Devotion (Central Cities #1)

Chapter 2

2

Gabriel works without stopping until dinnertime. When the door opens after a brief knock, he glances up, blinking a few times as if it takes effort to orient himself to the time and place.

He looks over at my window alcove, his eyes widening when he sees I’m still lounging there.

Where the hell else would I be?

I smile at Nico, a young man on the kitchen staff who sets a tray and a pitcher on the table. He gives me a covert wink as he leaves, and I’m hit by a wave of pride.

Even with an uncooperative partner, I was chosen. It means something. It will change my entire life.

After a few minutes, Gabriel glances up from his papers. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yes. I am.”

He waves toward the food on the table.

I work my bottom lip with my teeth, trying not to look or sound frustrated. “I’m not allowed to eat unless you feed me.”

His body twitches slightly. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not allowed?—”

“For fuck’s sake. You have permission to eat. Help yourself. Take whatever you’d like.” I’ve gotten up from my seat when he adds, “If there’s anything else you require my permission for, you need to come right out and tell me. I’m not going to know, so I’ll be sitting here like a clueless fool while you starve to death.”

I pause a few feet from his desk. “Oh. The bathroom…”

“You need permission to…”

“Yes.”

“You have permission. Anytime you need to go.”

“Do you want me to use your private bathroom?”

His mouth drops open briefly. “Where else would you go?”

“There’s a public bathroom downstairs I could?—”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Do people really make their partners go halfway across the palace to go to the bathroom?”

“Yes.” I suddenly feel better about him. Surely he’s not a bad man at heart if he’s so dumbfounded that other people could be selfish or rude. A stray flicker of the sense of humor that Barrett has always told me to be careful about comes to life, and I can’t resist adding, “Of course, a few have requisitioned a pot.”

“A pot.”

I drop my eyes so he won’t see the silent laughter in them, but I can’t keep my mouth from twitching slightly. “Yes. It’s not common, but it’s occasionally done.”

He makes a weird huff of sound, and when I check his face, I see dry amusement there. “Are you giving me a hard time on purpose?”

“Not at all. Sadly, I’m telling you the truth. Not all administrators have been what I’d consider decent people.” When I see a different expression on his face, I add in a rush, “Abuse is not allowed. If an administrator abuses their partner, they lose the privilege of having one at all.”

“Talk about a bar as low as the dirt,” he mutters in that cynical way he has where it’s not clear whether he’s talking to himself or to me.

I have no idea what bar he’s referencing, so I’m going to assume he’s talking to himself. “So you don’t mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Of course I don’t. Use it whenever you want. You don’t have to ask.”

“The shower and tub too? Or just the toilet?”

“The shower, tub, toilet, sink, whatever. Anytime I’m not actually in there, you can use it.” He still sounds faintly annoyed, but I’m realizing it’s not directed at me.

“Thank you,” I tell him before gesturing toward the bathroom to indicate that I’m going to use it right now.

He’s working again when I finish up and return to the main room. Since he gave me permission, I walk over to the dinner tray and check out what we’ve been brought. It looks good. Sliced meats and cheeses with a variety of vegetables, spreads, and bread.

“Would you like me to prepare you a plate?”

“What?” He glances up at me with a blank expression. When I gesture toward the food, he says, “Oh yeah, thanks. Or I can get it later.”

I’m starting to suspect if I leave him to his own devices, he’ll completely forget about eating at all. He’s so intently focused on his work that it’s like the rest of the world barely exists. So I make a nice plate for him, arranging a variety of the choices prettily and giving him the one slice of pineapple and the best of the strawberries. I fill a glass with apple water from the pitcher and bring his dinner over to set in the one empty spot on the desk.

He mumbles out a thank-you and reaches over to grab a slice of turkey and cheddar cheese rolled together and takes a bite without even looking at it.

A ripple of amusement runs through me that I swallow back with effort. My face is composed when he shoots me a quick look, but maybe he sees something in my expression. His eyes narrow.

“Is there something else I’m supposed to be doing?” he asks, his pen still poised over a page in his notebook that’s half filled with scrawled notes.

