“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Peter said. “But I’m not planning on dying anytime soon. I won’t leave you alone in this.”
What else could Xolia do but trust him? She nodded and tried to relax enough to eat. “What do we do?”
Peter smiled at her. “As soon as we announce you as my running mate, I want you to move into the Presidential Palace. You’ll need twenty-four-seven security, being here will be the safest place for you.”
Xolia furrowed her brows. “I won’t be able to leave?”
“Of course you will,” Peter said. “You’ll just need protection.”
“I am capable of taking care of myself.”
“I know you are, but as a figurehead of order and justice, you won’t be able to use your powers. Atlas always has security with him, we can’t be seen as both the mouth and the arm of justice.”
But Atlas goes anywhere he wants. I’ve never seen him with security. Xolia choked down a bite as she processed everything else Peter was saying. It made sense, sure, but it wasn’t fair. Still, it wouldn’t do to let Peter down again. He needed to trust her more than he trusted Atlas. “I understand.”
“Good,” Peter said. “We also must find you a chief of staff to help coordinate your schedule and, later, hire the rest of a staff. I’d like you to come here weekly for lunch so we can review policy. Everyone will be asking you questions; we need to make sure we are united in our answers.” Peter broke off to have another concerning coughing fit.
Xolia clenched the fork in her hand, her glass of water vibrating against the crystal. He calmed down, but his features were drawn tight and all the color was gone from his face. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I think I need to rest now. I’ll have Lana show you out.”
He tapped against his phone, and a minute later, Lana popped in through the door, her smile back to its cheery, chipper curve.
“Goodbye, Peter,” Xolia stuttered out before she was ushered from the room, Peter back to coughing.
Once the door was closed, Lana gave her a sympathetic, if awkward, pat on the back. “Some days are better than others, but we’re optimistic.”
“Right,” Xolia said absentmindedly. Her mind was swimming with everything she had just witnessed and heard. If Peter got his way, she had just under a month until her sense of freedom, of anonymity, disappeared completely. Lana talked aimlessly about the different hallways and rooms they walked past. Because I’m going to live here soon. It was a strange thought.
They were almost back to the main hallway when Atlas walked by. His head downturned as he focused on a stack of papers in his hands. He was dressed in a slate-gray suit with a starched white shirt and burgundy tie. The perfect image of an important politician.
“Xolia,” he said in surprise when he looked up.
Xolia blanched. They hadn’t seen each other since the fight. The night that Atlas tried to have her killed. He stood before her, his face pleasantly neutral like he’d just run into an old friend.
“We have to get Ms. Stone home, Vice Chancellor Campion,” Lana said.
“Of course.” Atlas smiled. “I assume you’ve accepted Peter’s job offer. Let me buy you a drink to celebrate.”
Xolia was taken aback. Did he think she would ever trust another word he said again? “I have plans already.”
Atlas took it in stride, much unlike his insistence that she join him for the fight. “With Marshall?”
Did he know somehow?
He spared her from having to respond. “If for any reason your plans fall through, I’ll be at the Armistice tonight. First round’s on me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Xolia said, already committing herself to forgetting it.
“Let’s go, Ms. Stone,” Lana said, pushing the small group apart. “The car is waiting for you.”
There were no more incidents with any other staff in Peter’s wing of the palace. The car was waiting by the door when they walked outside, and Lana stayed long enough to see Xolia inside and driven around the side of the building, before Xolia lost sight of her.
She stomped up the two flights of stairs, pulling out her phone to ask Adonis when he would pick her up for dinner. There was so much she needed to tell him, and his input would be much appreciated.
His replay was both delayed and disappointing. Have to do something for Helen. Will make it up to you tomorrow.
She wasn’t hurt, or at least that’s what she told herself. She had rejected his offer to stay at his apartment. They hadn’t decided they were anything more than partners, even if they had slept together.
You naïve girl. Never before had she guessed about what a boy was thinking. Her relationship with Marshall was all but pre-arranged and she had been too caught up in learning a new life to question it. The barracks and the war hadn’t allowed for much time to question feelings or plan for the future. Now, all she had was time to think about was the possibility of Peter dying. What, if anything, Atlas was planning. And the worst thought of all: what if being vice chancellor didn’t make her happy either? From what Peter had said, it still wouldn’t be true freedom. But it is power. Which was more important?
