Page 44 of Longing for Liberty
He was quiet for a moment. “What were they like?”
I opted for honesty. “She seemed sweet. A little shy. And he was not friendly. He didn’t try to hide that he beat her. Not that it makes it okay what she did.”Ah, fuck. “I’m just telling you what I know.”
“Mm-hm.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest now, and I dropped my gaze to his sneakers.
“I assume she’ll be…?” I couldn’t say the word. There used to be public executions every week in the first three to four years, some by firing squad, some by noose. Those had slowed down significantly in the past two years. I’d forgotten how much I hated them. Every single shot made me jump, triggering panic inside me.
“Yes,” he said, though he seemed to get no pleasure saying it. “After the baby is born.”
My eyes flashed up to his, wide, and I swear he looked regretful.
I swallowed, dropped my eyes, and cleared my throat. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” How horrifying to know you were being kept alive so that your child could be born into this fucked up society, and that you’d never get to be its mother.
“It’s okay to be upset,” he told me as I swallowed down another bout of sentiment.
I shook my head, wishing I could get back to work and not stand here with him staring at me as I tried not to cry about the situation.
“Liberty.” His hand slipped under my chin and lifted my face. And then he leaned down and kissed me softly. My body gave a slight jerk of surprise as his warm lips remained over mine for a long moment, sending a tingle of need between my legs. He pulled away, as serious as ever. “I’m going to shower and then I have work to do.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, still stunned by his gentleness as he walked away.
I blinked like a fool for half a minute before pulling myself together and finishing the hall bathroom. Then I found myself touching my lips. Why had he kissed me like that? I really wished he wouldn’t. It was weird and confusing when he was kind.
I scrubbed the toilet way harder than was necessary.
Anticipation had my skin feeling tingly as the Secretary passed me in the hall where I dusted a landscape picture of mountains with a bald eagle flying. He now wore slacks, shiny dress shoes, and a light blue button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His salt and pepper hair was combed back in waves.
Without a jacket, his gun was on full display. I tried not to look at it.
He barely glanced at me as he took his laptop to the table and opened it, sliding on his black readers. I let out a quiet breath of relief when it didn’t seem like he wanted anything from me. He opened a spreadsheet with tons of information written. What I would have given to get a closer look at that data…
“Liberty?”
I jumped and put a hand to my chest. “Sir?”
His eyes were on the screen. “Would you mind making me a coffee?”
“No, not at all.” I moved toward the kitchen with my dust rag.
“And make one for yourself if you’d like.”
I stopped in the middle of the kitchen and turned to stare at him, my heart doing a weird kick. Was he serious?
He glanced up. “You don’t like coffee?”
“I-I used to love it, but I haven’t had one in…six years.”
He took his readers off and set them next to his computer, standing to come into the kitchen.
“I have something else that you probably haven’t had in six years.”
My mind went straight into the gutter. “What?”
He opened a cupboard, which I’d opened many times myself, and reached into a higher shelf out of my sight, pulling out two bottles: Jameson whiskey and Disaronno amaretto liqueur. I gasped and automatically looked around as if we’d be caught.
The Secretary gave a dark chuckle. “There are no cameras here—don’t worry.”
Really? No cameras. That was good to know and definitely surprising.