“No. I missed my exercise hour this morning—you probably already know this, but partners are allowed an hour to exercise every day—so I’m going to eat and then go for a walk if that’s okay with you.”

“That sounds good. Do whatever you want.”

As far as I can tell, he means it.

He’s such an odd, unpredictable man. I feel as at loose ends with the situation as he does.

But he’s not mean or overly controlling, so my position could definitely be worse. I’d rather be allowed to do my job, but maybe he needs time to get used to life at the palace.

I’ll be patient.

What else can I do?

On my second day as Gabriel’s partner, I’m nearly as bored as on the first.

He gets up early to swim for nearly two hours. There’s a very nice saltwater pool at the palace. Most people use it for leisure or relaxation, but Gabriel obviously swims for exercise because he’s flushed and breathless when he returns.

I’ve showered and dressed while he’s out of the room, and I straighten up when he walks in.

He’s wearing a thick robe to cover himself in the palace hallways, but he takes it off absently after he gulps down an entire glass of water. His skin is still damp. He smells like salt water, and his hair is pulled back and still dripping.

Without the robe, he’s got on nothing but his swimsuit, which leaves little to the imagination. He has a better body than I would have expected from a man with a desk job like his. He must swim like this regularly, and it definitely shows in the lean, firm muscles of his long arms and legs. He’s got hair on his chest, and his belly is mostly flat.

I really like the looks of him. I wouldn’t have expected that.

“Are you all right if I’m in the bathroom for a while?” he asks, glancing over at me as if he’s only just remembered I’m here.

“Of course. I’m done with getting ready this morning.”

“Okay.” He squeezes some of the water out of his hair, letting it drip on the tile floor. “What are you going to be doing?”

He still doesn’t understand that my schedule is entirely built around his. “I thought I might take my walk now if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure. That sounds good. I’ve got a meeting with the president today that will probably last most of the morning.”

“Is it in his office or in the conference room?”

“His office.” His brows pull together in a silent question.

“Meetings in his office are private, but the ones in the conference room are public, so partners attend.”

“You attend business meetings? Why? Surely it would be deadly dull to you.”

“We go with you to all public events. We don’t participate, but we’re present. It’s been that way since the beginning.”

He gives a skeptical shrug. “Okay. Today it’s in his office, so you get to escape hours of tedium.”

He believes attending meetings would be torture for me, but I’d rather listen to people talking at a meeting than hang around this room on my own doing nothing. I don’t say it. I change my shoes while he heads into the bathroom.

After my walk, he’s already left for his meeting, so I sit around and wait for an endless eternity until he finally returns well after noon.

I was half dozing in my window alcove, but I jump to attention as soon as I hear the door open.

He looks tired and annoyed. His hair is messy like he’s been rubbing at his head.

“How was the meeting?” I ask him.

“A huge waste of time. Like most meetings.” He scratches at his scalp idly with his fingertips. That gesture must be what’s disarrayed his hair. “I could have been getting work done all this time.” He’s scowling as he heads into the bathroom.

I sit and wait until he returns, vaguely hopeful that he’s in such a bad mood he might let me help him relax and feel better. But my hopes are groundless. When he emerges after a couple of minutes, he goes right to his desk and starts shuffling through papers until he finds the one he wants.

Ten minutes later, he remembers I exist and slants his eyes over toward where I’m sitting upright, my hands folded neatly in my lap. “Are you just going to sit there?”

“What else am I to do?”

“I don’t know. Do whatever you want. It’s unnerving for you to be sitting there like that, doing nothing.”

“I thought you understood. I’m not allowed to do anything unless you’ve given me?—”

“For fuck’s sake, you have permission to do anything you want! You can hang out with your family all day for all I care.”

I swallow back a swell of annoyance at his biting tone. “I’m not allowed to do that. They give us four hours off a week and one free day a month. I visit my family on Saturday evenings and all day on my free day. Otherwise, if you’re in your rooms, I am too.”

“Okay, but can’t you do something instead of just sitting there? What do you normally do with your downtime?”

