Page 162 of Kingmakers, Year One

“What’s in Los Angeles?” Leo asks, curiously.

“So many things,” Miles says. He loves being mysterious.

“Are you meeting someone?” I ask him.

Miles holds up his phone. “I have to play a song for a guy. Just one song.”

“Why don’t you just send it to him?” Leo asks.

“It’s called striking while the iron’s hot,” Miles says. “Deals get done face-to-face, while emotions are high.”

“Well, make sure you tell your parents,” I remind him. “I don’t want to see you mom waiting at the airport for you all sad.”

“I already told them,” Miles assures us. “And I’m gonna bring my mom home some pumpkin bread from the Monastery of Angels, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about her. She’d much rather have that than me.”

Leo and I finally touch down in Chicago in late afternoon, knowing that both our fathers will be there to meet us.

We haven’t discussed how we’ll make our announcement. We were too sleepy and happy to stress about it on the way back.

In the end, we do the thing that feels most natural—we walk out of baggage claim hand in hand, as if we’ve always been lovers.

My father and Leo’s father are standing right next to each other, forming an amusing study in contrast—Uncle Seb in a linen sport coat, deeply tanned, with threads of gray at his temples and a stylish pair of dark-framed glasses perched on his nose. He’s relaxed and happy as he leans on his walking stick. Next to him my father appears more fair and pale than ever, wearing dark clothes with no hint of summer in them, scanning the crowd keenly for any sight of us. He holds his hands clasped loosely in front of him, his tattooed skin like patterned gloves.

When they spot Leo and me—and the way we lean against each other as we walk, our fingers intertwined—their reactions are equally opposite.

Uncle Seb’s mouth falls open. He appears confused for a moment, then he breaks into a slow grin that brightens to pure delight.

By contrast, my father comprehends in an instant, and his expression becomes rigid and furious, eyes burning in his blanched face.

“Anna,” he says, through thin lips. “What is the meaning of this?”

I take a deep breath, holding my chin high. This is the crucial moment. I can’t show a hint of weakness, or my father will tear me to shreds.

“Leo and I are in love,” I say, calmly. “And we’re going to be together.”

Uncle Seb wisely stays silent, understanding my father well enough to know that this needs to sink in.

“Leo is your cousin,” my father says, in his most chilling tone.

“Papa,” I reply, looking into those eyes that are as cold and blue as my own. “You know as well as I do that while we can choose our family, we cannot choose who we love.”

There is a long silence, in which Leo’s fingers grip mine with an intensity that tells me he’s not ever letting go, no matter what happens next.

Leo tells my father, quietly but firmly, “No one will love her better than I can. No one will cherish and protect her as I will.”

There’s a terrifying intermission that feels like two heavily weighted scales teetering back and forth. A breath of air in the wrong direction could send it tumbling down.

Uncle Seb is brave enough to break it. He says, gently and sincerely, “Come now, Miko. Where did you ever expect to find someone good enough for Anna?”

We’re ganging up on him, not that it matters—my father will fight a thousand people when he feels he’s in the right.

But in this particular instance . . . he isn’t sure.

“We will discuss this more at home,” my father says, snatching up my suitcase. His dark back is a rebuke to all of us. But as he strides toward the car, he pauses and calls over his shoulder to Uncle Seb, “Will your family join us for dinner?”

Uncle Seb hides his grin. “Of course. I’ll bring the wine.”

“Not that shit Cabernet,” Papa says.

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