11. Zarina
ZARINA
A rack of designer clothes rolls into my room that evening. I thumb through the garments—cashmere wool, silk, pima cotton, leather. There’s a complete wardrobe with easy-to-pair pieces here. I don’t know if Darius or Tamayo had any hand in the choosing, but if they did? Color me surprised.
“I walked the whole grounds, and no one stopped me at any point, though a few locked doors did.” Pat lies spread-eagle on the bed behind me as I pull out a pair of cream-colored, wide-legged slacks and an orange cropped sweater so soft I want to rub it against my cheek. I try not to wonder if Tamayo chose the color palette and instead assume it’s the trend of the fall season.
Despite the arrival of another rack of more androgynous pieces for them, Pat’s dressed in the same outfit they wore last night. “It seems each house on the block serves as both living quarters and community space. A guard even took me to the gym—which is the entire main floor of the red house across the courtyard. It’s kind of cool how they’ve set everything up.”
“Definitely different than home,” I mutter and yank off Darius’s shirt, fully naked beneath it .
Pat doesn’t bat an eye; nudity between us is blasé at this point. “I like it. Feels a lot more, I don’t know…intimate? Like a family, not the military.”
“Is it safe?” I dig into a bag hung on the end of the rack and pull out panties and a bra wrapped in gilded tissue paper. I didn’t tell Darius any preferences for my undergarments, but it’s as if he knew, because there isn’t a thong in sight, nor underwire. It’s almost as if a woman, who would understand my disdain for permanent wedgies and digging metal, chose for me.
I try not to think about Tamayo’s hands touching the fabric before me, her fingers stroking the silk panties I’m currently pulling up my legs. Try and fail.
“It’s safe,” Pat says.
I squeeze my eyes shut and focus more on dressing and less on my wild imagination.
“They’ve got all the usual stuff”—they wave their hand in a circle as if to encompass all the usual stuff—“with the added camouflage of the neighborhood directly outside their front door.”
I frown. That means civilians living in houses uncontrolled by the family directly outside their doorstep. “That feels more dangerous.”
They crane their neck to meet my eye at the end of the bed. “It would be, if the surrounding blocks weren’t full of their soldiers.”
“All of them?” I blink at them.
They nod.
“How do you know?” I pull on the pants, buttoning and zipping them around my waist. They’re perfectly tailored, like they were made for me and not pulled off the rack at a store as they must have been.
“They told me.” They raise both their brows, their bright-blue eyes boring into mine with implication .
“They wanted you to know,” I state and pull the sweater over my head.
“Exactly.” They turn to study an expressionist painting of two men struggling to pull up a net full of fish with a crimson sun shining behind them. It features a bold color palette, the men drawn in blocky shapes, the fish blue and pink. “A threat is only as good as the weight behind it.”
“Jesus.” I tug my hair out from under the collar. It falls down my back in slightly frizzy waves. I wish I had my leave-in conditioner. “Very different from home.”
Pat rolls onto their elbow to look at me. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” A shower and a change of luxury clothes has lifted my mood considerably. Especially after the debacle that was this morning. It’s entirely unfair how little I affect Tamayo while the simple observation of her veined hands around a mug of coffee can make my mouth water and my core clench. Fucking ridiculous.
I survey myself in the floor-length mirror propped against the wall. The room Darius led me to last night is simple, like an elevated hotel room with distinctly Southeast Asian artwork and basic furnishings. Thankfully, there’s an en suite bathroom with a clawfoot tub and a plethora of bath salts, which I took full advantage of this morning after I left Tamayo in the kitchen.
I smooth the sweater, which leaves a sliver of my stomach showing. It’s a good day outfit, but it won’t do for the Council. I sift through the clothes again, favoring the dresses at the end of the rack. She went all out. There are bags lining the floor marked Cartier, Christian Dior, Louboutin, and more. I wonder if Tamayo hand-picked each piece, though I can’t imagine she has the time. At least, she shouldn’t.
Pat rolls to lie on their side, head propped on the heel of their palm. They watch as I sort through, considering and rejecting option after option. “What’s the plan, then? ”
“You were there last night.”
“Come on, tell me what you’re scheming.”
My eyes flick to the door.
They get the hint, peeking into the hallway before pushing it shut and leaning against it. “I wish we had music.”
I pull out an emerald dress and hold it up against my chest. Too bright. I replace it on the rack.
“So?” Pat prompts.
“The plan is to figure out a way to save the family without marrying Marcus Ass-cardi.”
They snort. “And how are we gonna do that?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I take the hard drive out of my purse and hold it out to them. “But this will help.”
“What is it?” They take it gingerly, as if it might explode in their hands.
