Page 41 of Kingmakers, Year Two

“There has to be something!”

“Cat,” I say gently. “Where would I go? Where would I hide? And with what money? Besides . . . I could never leave you with them.”

By “them” I don’t just mean our father and stepmother. I mean my father’s soldiers, and the Princes and their soldiers, and the professors at school, and the other students, and the whole wide underworld that could be used to hunt me down, or to punish my sister for my escape.

“I could go with you,” Cat says.

I shake my head. I would never risk what might happen to her if we tried to run away.

Cat was not made for a life of fear and uncertainty.

What I hope is that she’ll marry someone reasonable. A strong man who can protect her. Who will appreciate that Cat is beautiful and kind and will be a good wife to him and an excellent mother to his children. Then she’ll be safe.

Not all mafia men are bad. She could end up with a Leo instead of a Rocco. There’s still hope for her.

As for me . . . well, I can’t think about that.

Looking at Cat makes me realize I’m not the only one battered and bruised.

“What happened to your face?”

“Combat class.” Cat shakes her head ruefully. “I’m not getting any better.”

“You will,” I assure her. “I could practice with you in the gym, outside of class hours. I’m not the best at fighting, but I’ve learned a few things. Chay’s better—I bet she’d help.”

“Alright.” Cat looks more nervous than pleased at this prospect. Then, returning to the subject topmost on her mind she says, “When you tried to jump off the wall . . . Jasper Webb grabbed you?”

“Yes. Jasper and Miles Griffin.”

“But Miles wasn’t part of it—he came along in the middle of it?”

“That’s right.” I nod.

“Why do you think Jasper helped you?”

“I don’t know. Out of instinct. Or to keep me from getting away from Rocco. Or because he was worried he might get in trouble himself. It wasn’t out of sympathy for me, I can tell you that. He had no problem holding me down so Rocco could cut my fucking eye out of my head.”

Cat gulps, pale and nauseated, and I regret describing what happened in such graphic detail.

“Never mind,” I tell her. “I was stupid to run up on that wall to avoid him. I’ll be careful not to go to any isolated places.”

Cat bites her lip. We both know that avoiding Rocco on campus is only a temporary fix at best. I won’t be able to avoid him when we live in a house together as husband and wife.

She asks, “What was Miles doing up there?”

“I don’t know.”

I can feel my face coloring. I told Cat everything, except my conversation with Miles in the infirmary. I don’t quite know how to explain it.

I never expected to experience kindness from Miles Griffin. And I definitely never expected to feel understanding. Miles and I could not be more different. And yet . . . for a brief moment as I lay back against the pillow, and he sat right next to me, not touching me, but only a foot or two of space between us . . . I felt that he could see inside me. He knew what I was feeling, and he understood.

Even more surprising, I felt the same way about him. I looked in his face and for once there was no mask of indifference. His features softened. He looked younger. Miles became a real person to me, with a range of emotions much wider than I thought him capable of feeling.

He uses humor as a shield and a weapon. I’ve never seen him show anything but ambition, cunning, and the relentless determination to satisfy his own impulses.

As he sat next to me, the walls came down. The real Miles spoke to me. I heard compassion in his voice. Concern. Even respect.

It was bizarre. Unsettling, even. I expected any second that he’d shake his head, crack some joke, and he’d be back to his usual careless self.

---