Despite his tone, I take his question seriously. “I know how to read. My father taught me. So I enjoy reading books. I also like to draw. And my great-aunt taught me how to knit. I enjoy that too.”

“All right. Great. All three of those things would be fine for you to do.”

“I would need supplies. Or books. And I can’t?—”

He groans. “I’ve told you if you need something, just ask me outright. I can’t stand these silly guessing games.”

For the first time since he chose me, I’m actively, hotly angry with him. It’s not my fault he’s completely ignorant about a fundamental palace tradition. I’ve done everything I can to act appropriately while still helping him understand what’s expected.

I don’t deserve to be treated this way.

I want to snap back a response, but I manage to swallow it down. My tone, however, is decidedly clipped and cool as I respond. “I am not playing games. I have asked you for what I need. I am not the one uncomfortable with my having nothing to do.”

That isn’t entirely true. I hate sitting around with nothing to engage either my mind or my hands. But he doesn’t need to know that right now.

His eyes widen as he scans my face closely. “You’re pissed. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Of course I have it in me. I’m a human being just like you. But I’m trying to do a good job in my role as your partner, and getting angry is counterproductive.”

For some reason his mouth softens. Twitches up just slightly. “Yes. I guess it would. Sorry I snapped at you. I find this entire partner business ridiculous, but I know that’s not your fault, so I shouldn’t take it out on you. Look, we don’t know each other at all, so this is weird and awkward. But I like to work. I like to get things done. And I don’t have much patience for trivial distractions that get in the way of that. I’m also not some sort of heartless monster—I don’t want you miserable or bored out of your mind. So you can ask for anything that might make this situation easier for either one of us. In fact, I’d appreciate if you’d make any suggestion you can think of.”

“All right.” My anger fades as quickly as it rose. I feel better getting things out in the open. “I understand. My role is to wait for you to initiate, but that’s clearly not what you want, so I’ll try to be more direct. If you’d like me to knit or draw, I’ll need a few credits from you to buy supplies. My weekly earnings all go back to my family. A partner’s spending money has to be given by you. Just like everything else.”

“Okay. I’m starting to get it.” He shakes his head as he opens the top drawer of his desk and pulls out his credit pad. “You’ll need some for books too, right?”

“I don’t need to buy books. If you’ll write out permission, I can borrow books from the palace library to read.”

“Got it.” He scrawls out something on the top page of the credit pad, tears it off, scrawls out something else on the next page, and then tears that one off too. He hands both to me.

The first one is library permission. The second is fifty credits.

“This is way too much,” I say, staring back up at him. “I don’t need nearly this much.”

“Just buy whatever you want with it. They’re paying me a ridiculous amount, and since I don’t do anything but work, I’ll barely be spending it. I can’t even save it from month to month because for some reason they don’t let credits accumulate here. You’re the one who has to put up with me. You might as well get something out of it.” His mouth twitches up again very briefly.

I can’t help but giggle at his wry look and tone. Then he waves me off so he can get back to work, and I head out of the room to do some shopping.

My third day as Gabriel’s partner is a Saturday, so I get to visit my family. Things are better now because at least I have something to do to pass the time. I read, draw, or knit, depending on my mood, and Gabriel appears much less annoyed and distracted since I’m no longer sitting and staring at him all the time.

If I hoped he’d gradually begin to see the benefits of having me at his disposal, those hopes are unfounded. He does nothing but swim, work, and sleep with the occasional break to eat or go to the bathroom.

I’ve never met anyone so focused. Surely it can’t be good for him.

If anyone needs a partner to soften his life, it’s Gabriel, but he’s not going to allow it.

At least he hasn’t yet.

The day passes quickly since I found a good book in the library—a story from the old world about an amateur sleuth solving mysteries—and it’s late afternoon before I know it.

I change into my street shoes and go to the bathroom to smooth down my hair before I leave.

Gabriel is working of course. He didn’t even notice me getting ready.

So I clear my throat and say, “Okay. I’m leaving.”

He frowns up at me foggily. “You’re leaving?”

“It’s my evening off. I’m going to visit my family. I’ll be gone four hours.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Have a good time.” He shifts his eyes back to the big, complicated chart he’s been studying all afternoon.

