31 #2
“Yeah,” he says, wariness in his eyes. “Of course.”
“I’ll keep him entertained,” my mom promises.
“You sure?”
“Yes, you go,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”
“Thanks,” I say, and then I follow my dad to his study.
He closes the door and crosses the room, setting his drink on the desk and then leaning on the edge to face me.
I’m surprised by how steady I feel in his presence.
I’m still nervous, but I’m not reacting the way I normally do.
The racing pulse. Shaking limbs. That strange, hollow, floating sensation.
It’s a welcome relief. A reminder that I’m healing and that I’m stronger than I think.
“Your mother insisted that we invite you tonight,” he says, getting straight to the point. “But you still chose to pledge to House Aria, and nothing has really changed.”
I exhale a short breath. I knew this would be the case. Maybe for a minute I forgot. Maybe for a minute I hoped we could move past this—even let myself believe we could.
“Right.”
“You still refuse to marry Knox?” he asks.
“I thought he was engaged.”
“Engagements can be broken. As you’re well aware.”
My teeth grind together. “Yes. I still refuse.”
He blinks, clearly displeased. “You brought High Commander Athira’s son to my home. You asked me to protect this Solitude. What is the nature of his presence in your life?”
“I love him,” I say without hesitation, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice.
My father grunts, like I’ve kicked him in the stomach.
“You’ve fallen in love with a Solitude. Don’t you remember your aunt?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t. I never met her. All I know is what I feel, and just because things went wrong for her doesn’t mean they’ll be that way for me. Rook is kind and good and honorable.”
“He isn’t like you, Poet.”
“But he is,” I say. “He’s more like me than I ever imagined. He’s not what I’ve been taught.” I stop, stare at him. “Did you know?” I ask.
“Know . . . what?”
“That they’re . . . that we’re being lied to?”
“Poet,” he says sharply. “Do not say such things within these walls.”
He’s shaken. I can see it. He reaches toward his glass and takes a long sip of his whisky, but it does nothing to hide the tremble in his hand.
My father is never afraid of anything.
I take a step closer. “You knew about Raine,” I say, and his gaze cuts to mine. “And me.” My voice drops so low that I’m mouthing the words.
He shakes his head and looks around the room as if someone’s listening, and it occurs to me that maybe they are.
“I need to talk to you,” I say.
His gaze bores into mine. Not here. Not now.
“When?” I ask another whispered question.
He wants to deny me. I read it in the shift of his gaze. He tried to protect me, but he still wants nothing to do with me.
“Dad,” I say, refusing to be deterred.
“I will contact you.”
We stare at each other, and I desperately want to press him, but all I can do is nod. Fine. I guess I’ll have to settle for that for now.
“Where does this leave us?” I ask, louder this time. “Do you still have a daughter?”
His shoulders tense before he takes another sip of his drink.
“You could still pledge to Fiama,” he replies. “It wouldn’t be ideal, but it could help smooth the way for us.”
“What would be the point in that?” I ask. “Everyone would know it’s a lie.”
His jaw clenches while he drains his glass, never taking his eyes off me.
“Besides, I’m happy in Aria,” I say. “I’ve made friends. I’m comfortable. There’s nothing for me in Fiama.”
“Just your mother and me.”
I nod. “Just that, but you can make the choice to let me in.”
“It’s what your mother wants.”
“I want it, too.”
“The Shield won’t like it,” he says. “This is not how it’s supposed to be.”
A weariness settles into his voice.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I want your mother to be happy.” I find that a little hard to believe, but the sentiment feels genuine. “And that means allowing you back into our lives.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say. “I know you don’t believe that, but I never meant for this to tear us apart. You just . . . wouldn’t listen to me.”
I won’t take all the blame for this.
“They’re planning a leadership vote,” he says, clearly deflecting my comment. “My authority has been called into question.”
This is exactly what he was afraid of.
“I’m . . .” I stop. I was about to apologize, but for some reason, I can’t make the words come out. Maybe it’s because I’m finally realizing that I did nothing wrong. And I’m not sorry.
My father studies me, then slowly dips his chin.
“Thank you for coming,” he says.
I guess that’s all I’m getting for tonight. I’ll hold him to his promise to contact me, no matter how annoying I have to be.
“I did it for Mom. Not you. That’s the only reason I’m here.”
His mouth presses together into a thin line. “I know.”
“Okay, well, I guess you can decide if I see her again. Seems really fair.”
He narrows his eyes. But when he says nothing else, I turn around and leave, finding Rook and my mom in the living room. It sounds like Rook is telling her about Storm Guard training.
They both look up expectantly when I enter.
“Poet?” my mom says, her arched brows suggesting she has some idea of what my father and I were discussing.
“Thanks for having us, Mom,” I say, walking over and kissing her on the cheek. “It was nice to see you.”
“Of course,” she says. “Will I see you again?”
She looks so hopeful that I can’t stand the idea of breaking her heart. I don’t care what my father decides—he isn’t taking her from me.
“Yes, Mom. I promise.” Then I pull away. “We should go. Curfew is soon.”
Rook pushes up from the sofa and dips at the waist. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Graves.”
“Sariah,” she says. “Please, I insist.”
“Sariah,” Rook repeats, clearly uncomfortable but humoring her request.
After another round of goodbyes, we enter the elevator and make our way to the ground floor, stepping out into the cool night.
Clouds flash on the distant horizon, but the storm is still hours away.
“Let’s go,” I say, heading toward the docks to take us back to Amery. Rook snags my wrist and tugs me against him.
“Not so fast. It’s your birthday, and we need to celebrate.”
“Oh,” I say. “It’s not a big deal. I promise. I’m not one of those birthday people.”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. You deserve to be celebrated, Poet Graves. Let’s go.”