“How would you like her to hold you?” Delilah gleefully chuckles at my expense.
“Hilarious.”
Taylor is focused, absorbing every word Santa is saying. She’s filing away every syllable, every gesture, analyzing every upward and downward inflection in his tone. Storing it away in her archives. More computer than woman, but no one can deny their humanity for long. It will burst from her one of these days, and maybe I’ll see that moment of passion or weakness I told Faith about.
“What was Taylor like?” I ask suddenly. “What was she like before this? Before the missions, before Hunter was taken?”
Delilah watches the young woman with unabashed affection. “Not so different. Stubborn, loyal, gifted in the art of avoiding fun.” She offers a grim smile. “There was a bit more light. Hunter was able to drag Taylor from her brooding.”
“And Hunter? What’s she like?”
“Charming and funny, with a chip on her shoulder all her own.” She heaves a sigh as she watches Taylor demonstrate the science of an imploded building to a pair of rapt but uneasy leaders. I watch her too. “Hunter and Taylor were born into service, raised on a diet of propaganda. That carries its own weight, and its own resistance.”
“Taylor doesn’t appear to have resisted it much.”
“No?” Delilah faces the room. “If this rebellion has taught me anything, it’s that resistance takes many forms. Resistance is not the grand rebellion, or the big wars alone. Resistance is one thousand little rebellions. Fighting, stealing, whispering secrets. Perhaps absconding from a ballroom with an oblivious heiress.”
“That’s not resistance. That was an accident.”
Delilah smirks and squeezes my shoulder. “What are accidents, but fate without hindsight?”
After the meeting concludes and plans drawn up, preparations for Delilah’s party begin in a whirlwind. Decorations and food and entertainment flood the hotel for hours, a state of disarray Taylor ignores by holing herself up in her room. I, however, spend my time in the kitchen with the chefs, watching them work. Incredible, complex, and tasty dishes born of empty pots and pans move seamlessly from the imaginations of the chefs to the tables. I only look away when they skin the rabbits. Otherwise, it’s magic.
Diligent workers decorate a ballroom so enormous it puts my ballroom back home to shame. Above us, the ceilings are sixty, maybe seventy feet high—domed, gilded, and painted in Renaissance style like the Sistine Chapel. Numerous chandeliers toss prismatic light across the walls and along the freshly waxed hardwood floor.
It’s already nearing nine at night when I return to my room. Delilah provided dress options for me, the styles equal parts beautiful and risqué. Pathetically, I spend much of my deliberation wondering which one Taylor would like best, and decide on a baby blue number with a plunging neckline. They even brought me jewelry, and as I happily finger through the lovely gemstones, there’s a knock at the door between the rooms.
“Lucy, may I come in?”
“If I say yes and I’m naked in here, how mad will you be?”
“Lucy,” she groans.
“I’m decent, come in.” Upon turning to the door, I find not a uniformed soldier, but the woman from the ball. No amount of saliva-swallowing can moisten my dry mouth.
She watches me watch her with a glossy pink lip tucked between her teeth. “Faith insisted on doing my hair andmakeup,” she blurts out. “It was our compromise because I did not want to wear a dress, due to the restriction of movement.”
“Why? Who’s flying through the skylight tonight?”
“No one. But I must always be prepared,” she says, and I nod indulgently and secure a bracelet around my wrist. “Anyway, doing my makeup was very important to her. I thought it was harmless. I am having regrets.”
A grin grows on my face as I take a step back to take in her appearance. “Well, she did a pretty good job, though I’d have gone lighter. You’re naturally gorgeous, so normally you want to go light and accentuate the beauty already there.”
“Oh.” Even under her tan skin, the blushing blooms on her cheeks and rushes down her neck. “That’s…thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So, what can I do for you?”
“I don’t know how to tie a tie,” she admits in a sheepish grumble, lamely holding the tie out in her hands. “Faith left before I could ask her to help me. I thought you might know how.”
“I do. Who did it for you before the ball?”
She hands the fabric to me. It’s a beautiful silk tie in a light blue matching my dress. “Mason. He picked out the suit too.”
I pop her collar and loop the tie around her neck. “He’s got impeccable taste. It looked amazing on you.”
Taylor’s eyes flit up, then back down at my hands. “He was proud of himself, and jealous he didn’t get to come with me.” She is a rare picture of vulnerability as she peers down at her outfit. It’s a lovely woman’s suit, expertly tailored against her body. Her shirt is a crisp white, covered halfway by an onyx blazer.
“So, never a dress, huh?”
