A gasp of horror rang throughout the gaggle of reporters in front of me. I wasn’t sure if their reaction was because I’d just face-planted in front of them, or if it was more about the fact that my skirt—the one with the fun and flirty hemline—had flown up around my waist. I was having a distinct feeling of déjà vu—or I guess in this case, it would be déjà moon.

Even though I’d lost a great portion of the skin on my knees and searing pain radiated from them, I fumbled to jerk my skirt down before scrambling to stand. Every molecule in my body hummed with the same mortification as the classic naked-in-public dream.

Barrett’s hands came around my waist and he lifted me upright. "Just out of curiosity, where the hell is your underwear?" he hissed in my ear.

"Everett told me not to wear any so it wouldn't show panty lines through the suit," I snapped. Turning my back to the crowd, I pretended to be examining the damage to my bummed-up knees. “It’s not like I don’t have on pantyhose.”

“It sure as hell didn’t look like it.”

“The color is called nude. You should google it.”

“Yeah, well, that might be true, but you still pretty much mooned the reporters.”

Jerking my head up, I scowled at him. “Yes, I’m aware of that. What about the crowd?”

“No. Thankfully, they were blocked by the press corps.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” I grumbled.

“You forget those reporters have cameras.”

Great. Kill me now. At that moment, I had two choices: I could sprint into the building and collapse into hysterics over my giant faux pas, or I could put on my big girl panties—in today’s case, panties period—and do the job I’d been sent to do. From that day on, I would have WWJD moments—What Would Jackie Do. While I’m pretty sure Jackie Kennedy never mooned the press corps, she did put on a happy face and soldier on for the sake of JFK’s campaign and later presidency.

Drawing my shoulders back, I plastered a smile on my face. Without another word to Barrett, I headed over to work the rope line of people. “Hello. Thank you so much for coming out,” I said through a toothy grin.

When I reached out my hand, an elderly lady took it. “Are you okay, honey? That was quite a tumble you took.”

“I’m fine. Thank you so much for asking. Nothing too bruised but my pride,” I responded good-naturedly.

I moved on to shake several other people’s hands. “What happened?” another woman asked.

What I did next was not something I’m very proud of, but in the moment, it seemed necessary. “I was too nervous about my first campaign event to eat, and I tend to get lightheaded. It was a little bit of hypoglycemia that cause me to tumble.”

The woman’s expression melted into pity. “Bless your heart. I hope you’re feeling better.”

“I am. Thank you.” As I continued greeting people, the pain of both my physical and emotional injuries dissipated, and I began to enjoy myself. The exuberance of the crowd bolstered my mood and I could have kept on talking to people for hours, but soon I felt Ty’s hand at the small of my back. “It’s time to take your seats for the speech,” he whispered into my ear.

I nodded as I waved goodbye to those I hadn’t been able to reach yet. Ty ushered us down a long aisle of chairs to our seats and after a small band struck up a merry tune, James and Jane climbed the stairs of the platform. The music came to an end when James took a place at the flag-draped podium. “My fellow Americans and Ohioans, what an honor and privilege it is to be speaking before you today!”

The crowd immediately erupted into wild applause and cheering. James grinned at the response then began speaking about the problems the country currently faced and how he would remedy them if he was elected president. The speech itself probably lasted around ten minutes. When he finished, he turned to Jane, who rose from her seat to join him at the podium so they could smile and wave before leaving the platform. After they started down the aisle, Barrett and I followed behind them. We smiled, waved, and shook a few hands on our way back to the train.

The moment I picked my leg up to board the steps, agonizing pain shot through my knee and I yelped. Before I could lift my other leg, Barrett’s strong arm came around my waist. “I’m helping you.” His eyes bored into mine. “It’s not up for negotiating, got it?”

I hurt too bad to argue so I just leaned on him, and a chorus of awwws rumbled through the onlookers at the sight of heroic Barrett helping his battered fiancée. I fought the urge to roll my eyes; if they only knew he was just doing it for the cameras, they would think differently of him.

While James took some questions from the press, Barrett and I were ushered into the private family car where Everett and Saundra awaited us. Their eyes widened at the sight of my bloodied knees. “Sorry about the pantyhose,” I sheepishly said to Everett.

He waved a hand at me. “Oh honey, forget the pantyhose. I have five pairs on reserve. I’m more concerned with you being hurt.”

Barrett snorted. “Maybe you should be more concerned with the fact that your no-panties rule led to Addison mooning the press corps.”

Everett rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Barrett, she was wearing pantyhose—do you not hear the word panty in that? It’s not like I had her in a garter belt.”

Barrett’s eyes flared, and I realized he must be a lingerie man. After shaking his head, Barrett said, “Regardless, if she’d had on panties, it would have lessened the damage of the photographs.”