Remy
Ijumped at the soft knock at my door. I’d hardly slept last night. My brain would not turn off, and the tossing and turning had made my wavy hair into a wild, blond mane. I opened the door and the Senator peered at me through equally tired looking hooded eyes. His collar was undone. His rolled sleeves looked like he’d pushed them up too many times to count.
He said nothing, just gave me a small incline of his head, and turned, knowing I would follow. I noticed as we walked that he didn’t have an entire entourage of guards. Only one guard stood at the corner where each hall intersected. The female one tensed as the Senator passed. A weird feeling was in the air. Was it always like this when the Baelese made babies? Blech.
It was a relief to get inside his cozy office and close the door. A tray of hot tea and scones was on the coffee table in front of a leather loveseat, and he motioned to it. “Hungry?”
I was too nervous to eat, but I went forward and poured two cups as he sat in the swivel chair at his desk, staring out of his window. The sun was already bright. It would be a hot day.
“Do you take sugar or cream?” I asked him.
He absently shook his head, so I placed a cup in front of him and added one sugar to mine. Sugar was a rare commodity. Cream even rarer. In my old life, I used two sugars, plus cream, but I knew even one sugar would seem super sweet now, and I was right. I sat on the small sofa and took a sip, letting the sweetness and caffeine gently wake me up. I placed a scone on my plate and broke off small bites. The taste of it brought my appetite back to life. As I ate, the Senator continued to stare from the window.
“Is everything okay, sir?” I asked.
“Everything is going according to plan.”
I brushed crumbs from my fingers. “And how long will the, um, celebrations last?”
“Four to five days.”
I took another sip, and he turned to me, absently running his pointer finger over the rim of his cup. The movement was strangely sensual. Unhurried. By his dazed expression, I don’t think he meant it to be.
“Ms. Haines,” he said softly.
“Yes, Senator?”
“I am sure you know your friend Jacob Tate was given The Helper.”
A million emotions surfaced, making me flushed and frazzled. I clenched my hands in my lap and stared at my half-drunken tea on the table. No words came to me.
“I had a word with him after the procedure, when my guards had stepped back.”
Oh, no. My body pressed harder into the loveseat. Where was this conversation going?
“You were there?” I asked.
“I was.” He looked at me now, and my heart accelerated. “He admitted to having relations with you while in Primo Town.”
Oh, God. Help me. My hands went clammy, and though I was sitting, I felt faint. The scone became a brick in my stomach.
Denying what happened would be useless. So, what was he going to do to me? To Tater? Public execution, like the others? Or worse? This was personal. Would he feel like I betrayed him?
I stared at him, unable to drag my eyes away from the sadness in his own. My hands trembled, and I swallowed, looking away and gasping for a breath. I had to explain. I had to do something to try and earn back some portion of his trust.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
My jaw opened. I licked my lips. That was the loaded question of my life since the night in the tent. Did I love him? I didn’t want to. I’d tried to block him out. But he was always there, in my heart, and that’s not something I would tell the Senator. I chose my words carefully.
“It’s always been complicated between us, but there’s a comfort of familiarity and safety there. I was . . . lonely. I went to find him, to tell him about the uprising so he could be ready to fight.” I swallowed hard again, desperate. “I don’t think I’m handling the ‘no touching’ rule very well. For some people, it’s fine, but for others, affection is sort of a necessity. But I know, over time, my self-control will get better—”
“Or worse.” His soft, low voice sent a shiver up my spine.
“Sir,” I whispered, at a complete loss. “I’m sorry I disobeyed your rules. I swear I will never, ever—” I covered my mouth, choking up.
“The only reason he is still alive is because he is young, strong, half-Hispanic, and virile, and because he is a friend of yours.”
Being a friend of mine helped to save his life?
