Page 124 of The Rebel King

She turns then, at first blinking rapidly, her mouth hanging open the slightest bit. As the shock of his statement wears off, skepticism pinches the corners of her eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“You are. My son loves you. I love my son. I know I have a lot, but the older I get”—he touches Owen’s empty chair, releases a heavy sigh—“the more I seem to lose. Priorities change.”

“I can appreciate that. I’msorryabout that,” Lennix says softly,fiercely, not looking away. “But you had no right. I know taking is in your nature, but just because youcantake something doesn’t mean you should. Doesn’t make it yours.”

Her outrage and indignation are arrows aimed for my father’s heart, the same way they were the day we all met. I instinctively wanted to protect her that day from the dogs, the rubber bullets,my father—I want to stand between her and whatever retaliation he might offer now.

But he doesn’t.

“I realize that. I’m sorry.” He clears his throat and is nearly unrecognizable wearing remorse. “I know it’s not enough, but—”

“It’s a start,” she interrupts, nods. “A good one. Thank you.” She looks to my mother. “Dinner was delicious, Mrs. Cade. See you in the morning. Goodnight.”

I start after her, but she puts a staying hand on my arm. “I’m tired, but you don’t have to come right away. Spend a little time with your parents.”

I search her face. We’ll have to talk about this, but something in her expression, a pleading in her eyes, tells me she needs time alone more than I need time with my mom and dad.

“Okay.” I kiss her hair and cup her cheek. “See you in a bit.”

LENNIX

It’s a night for ghosts.

At dinner, I felt Owen’s presence so strongly, I almost expected to hear his jovial laughter if someone told a joke. And when Warren Cade told me about the pipelines, I could almost feel Mama squeeze my hand, could imagine seeing something in her eyes that I rarely witnessed: satisfaction. She always said injustice never rested and neither would she.

“Rest, Mama,” I say, watching my reflection. “Tonight, you can rest.”

Defying my valiant efforts to remain composed, tears track down my face no matter how much I swipe them. I rushed from the dining room because I felt something break inside me at Warren’s words. A dam burst, and I knew once the water started, it wouldn’t stop.

“This is a good thing,” I remind the girl in the mirror with her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “Stop crying.”

I wash my face and put on a nightgown and a heavy silk robe. It’s mine, but when I pull the collar to my nose, it smells like Maxim. I love that our scents, like our lives, have become so intertwined. There are traces of him at my apartment in DC and signs of me in his New York place, not too far from campaign headquarters.

A large bed, the centerpiece of the room, lures my tired body and racing mind. I sit cross-legged in the middle, resting my elbows on my knees. As soon as I’m still, the tears start again. I pass one embroidered sleeve across my cheek. A lot of people’s rent costs less than this robe Maxim brought back from a recent business trip to Hong Kong. Those trips will be impossible as soon as the race heats up.

I finger the expensive silk, run my hand over the brocaded quilt covering the bed, still tasting the wine from dinner. By my calculations, a ten-thousand-dollar vintage.

I grew up on a reservation. Yes, my father was a professor, but for the first thirteen years of my life, I lived with my mother in a tiny house surrounded, in many cases, by great need. As a young girl, watching my mother fight, I dreamt of more and better for the people I loved. I didn’t dream of Prince Charming and his castle, but seated in the middle of a bed that could easily sleep five, on a ranch that would swallow my entire childhood community, I realize I got both. Somehow I ended up eating with my enemy, sleeping in his home, and one day soon, I’m going to marry his son. And tonight, Ididget more and better for the people I love.

Tonight, we won.

I think that’s why there are tears. When Maxim’s father said hewould no longer put pipelines on protected grounds, it was a victory I didn’t ever think I would taste. And inthisfight, the victims often outnumber the victories. For centuries, our dreams had no borders, our lives, no limits because everything we could see, asfaras we could see, belonged to us. Now ours is a displaced dignity, constantly fighting for ourplace—every acre, every plot, precious. And tonight, just the tiniest bit of that was restored. In a trail of broken promises, tonight one was guaranteed.

The door opens, and Maxim walks in. For just a second, my damp cheeks and red eyes make me self-conscious, but our glances connect, and the acceptance and devotion remind me I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of with this man. He closes the door, walks to the bed, and sits on its edge.

“Hey, you.” He brushes the hair off my face, cups my cheek, and caresses my mouth with his thumb. “You okay?”

“Hey, you.” I trace his dark eyebrows with my finger, follow the sculpted bevel of bone at his cheek, and touch his full lips. “I’m good.”

“You sure? Did my father upset you? I know he can—”

“No, at no point tonight did he upset me. Not when he challenged me to resume my place with your campaign.” I drop my eyes to the richness of the silk robe. “Certainly not when he told me about the pipelines. I’m… I think I’m overwhelmed. I never expected it.”

“I don’t think he ever expected to actuallydoit,” Maxim says dryly. “It took a lot. He’s been working up to it.”

“You made him?”

“No. I told him if he didn’t accept you in my life, there wouldn’t be a place in mine for him. He said I could tell you there would be no more Cade pipelines.” He pauses, takes my hand, kisses the center of my palm. “I told him to tell you himself.”

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