I pull out a longer dress, more casual than the last, and immediately replace it. “The Gallo ledgers off Mother’s computer.”
Pat’s eyes bug out of their head. “And you brought this here?” they whisper-scold.
“I need to understand how we got into so much trouble.” To the point my parents don’t think we can even keep the South without a merger.
“You think the answer is in here?” They regard the hard drive with skepticism.
I grab a gold dress. The hem is short, and the fabric shimmers with the light. It’s cut low in the back, but the neckline hides most of my cleavage. Tasteful. I hang it so it faces outward on the rack. “We have three months to figure it out.”
“Do we, though?” Pat counters.
“The Capones and the Falcones will side with us. They don’t want a Gallo-Accardi merger.” I refuse to call it a marriage. “It’d put them at too much risk and cut their power in half. ”
Pat tucks the hard drive back into my purse. “That won’t buy you more than a month, and you know that.”
I chew my lip. “I know.”
“You two will need to schmooze your asses off.” They lean against the door again, brows high.
“I know.”
They continue as if I haven’t spoken, as if they’re not parroting my own thoughts back to me. “Even if the Council favors you tonight, they won’t lift a finger against any Cardinal Family if Tamayo or her people are hurt.”
“They will if I’m hurt.”
They shoot me a sardonic look. “What, are you gonna follow Tamayo around for three months just in case she’s attacked?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I dig through the clothes on the rack, searching for a skirt-blouse combo.
They cross their arms. “Good, ’cause I wouldn’t have let you.”
“What is it with people thinking they allow me to do anything?” I grumble.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.” I shoot them an affectionate smile. “Thanks for always protecting me.”
“Even when you’re stupid,” they amend.
I laugh. “Like last night?”
“If by last night, you mean always, then yes.”
I shake my head, holding up a wine-colored leather pencil skirt next to a black turtleneck. “It’s out of consideration for you, really—wouldn’t want you to get bored.”
“So, you just walk straight into danger and wave your tiny arms around”—they act out their words, making an expression like they’re wearing stupidity on their face—“like you’re hailing a helicopter and not a bullet?”
I swing the hanger, smacking them with the leather skirt. “They’re not tiny! I have normal-sized arms. ”
“You’re tiny , Z.” They hold their thumb and pointer finger a hair’s breadth apart. “Tiny.”
“Well, you’re freakishly long,” I grouse.
“Thank you.” They preen like a fucking non-binary peafowl, which I imagine as far more colorful than a dandy male peacock. “I worked really hard to grow taller than you.”
I kick at their knees. “I will throw myself in front of a bullet just to spite you.”
They dodge my assault easily. “Seriously, the tiniest and stupidest.”
I lurch forward, intending to climb their back like a koala and make them submit. I get an arm around their neck the moment a knock sounds on the door. We both freeze.
“Off.” They smack my arm, but I just cling tighter. “Zarina!”
“Come in!” I call as I scramble up their back.
The door swings open slowly, as if the person on the other side is unsure they’re actually welcome. Tamayo peeks around the edge at the same time I wrap my legs around Pat’s waist, a claw grasping their perfect bun.
Pat clamps a hand around my wrist. “If you pull, I swear to god, Z?—”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Tamayo leans a hip against the door frame, one hand in her slacks pocket, a barely suppressed smile dancing on her lips. She seems both amused and exasperated at the same time.
“No, you’re not,” Pat and I say at the same time with clashing tones. I’m cheery. Pat’s annoyed.
“True. I’m not,” Tamayo says.
“Well?” I prompt.
She holds up a piece of paper, the wax seal of the Council heavy on the edge. “We have a summons.”
“And?” I readjust my grip on Pat’s hair, and they huff.
Tamayo sucks her lips between her teeth to stop her smile. It has the same affect her usual unbothered air has on me—I want to make her lose control. I want to see that smile spread wide again, like this morning.
“Sunset tomorrow,” she says. “The usual place.”
I frown. “Mother won’t like that.”
“You’ll need this.” Tamayo pulls her hand out of her pocket, a black velvet box in her palm. She holds it out to me, and I can only stare. I know what’s inside. There’s no mistaking that box, what it means. What it should mean.
My grip loosens on Pat, and they catch my weight lest I tumble to the floor. I slide to my feet and step forward on shaky legs, plucking the box from Tamayo’s hand. It’s heavy. As heavy as the weight of disappointment that’s been sitting on my chest since I snuck out of my childhood bedroom last night.
Tamayo stuffs her hand back in her pocket, but not before I catch her stretch it out as if it might cramp. She grabs the door handle, retreating into the hall, but she pauses. I don’t look up, eyes stuck on the box in my hand.
“Wear the gold dress,” she says. “It matches your eyes.”