My conversation with Santiago leaves me more confused than ever. Why did he have to make a choice between his sister and me? What did she do?
But a part of me is warmed by what he said, too.
He chose me.
He chose our family.
On Saturday morning, a box arrives from a boutique in New York City, and later that evening, I am dressed in a floor-length satin gown in a deep emerald, and if I look down, I can just see the tiniest swell of my stomach. I am sure it will be unrecognizable to anyone who doesn’t know, but I see it. It’s the way the fabric drapes itself over every curve, and I’m sure when I look at Santiago’s face, when I see his eyes alight on exactly the same place, this is why he chose this particular dress.
He nods, his pride obvious, and wraps a hand around the back of my head to draw me in to hug me, kiss me. But when he pulls away, I see anxiety there, too, in the crease between his eyebrows.
“You look beautiful.”
“Wow, you really do,” Eva says. Walking out of the kitchen, she’s shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth from a giant tub under her arm. She’s also barefoot and wearing bright yellow pajamas, and I realize how comfortable she feels here. How at home.
Santiago checks his watch. “Didn’t you eat dinner?”
“That was an hour ago. This is called a snack.” She makes a point of saying the word snack slowly for him.
“Eva,” I say.
“Besides, it’s movie night,” she continues.
“Movie night?” I ask.
“Marco set up a TV in my room.”
“He did what?” It’s Santiago.
“And he gave me his Netflix log in.” She shrugs a shoulder and turns away. “You guys have fun at your boring dinner.”
“I’m going to need to talk to Marco. She shouldn’t have a television in her bedroom.”
“Why not? She’s a kid.”
“I’m not sure—”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you know my mom wasn’t feeding her breakfast so she wouldn’t put on weight?”
He looks at me like he’s confused. “She what? The girl is too skinny if anything.”
“I’m just saying she’s had a lot of restrictions placed on her already so let her be.”
“Fine. For now. But I’m still talking to Marco. Come on. We’re going to be late.”
“You do you,” I say and let him lead me out. We take the Aston Martin again, but I follow Santiago’s gaze to the rearview mirror to see two men follow us off the property.
“Additional security,” Santiago says. “Nothing to worry about.”
“What are you going to do to Abel if you find him?”
“When I find him.”
“Okay. When you find him. What are you going to do?”
He glances at me quickly, then back to the road as he shifts, driving twice the speed limit. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Do you realize that’s like a standard answer for you?”
“What?”
“You don’t tell me anything. Not about Mercedes. Not about my father or Hazel and now Abel. He’s still my brother, Santiago.”
“Half brother.”
“I’m not saying he shouldn’t be punished, but…” I trail off, remembering the bloody scene I glimpsed at the house where those men had kept me. “I don’t want you to do anything…I don’t know…illegal.”
He looks at me, eyebrows high.
“Even if he’s only a half brother, he’s still that.”
“Do I need to remind you of what he’s done?”
I look out the window and watch the city come into view as we ride in silence for the rest of the trip. When we arrive at IVI, I can see the number of people is about half what it was the last time, but I swear all eyes turn to us as we walk onto the courtyard where refreshments are being served, and men and women are gathered in small groups talking and drinking.
Santiago must feel my hesitation and rubs a circle on my lower back. The dress is cut low and feeling his warm hand on me is reassuring. I lean a little closer to him.
“Santiago, it’s been a long time,” an old man I don’t know says and pats Santiago’s back.
“Jonathan!” Santiago smiles—an actual smile—but he checks himself quickly. “It’s been long because you ran off to Europe for a year chasing after a pretty thing far too young for you.” They shake hands.
“Entirely too young but well worth the effort.” He winks. “And Europe was nice.”
“It’s good to see you. I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight, actually.”
“I’m not here for the dinner but when I learned your new bride would be accompanying you, I thought I’d love to meet her.” He turns a broad smile to me. “This must be the beautiful Ivy. My dear, it is a pleasure to meet the woman who has managed to move this man’s heart.”
The words take me by surprise, and I know they do Santiago too as he clears his throat, hand stiffening at my back.
“I am Jonathan Price, your husband’s godfather, believe it or not. Known him since he was oh…so big.” He leans down so his hand is at knee level, then extends that same hand to me, palm up.
I slip my hand into it. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Price.”
“Jonathan, please,” he says, cupping my hand between both of his.
“Jonathan,” I repeat, smiling, liking the old man. “You’re Santiago’s godfather?”
He nods. “His father and I went way back. Shame what happened to him and Leandro.” His expression darkens.
“I’m sure Ivy doesn’t want to hear about all that,” Santiago breaks in.
Jonathan lets go of my hand and turns to Santiago. “Of course. I saw your sister just inside on the arm of Lawson Montgomery?” he asks that last part, eyebrows high on his head.
“Inside, you say?”
“Can’t miss her. Never could miss Mercedes.” A man who looks familiar, but I can’t quite place walks toward us, his expression serious. It’s not until he’s almost upon us and his eyes fall to my stomach that I realize who it is. One of The Councilors of The Tribunal. “It was nice to meet you, Ivy. Santiago, I’ll see you another time,” Jonathan says and turns to walk toward the man.
My heart is pounding.
“Relax,” Santiago says. He must feel my anxiety as he leads me toward the open French doors of a dining room I’ve not been in before. It’s beautiful, the walls, heavy curtains, and seating in various shades of red. Even the ceiling is draped with a silky scarlet fabric gathered at the center around a beautiful crystal chandelier.
