Chapter 15 #2
The women corner Sabine after dinner.
Physically.
They take her into the library under the pretense of champagne.
The door closes.
I look at it.
Drew sits beside me.
“You're not going in there.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“No.”
“You're worried.”
“No.”
“They're asking about sex.”
I turn slowly.
He smiles.
“Now you're worried.”
“Isa tells you too much.”
“Isa tells me nothing. I understand women.”
Through the closed door, Isa says, “No, you don't.”
Drew points toward her.
“See? Chemistry.”
Vale pours another drink.
Kane takes the chair opposite us.
Leo stays suspiciously near the library door.
I look at him.
“You too?”
“My wife is in there.”
“She's interrogating mine.”
“Exactly.”
Drew sighs happily.
“This is what Christmas is about.”
Kane looks toward him.
“Women discussing us?”
“Being important enough to discuss.”
Isa walks past and kisses the top of his head. Apparently leaving the conclave to retrieve more vino.
“You're very secure.”
“I know.”
She keeps walking.
Drew watches her until she disappears.
Sabine was right.
Completely hooked.
He catches me looking.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Fuck off, Blackwell.”
I smile into my Scotch.
The women emerge forty minutes later.
Sabine is pink.
Not drunk.
Embarrassed.
Interesting.
Her eyes find mine immediately.
I stand.
Drew whispers, “Sordid details.”
She hears him.
“Not all of them.”
I nearly choke.
Drew slaps my shoulder.
“MY GIRL.”
“She is not your girl.”
“My bestie.”
“No.”
Sabine comes to me.
I put my arm around her waist.
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Strategist.”
“What did they ask?”
Her mouth curves.
“Everything.”
“And?”
“Some secrets belong in NULL.”
That answer does strange things to me.
I lean closer.
“What happens in NULL doesn't technically qualify as a secret anymore.”
Her eyes darken.
“Want me to test that theory later?”
Drew makes a gagging noise.
“Never mind. I hate married people.”
“You started this,” I remind him.
“I know. Greatest regret of my life.”
Isa calls his name.
He immediately leaves.
Sabine watches him go.
“Hooked.”
“Completely.”
She smiles.
Then I take her hand.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Christmas.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“I thought this was Christmas.”
“This is chaos.”
“Fair.”
I lead her away.
Leo's study is quieter.
One tree.
No tinsel.
Whoever decorated this room demonstrated restraint.
I shut the doors behind us.
Sabine looks around.
“Are you hiding from your friends?”
“Yes.”
“Coward.”
“Come here.”
She does.
The first gift is small.
Very small.
Black velvet box.
She eyes it suspiciously.
“You already gave me a ring.”
“This isn't another one.”
“Good. I only have ten fingers.”
I hand her the box.
She opens it.
For once, Sabine has no immediate response.
That's rare enough that I enjoy it.
A thin white-gold chain lies against black velvet.
At its center hangs a miniature London Bridge.
Delicate.
Almost architectural.
The railings, towers and tiny suspension details picked out in white gold.
Small diamonds trace the bridge lights.
Not enough to make it gaudy.
Enough to catch every movement.
Sabine touches it with one fingertip.
“Xavier.”
“Turn it over.”
She does.
On the back, microscopic engraving.
Two words.
STILL HERE.
Her eyes fill instantly.
Fuck.
I didn't mean to make her cry.
She looks up.
“You had this made.”
“Yes.”
“London Bridge.”
“Where you didn't meet me.”
She laughs through the first tear.
“I was there.”
“I know now.”
“I watched you wait.”
“Ninety-seven minutes.”
“You counted.”
“I was irritated.”
“You were heartbroken.”
“I had never met you.”
“Exactly.”
I take the necklace from the box.
She turns without being asked.
I brush her hair aside.
My fingers touch the back of her neck.
Her skin warms beneath them.
I fasten the clasp.
The tiny bridge settles against her chest.
Sabine looks down.
Touches it.
“This is beautiful.”
“Good.”
“Too expensive.”
“Probably.”
Her eyes narrow.
“How many diamonds?”
“Enough.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Christmas.”
She turns back toward me.
“I don't have yours yet.”
“You married me.”
She blinks.
“That was disgustingly romantic.”
“I know.”
“Who are you?”
“Temporary malfunction.”
She rises onto her toes and kisses me.
Soft.
Warm.
Then again.
When she pulls back, her hand stays at my neck.
“Thank you.”
“You haven't seen the other one.”
She freezes.
“There is another?”
“Yes.”
“You're impossible.”
“I've been told.”
The second gift requires opening the study door.
Two Blackwell security men wheel in a black equipment case large enough that Sabine immediately becomes suspicious.
“What did you buy?”
“Technically several things.”
“Xavier.”
The men leave.
I open the case.
Her entire face changes.
There.
That's the reaction I wanted.
Inside is a modular quantum-development workstation built around Blackwell's newest experimental photonic processor.
Not a room-sized quantum computer.
Not the laboratory monstrosities most people imagine.
This is a self-contained research platform designed for hybrid computation—classical processing paired with a low-error photonic quantum coprocessor, secure development hardware, reconfigurable logic boards and enough custom silicon to keep Sabine occupied for months.
Several sealed cases sit beside it.
Prototype chips.
Hardware security modules.
FPGA boards.
Two neuromorphic processors.
A ridiculous amount of memory.
An isolated encrypted storage array.