I’m on my way out when he straightens up. “Oh, do you need credits?”

I turn back, confused and surprised. “For what?”

“For treats for your family or whatever? Didn’t you say you wanted to bring them something when you visit?”

He must be referring to the explanation I gave him for becoming a partner back on selection day. I certainly haven’t mentioned treats for my family in any other context. “Oh, I see. No, that’s not necessary.”

“You don’t want to bring them anything?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that extras are supposed to be gifts for partners who have… who have done a good job. Pleased you. I haven’t done anything at all, and you’ve already been generous with me.”

He’s frowning and shaking his head as he pulls out his credit pad. “I told you before. I don’t have anything to do with all these credits. You might as well get some use out of them.” He scrawls something, tears out the sheet, and hands it to me. “Besides, you have done a good job. I wanted you to stay out of my way and not distract me, and you’ve done that.”

I snicker softly at his words. I’d much rather be able to do what I’m here for, but at least he’s not holding his own choices against me. Then I get a look at the amount he wrote on the credit sheet and gape. “This is way too much!”

He shrugs. “Get them something good. Have a nice time.”

I can’t argue with his generosity any further because he’s already focused back on his work.

I feel rather guilty, spending so many credits when I’ve done next to nothing in the three days I’ve been his partner.

But I have had to put up with a weird, grumpy, workaholic man who refuses to let me do my job, so maybe that’s worth something.

On my fourth day as Gabriel’s partner, I’m in a good mood because I had such a great time with my family the evening before. They were all thrilled with my success, and they were convinced that Gabriel will eventually let me do more for him once he gets used to things.

He’s not from the Capital, my mother said. People are different in other places. He needs a transition period.

Maybe she’s right.

For all those reasons, I’m in a giddy mood all morning, and I can’t help smiling as I sketch the garden scene outside my window nook and then switch gears to sketch Gabriel at his desk.

He does have an aesthetically appealing bone structure. He’s not merely attractive. He’s also interesting to look at. It’s a challenge to capture the lines and shadows of his face and the rumpled thickness of his hair.

After a while, he starts looking over at me occasionally. I’m not sure why, but it’s definitely more than normal.

Worried he might be annoyed that I’m focused on him, I flip back to my sketch of the garden and work on that some more instead.

But he’s still looking over at me. Like something about me is distracting or bothering him.

He’s never done that before, so it definitely catches my attention. He’s usually completely oblivious to my presence.

“Is something wrong?” I ask at last.

“With what?”

“I don’t know. With me? Am I annoying you? If I am, please tell me so I can fix it.”

“No, you’re not annoying me.” He turns back to his work as if he’s going to leave it at that but then must change his mind. He glances over again. “It is kind of distracting.”

“What is?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

He waves vaguely in my direction. “That dress. All that cleavage. There. All the time. It’s distracting.”

I should be a bit put out by his irrational, rather cranky complaint, but instead, I’m washed with excited pleasure.

Before now, I had no hints of any kind that he was aware I even possessed a body, much less could be distracted by it.

I glance down at my dress. It’s much less overtly sexual than most of the other partners’ outfits, but it does have a fairly deep scooped neckline. “Oh.”

“Can you wear something that shows less?”

“This is the only palace dress I have. They only give us one when we arrive.”

He frowns, his eyes moving grumpily between my face and my neckline.

“I can buy another one if you’d like me to. I’d just need the credits for it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Great. That would be great.” He pulls out his credit pad and pauses before he starts writing.

“A good palace dress typically costs fifty credits,” I tell him.

He nods and writes out something on the top sheet. “Get a few if you want. Less cleavage.”

I stare at the amount he wrote on the sheet he hands me. “You want me to spend all this on clothes?”

“Sure. Get whatever you want. As long as there’s less cleavage.”

I have to hide an amused smile as I go check my hair and makeup and change my shoes, and I’m still smiling as I leave the palace.

Leave it to me to get the one administrator who wants to see less of his partner’s body.

But at least he’s noticed it. Enough that it’s distracted him from his work.

I honestly wasn’t sure anything in the world could do that.