for each other grew too strong and they ended up in bed together once more.
Ellen Claremont, the 45th President of the United States, and the first female one, flew into the room like a hurricane, followed by Zahra, Shaan no doubt with Henry.
Their wedding had been a private affair, in the mountains of Switzerland with very few attendees. In their work life, they remained completely unobtrusive.
"Mo—" Alex grunted as she enveloped him in a hug. He returned it, after a second of confusion, when his mom whispered, "Forever," in his ear.
Everyone seemed to be crying. His mom blinked back tears, Leo, he was openly crying, crystal drops streaking down his face, and his dad—Oscar was drowning his sorrows in a cigar.
Cash, to his credit, hovered depressingly by the drapes, discreetly sniffing into a scarlet handkerchief.
"Chop chop," Zahra yelled, clapping her hands together, clipboard tucked under her arm. "We are on a schedule."
Harried whispers and soft hugs were passed around the room. June pressed a kiss to his cheek, ruffled his hair and ran from the room. Zahra winked at him, shoving everyone out the room, giving him the five minutes of privacy he needed to compose himself.
He took a deep breath, tugging at the lapels of his suit. The signet ring Henry had given him all those years ago glinted on his pinky finger. The languid melodies and dulcet tones of the piano—Bea painstakingly agreeing for just one performance—flowed through the room like a river of diamond water. It was his cue.
He was sure he was trembling as he walked into the hall where the wedding was to be held. Fragrant blossoms invaded his senses. He shut his eyes as he rounded the corner. Blinding lights flashed through his eyelids. He exhaled, heart hammering in his chest, and opened them.
