Page 44 of By Any Other Name

She cocks her head to the side, looking vaguely confused. “Is that a compliment?”

I wave her off. “A fact.”

Pink spots appear on her cheeks and I don’t understand. She has to know people want her, right? Yes. She does. I know she does, because I’ve watched her date multiple assholes over the years. That’s not it.

“You told me the other day we’re studying the same thing. I assume you’ll have to travel at some point for your research?”

I nod slowly. “So, you’re trying to tell me you want to getmarried. Legally married, because I would pay for you to go to school and take you with me to England?”

“I didn’t ask you to pay,” she says quickly, her hair bouncing with every word. “I’d figure that out on my own. I just want to finish school and do my research.”

“You realize that makes this less believable, right?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair so hard I think I might have no hair left when this conversation is over. “I might have believed you if you asked for money.”

“Oh,” she says, looking furious with herself. Like she can’t believe she didn’t think to ask for money.

I stare, in awe of how someone can exist in this fucked up town and still have the kind of integrity where they wouldn’t even think to ask for money. In awe of both how insanely beautiful she is and how insane this afternoon has become in only a few short minutes. “If it’s not money and it’s not school then what’s this about?”

“It is about school,” she says fiercely. “Partly.”

Fine. It’s partly about school. I don’t dare to hope that the other part is because she wants me the way I’ve always wanted her. Even with what I heard the other night, even with the way she looked at me in the car last night, I’m not delusional. That was lust.

If I’ve gleaned anything from literature—learned anything from the countless tales of heroes and villains, of comedy, tragedy, love and revenge, it’s that kings do not launch armies over lust.

What Etta is talking about is a marriage, and not just any marriage, but one that won’t be accepted by anyone in either of our families—that could cause catastrophic fallout. Lust is not a good enough reason for that fallout, and neither is school, or going to England.

Money could be, in the right context.

Or love.

Etta hasnevergiven any indication that she felt anything real toward me aside from annoyance. Contempt, perhaps. Honestly, as fucked up as it is, that’s part of why I liked her to begin with. I’m not unaware of being attractive, or of how that makes people project personalities onto you before they’ve ever even spoken to you. Etta is the only woman I’ve ever met who wasn’t a little too impressed at first, and then disappointed later when I wasn’t the same person she imagined. She just hated me from the word “go.” It was refreshing. Exhilarating.

Etta’s spine goes rigid and she draws herself up to her full height. “I’m running out of family members.”

It’s my turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“Councilman Lawrence might think he’s made things better with this threat against anyone hurting each other, but it’s a bottleneck. The next fight will just be worse. I frankly don’t know how Lawrence didn’t realize that,” she says bitterly. “All that will happen here is more violence, and more than likely one of our families will be expelled from the council entirely.”

I rub a hand over the back of my neck, feeling slightly guilty about the conversation I had with my father only the other day. Granted, I don’t doubt Tyberius is planning something similar.

“All my parents care about is politics. My marriage is a means to an end,” Etta says. “They want allies on the council and they want to be able to investigate the missing girls.”

“Via your mother as head of the council,” I point out.

“Sure,” she concedes. “But your parents want the exact same thing, right? Aside from who is technically in charge. In another world they’d be working together.”

I shrug. It’s an interesting point. “But I don’t care about your parents. Or mine for that matter. Their happiness is immaterial to me.”

“But you’d rather they were alive, right?” she snaps.

Sometimes I think she gives me too much credit. “I suppose.”

She looks down, and I know she’s thinking of her cousin Tyberius. Hell, at the same moment I’m thinking of Bennet. Of my sister. Of all my own dead family members.

It’s hard to exactly prove any direct responsibility for the deaths. For all the public fighting, we’re not the godsdamn mafia. Everyone has high enough profile jobs that literal murder would be out of the question. But still, I know what Etta means. With the exception of Marcia, just because none of the deaths could be pinned on the feud, didn’t mean it wasn’t abundantly clear what was happening.

“I want the fighting to stop. I want no more pointless deaths or violence or secrets. If we were to be married they would have to stop, if not for the sake of our happiness then because they needed our cooperation on the damn council. We’re both only children—” She winces, apologetically. “So, our house seats won’t go to anyone else. Our parents willhaveto work together.”

I stare at her, and my heart pounds too loud in my ears. She’s right of course. It makes perfect sense. So much sense that I can’t believe no one suggested it before. Well, maybe I can believe it, because that would require everyone to get their heads out of their asses and put their issues aside long enough to think.

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