When we step outside, I see the small sports car rather than the Rolls Royce. He opens the passenger side door, and I climb in, realizing he’ll be driving. It would be fun if it was any other occasion.
Santiago slips into the driver’s seat and seamlessly shifts gears to drive off the property. By the time we arrive at IVI, the sun has set, and the lights cast on the building make it look even more ominous than it must look by daylight. I know the timing is by Santiago’s design. He doesn’t come out in the daytime unless he absolutely must, and The Tribunal has agreed to it. Santiago tucks the keys into his pocket and comes around to help me out of the low sports car.
We enter the building, and the men who’d escorted me up the last time greet him with reverence. They still barely acknowledge me. Santiago takes my elbow, and we climb the stairs together, the guards following us. I don’t let myself glance out the window. I won’t look.
Once we stand outside the large wooden doors, Santiago helps me out of my coat and hands it and his to someone standing nearby. A moment later, the doors are opened, and we enter the cavernous, cold room, our footsteps echoing. Santiago’s hand is firm at my back when I draw away, guiding me to stand in the pulpit. I’m surprised and grateful when he steps in beside me, and I realize I’m shaking when he wraps a hand around the back of my neck and leans close to tell me to relax.
How did I do this that first time around? How did I stand here before these men sitting in their cloaks high above me ready to judge me? How did I do this alone?
I glance at where Mercedes was sitting that day, her eyes red, skin blotchy from crying, and see Jackson looking at us, expression unreadable.
When the gavel hits the block, I startle and turn. I listen as The Councilor formally reads the charge of poisoning against me, the way he says my name sending a shiver down my spine.
I don’t hear much of what he follows up with because I’m too anxious until his final sentence. “In light of new evidence, the charge is dropped and the case against Mrs. De La Rosa dismissed.” I wonder if he’s disappointed by the fact. I get the feeling he is. When he’s finished with the formal statement, he removes his glasses and looks down at me. “You owe Mr. Van Der Smit for that, young lady.”
I nod, not sure what I’m supposed to say, too nervous to tell them off, tell them that I hadn’t done anything wrong to begin with. That, at the very least, it is they who owe me an apology.
“Santiago,” one of the other Councilors starts.
“Councilor,” Santiago says, no note of nerves in his tone. More an irritation. Is he truly not even a little bit intimidated by this?
“It is troubling that there should be yet another attempt on your life. Have you any intelligence you can lend on the matter?”
I am confused. A second attempt? I turn to Santiago, but he doesn’t look my way. I do, however, see that tic in his jaw he gets when he’s annoyed.
“With all due respect, I don’t believe this is the proper forum to discuss that other, separate matter, Councilor.”
“Very well,” The Councilor says, his irritation seeming to match Santiago’s. “Then I adjourn this session. Mrs. De La Rosa, The Tribunal wishes you a healthy pregnancy. Let us hope you deliver a strong, healthy male heir to carry the De La Rosa line.”
I nod, feeling heat flush my face.
“You are free to go.”
“Thank you,” I say, but it’s drowned out by the sound of the gavel striking the block.
We remain where we are while the three robed men leave the room. The double doors are then opened, and Santiago leads me out, collecting our coats along the way.
I feel a physical sense of relief as we descend the stairs but find myself shuddering once more when a light coming on out in the courtyard catches my eye. I glance out the window to see the scaffold has been lit, and several people have gathered.
My throat goes dry, and I pause. “What’s going to happen?” I ask, going to the window.
“Nothing you need to see,” Santiago says, taking my hand and walking me the rest of the way down the stairs and back out to our car. He helps me into the passenger side, and this time, I can appreciate it.
“What is this car?” I ask when he gets in.
“It's an Aston Martin.” He pulls out of IVI, and I see the gates close in the side mirror.
“Can we drive around a little? I don’t want to go home yet. Just have some fun maybe.”
“Fun?” he asks, almost confused by the word.
I reach over and put my hand on his thigh. “Fun. It means doing something you enjoy.”
“I enjoy many things I wouldn’t call fun.”
I sigh, the relief still a palpable thing. “Please?”
He glances at me, then back to the road and nods slowly exactly once.
“Yay! You think I could drive?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
* * *
When we get home late that night, Antonia has an elaborate dinner prepared for us. We sit down to eat, the candles feeling more romantic tonight than before. But as I sip on my half-glass of wine, which he allowed since we know I’m not pregnant, and after The Tribunal, well, I earned it, my mind wanders to our lie. To a few nights ago. To the baby and the reasons for having one.
If it came down to it, we could say I had a miscarriage as far as IVI is concerned. I’m sure Santiago could pull that off. But there’s so much more going on that I don’t know.
“Santiago?” I ask when we’re at dessert.
“Yes?”
“What did
