“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.
