“An hour or two,” Zeta says. “We just need to stop the bleeding long enough to get us to the Races. Once we’re there, the talk won’t be about the way you look. It’ll be about how you ride.”
You know that’s not entirely true, but no point correcting Zeta now. She’s done her job. It’s time for you to do yours. “Set up the interview,” you say. “Let’s get it over with.”
The interview’s arranged, and brief. You recite the memorized script, and Zeta’s plan sets everything into flawless motion. As you sit in your room, alone for the first time all day, the talking heads hound representatives of the Empire Board about sexism. Ten minutes pass without your name on anyone’s lips, and that’s the freest you’ve felt all day.
Until your burner phone vibrates. It’s from the phone you gave Bravos a few weeks ago.
finally, they’ve stopped spitting out these lies about you. so sorry, love. i’ve been stuck in interviews all day. left my burner phone at home. But I love you. The plan’s still the plan, right? Call me later.
You’re so thankful to read his words, to know that he’s not mad, that you start typing a response. But halfway through the first sentence you remember the rules. Always ten minutes between texts. Hackers will catch quick signal bursts if the two of you aren’t careful. If other competitors know you’re teaming up, strategies will change. You want to keep the damage control to a minimum. Dinner and your parents are waiting downstairs, but you sit there in bed, the burner phone clutched to your chest, until the ten minutes pass.
you ARE my plan. I’ll call in a few hours.
You descend the marble steps. The hall is silent, except for the occasional clatter of silverware. Dividian butlers move in and out of the dining room. One holds the door open as you approach and offers a wide smile. Mother and Father are already seated at the crystalline dining table. You’re expecting to be scolded, but they both look up with smiles of their own. The table is big enough to seat thirty, but it’s just the three of you tonight. You take your seat across from Mother, who sparkles in her eveningwear. Father’s looking fine, too, in his charcoal suit.
You remember they’re attending a play tonight.
“A little late, Pippa.”
“Sorry, Father. I had an interview arranged. I wanted to watch the responses.”
He nods. “I’m certain Zeta has everything sorted out.”
“She has. All I have to do now is win.”
“That’s the easy part,” he replies with a smile.
Mother’s more sympathetic. “It’s not the easy part. It’s the hardest part, but you think like me and you ride like him. If it wasn’t illegal, I’d throw a few thousand legions down on you.”
Father offers a roguish smile. “Who says I haven’t already done just that?”
You can’t help but smile. You love it when they joke. A butler sets a plate in front of you. Flamed merepeck, encircled by roasted greens and dappled in a boiled rose sauce. It’s the first thing you’ve eaten since breakfast, and gods is it better than the rest of your day. You catch your mother winking at your father. You’ll never get tired of seeing how in love they are.
“Tell me the story of how you met again.”
It’s always been your favorite, because it never gets old. Besides, you’re still fighting the butterflies Bravos gave you just by sending a text. In a way, you’ve always held your romances up to theirs. For the first time, it feels like you have something that can stand its ground, because for once you’re actually in love with someone who feels worthy.
Father laughs. “Well, I was in my room, going through my morning routine.”
“Late for class,” Mother corrects. “He was in a dorm that should have been empty. I volunteered that year to help with the gardens around the property. One of them was just outside the men’s dormitory. Some of the windows…looked into the baths.”
You love how Mother always blushes at this part and how loud Father always laughs.
“A fact that’s always made me curious,” he says.
Mother raises a single, perfect eyebrow. “It helped clarify the claims of hopeful suitors.”
You groan at that confession. “Mother.”
She laughs, which makes you laugh. You don’t ask what needed clarification.
“So there I was,” Father says. “Wearing only my long underwear and my riding cap. Shirtless and shaving in front of a mirror. I’d gone to the sink nearest the window, because it was just so stuffy that day. I opened it a tick and started. Wanted to look fresh for class.”
“To make up for how late you were?” Mother asks.
“Exactly,” he replies. “And then I heard this noise. I swear, the blade almost slipped across my neck and ended me, then and there. I turned, though, and there was this beautiful woman at the window. It was so unexpected. I couldn’t think of anything to say. So instead, I turned to her, tipped my cap in that old-fashioned way, and went back to shaving.
“And though this next part is unproven, I believe your mother stood there and stared a little longer, because she liked what she was seeing. Certainly, accounts of the event differ.”
Mother shakes her head. “I ran, Marcos. You know I ran.”
“But you couldn’t run forever,” he adds, smiling. “When I submitted my name for the Races, she was the clerk working the Empire Board’s front office. I handed her my papers and when I realized who she was, I just sort of went speechless in front of her.”
“You should have seen his reaction.” Mother laughs. “It was adorable.”
“I asked her on a date. You know what she said, Pippa?”
Of course you know, because this is your favorite story.
“She said she didn’t date riders.”
Father nods. “And I asked, ‘Not even if you’ve seen them half naked?’ She reconsidered after that. We went for drinks at the Beguiler. She told me she was glad I was entering the Races that year, because she planned on winning them the next. I remember laughing, but gods, you should have seen just how serious she was. I knew then and there I’d marry her.”
They smile at each other again. You and Bravos met at a bar, so you won’t have some classy shaving story to tell your children, but you think it’s more than enough that they’ll see the two of you smile at one another like your parents are smiling at one another now. You’re so hopeful for that future that you ask the one question you’ve always been too afraid to ask.