“Wow,” I say, unable to help myself. The Society has deep pockets, as do its members, and I know a bulk of that is due to my husband’s skills with numbers and markets and things I don’t even try to understand.
A waiter comes over with a new bottle of whiskey that he shows Santiago. Santiago looks at it, nods, and watches as it’s opened and a glass poured.
“For the lady?” the waiter asks him.
I almost roll my eyes. Santiago turns to me for my answer. “Water is fine,” I say.
“You heard her,” Santiago tells him when he continues to stand there waiting for Santiago to reply. A few minutes later, I have a very fancy flute of water.
I’ve barely taken a sip when I hear Mercedes’s laughter coming from the other side of the room. Santiago has already spotted her, and I see she’s seen us. She doesn’t miss a beat, though, as she tells a story to the half dozen people surrounding her and the man at her side. He seems familiar although I can’t place him, either. It’s his stance, tall and broad-shouldered, and his commanding presence.
It’s when we’re closer, and I hear his voice that I realize who he is.
I stop dead, and I am grateful for the music and for the laughter that erupts from the group surrounding Mercedes because I make a sort of choking sound as I feel the blood drain from my face, my body going cold.
I turn to Santiago and shake my head, my heart beating so fast I’m sure he can hear it. “Please.”
As if sensing I’ll bolt, he wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pulls me to him and anyone who is looking at us would think he was kissing my cheek but he’s not. He’s whispering to me.
“Judge is my friend. You’ll need to get used to him.”
“He’s…I can’t.”
“I asked him to take you, Ivy. If anything happened to me, he knew what to do.”
“What?” I ask, pulling back to look up at him. “How?”
“It is the Rite.”
The Rite. God. It’s like we go back in time every time I set foot in this place. The Rite is when one Head of Household, if he’s the only male of age, passes on those in his charge to another in his absence or death or if he were to become somehow incapacitated.
“I trust Judge with my life. I trusted him with yours.”
“When you thought I tried to kill you.”
“Did he hurt you, Ivy?”
“He kept me in a cellar. He kept me—”
“Did he hurt you?” he asks again.
I shake my head.
“If he hadn’t stepped in that night, you’d have spent those days in a Tribunal cell, and trust me, that would have been far worse.”
“So, what? I should thank him?” I try to pull away, but he catches my arm.
“You should be respectful,” he says, and I realize it’s grown quieter. Santiago smiles and pulls me close again. “And you will behave.” There’s a pause after the will.
“Well, well,” Mercedes says, approaching with a wide grin on her face, drink in hand, eyes dropping instantly to my stomach before returning to mine. Her disdain or outright disgust of me is so apparent I’m sure Santiago must see it.
Judge has a hand at her elbow, eyes on me. He must know I recognize him.
“Santi,” Mercedes says. “So nice to see you two out and about together, a little family in the making.” She swallows what’s left in her glass, sets it on a passing waiter’s tray, grabs a full flute, and brings it to her lips.
“Easy,” Judge tells her, but I hear it, and I wonder if he’s keeping her in the cellar too because she gives him an annoyed glance but doesn’t sip from her glass.
He nods. And I try to understand the dynamic. Surely Santiago wouldn’t have sent her to him for whatever it is she did. Surely, Judge wouldn’t be the consequences he talked about.
Just then another man comes to us. I don’t know him, but he whispers something to Santiago. Santiago nods and turns to us.
“Do you ladies think you can behave yourselves for five minutes?”
I am about to say no, but Mercedes beams and comes to take my hand. Her nails dig into my palm. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll catch up.” She turns and walks us to a private sitting area before I can get a word in. We sit on the plush velvet couches. “You’re showing.”
“Not really.”
“Should I congratulate you?”
“What do you want, Mercedes?”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“I need to use the bathroom.” I try to get up, but she puts her hand on my thigh and digs her nails into it, smiling when someone walks by to greet her.
“Don’t look so smug. You haven’t won the war,” she says.
“What are you talking about? Any war is in your head.”
“Innocent Ivy. Sweet, precious Ivy. This battle goes to you, I’m graceful enough to give you that, but I’ll win in the end. You’ll see.”
“Seriously, Mercedes, you’re fucking delusional.” I shove her arm off and stand. I get about two steps away before she speaks.
“In nine months' time, I’ll be back in my rightful place.”
I turn to her, her choice of words stopping me. “What did you say?”
“Or eight months, I guess?” She sips from her drink.
“What are you talking about?”
She stands and walks toward me. “What did you think? That you could steal my family from me?”
“I’m not stealing anything. Your brother made a choice. He chose me.”
She pauses, cocks her head to the side. Then laughs. “Oh my god! I don’t believe it.”
I should walk away. I know I should, but I can’t.
“You’re in love with him. You are seriously in love with him.”
“I—”
“Well, poor, stupid Ivy,” she says, leaning closer, twirling a strand of my hair around her forefinger. “He doesn’t love you. He could never love you. Not after what your father did to him. To us.”
My throat is so dry I can’t speak. Her smile fades, and I see the circles under her eyes that I hadn’t before.
“So, enjoy your little victory. For now. But remember what you are to him. What he needs you for. Once you give him his heir, it’s bye-bye Ivy.”