Page 60 of Kingmakers, Year Two

“What do you mean?”

I tell him about the engagement party and Rocco’s surprise visit to my house.

We’re walking up toward the Solar, slowly because neither of us is in a hurry. The thick sod muffles our footsteps.

“That’s not your fault,” Miles says, frowning.

“It is, though. When I disobey my father, he always takes it out on Cat. I knew that beforehand. When I rebel, she suffers.”

Remembering that immutable fact makes me realize that I’m making the same mistake all over again. I spent the night at the party, dancing and drinking with Miles, heedless of the consequences that might follow.

Reading my thoughts, Miles takes my hand. His hand is large and strong, and immensely warm.

“Your cousins weren’t here tonight,” he says. “None of Rocco’s friends, either.”

“They’ll still hear. Everybody talks.”

Miles doesn’t bother to deny that—he knows it’s true.

“Tell me about your marriage contract,” he says.

“I haven’t even read it,” I admit. “I wasn’t part of the negotiations.”

“Do you know what your father’s getting out of the deal? What’s in it for Rocco’s family?”

I explain it to him as best I understand, starting with the wars amongst the Galician clans, and ending with everything I know about my father’s business, and the Princes’.

Miles takes it all in, occasionally asking clarifying questions. This is something I’ve noticed about Miles—he’s an information-gatherer. He’s good at asking just the right questions to figure out what’s really going on.

When I’m done talking, he stays quiet a while, considering.

“There’s a personal element on Rocco’s side, isn’t there?” he asks me.

“Do you mean, is he in love with me?” I say. “I wouldn’t call it love.”

“He’s fixated,” Miles says.

“Yes. We’ve been betrothed since I was twelve. He’s been planning what he’ll do with me once we’re married for eight years now. He’s more than fixated—he’s obsessed.”

Miles’ expression is serious as he looks at me. In the infirmary, I realized that Miles has eyes of a color I’ve never seen before—a pure, clear gray. Under the starlight they shine almost silver, much lighter than his deeply-tanned skin.

“Tell me more about your Marilyn obsession,” he says, abruptly changing the subject.

I assume he doesn’t want to talk about Rocco anymore, because that topic is depressing. Honestly, I feel the same.

“I love old movies and TV shows,” I say. “I always have. I used to watch them at my Abuelita’s house—we didn’t have television at home. My stepmother is very strict. My Lita was not strict. She’d give us all the treats and snuggles and screen-time we wanted, every time we came to visit. She’d makeleche frita,and we’d watchWhite Christmas, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Singin’ in the Rain, Some Like It Hot, West Side Story. . . all the Alfred Hitchcock films, those were her favorite. I think she watched them when she was young to learn English, and never stopped.”

“I used to watchPeaky Blinderswith my Grandma Imogen,” Miles says. “She said it wasn’t accurate—the Peaky Blinders gang was never that organized. But she liked it all the same, just to hear the Irish accents and see the streets she knew.”

“It was opposite for Lita—she wanted to see the places she was never going to visit, like New York or Oklahoma.”

“She always stayed in Spain?” Miles asks.

“Yes. We’d go see her every week, Cat and me. Then my Abuelito died, and my father didn’t have to send us over there anymore. They were my mother’s parents. As long as Tito was alive, he could pressure my father into letting us visit. Once he was gone. . .there was nothing Lita could do.” I swallow hard. “She died last year. I didn’t see her for the last four years she was alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Miles says. I can hear in his voice that he means it.

We’ve reached the Solar. The wind picks up, rustling the paper feathers of my angel wings.

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