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Victoria moves up next to me, her eyes on the door. “Well, that’s that,” she says. “Let’s get back to work. ”
“Okay,” I say, my voice small but steady. For all intents and purposes, I’ve just watched three men die. It was not as difficult as it should have been.
I’m passing the secluded edge of the park on my way home when Callie steps out from behind a tree and loops her arm through mine. I’m not even that surprised, but I pull away all the same.
“What is the deal with you and Dad lately?” I say. “Always lurking. ”
“Calm down,” Callie says, rolling her eyes. “Dad doesn’t even know I’m here. ”
“Why are you here?”
“You seemed a little off the other day,” Callie says, falling into step beside me. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. ”
I snort. Callie has been a lot of things to me over the years—confidante, teacher, torturer, but nurturer has rarely been on the list. “What do you really want?”
“God, you’re prickly,” Callie says, probably annoyed that I’m stepping into territory she usually occupies.
I stop and stare at her, arms folded across my chest.
“Okay,” Callie says, mimicking my pose. “I want to know what’s going on with you and Bishop Lattimer. ”
“What do you mean?” I ignore the way my pulse increases at her words, my palms suddenly slick with sweat.
“You were acting weird the other day. ” Callie shrugs. “Reluctant or something. ”
“You mean reluctant to kill someone?” I ask. “Pardon me if I’m not jumping for joy. ” My voice has an edge to it, one Callie must hear, too, because she takes a step closer to me.
“Oh, grow up, Ivy. Did you actually think any of this would be easy?” Her voice cracks against me like a whip. “Anything worth fighting for…worth having…is difficult. There are always going to be casualties of war. ” She studies my face for a long moment. I try to keep my expression blank, but just like it’s been since we were children, she reads me in an instant.
She points at me, her finger coming millimeters away from stabbing me in the middle of the chest. “Do you…do you like him?” She sounds horrified, disgusted, like I’ve eaten a handful of worms or slept in my own vomit.
I look away, willing my heart to calm down. A warm breeze rustles the trees above our heads, blowing a tangle of hair into my eyes. I push it back impatiently. “I don’t have to like someone to not be okay with killing him. ”
“You know how important his death is to our success,” Callie says. “If his father dies, Bishop steps right into power. Nothing changes. They both have to go. You know that. ”
“I don’t think he’s like his father. He—”
“I don’t care,” Callie says, voice ice cold. “I don’t care what he’s like. And you shouldn’t, either. You’re selfish if you do. You’re going to put what you feel, what you want, before what’s best for our family? Before what’s best for everyone?” She grabs my forearm, her fingers digging trenches between the tendons. “After all these years, our family is finally close to being in control. Do you not get that?”
“Yes, I get that. ” I pry her hand off my arm, bending her fingers back as I do. “I saw three men put out today,” I say through clenched teeth. “Do you even care? Isn’t that the sort of thing we’re supposed to be fighting against?”
Callie’s eyebrows snap together. “What are you talking about?”
I shake my head at her, all the anger draining out of me. I shrug, my whole body lifeless and so tired. “Forget it. ”
“Whatever’s going on with you,” Callie says, “you need to remember who you are. Fast. It’s us against them. ” She grabs my hand, but this time her grip is gentle. Her voice is soft as she says, “We’re your family. We love you. We’re the ones who would do anything for you. Don’t forget it. ”
“I never do,” I say. It’s hard to speak around the burning knot of tears in my throat.
Callie gives my hand one final squeeze. “You have to do this, Ivy, or everything falls apart. Think how proud Dad will be when it’s over. ” She gives me a little smile and takes a few steps backward, eyes still on mine. “Don’t make Bishop Lattimer more important than he is. He wouldn’t do the same for you. ”
I stay on the sidewalk for a long time after she’s gone. Is it still manipulation if you know it’s happening, but it works anyway?
I wake when it’s dark outside. I lay on my back, my eyes cloudy with sleep, and try to figure out what woke me. At first there’s nothing, only the faint sound of birds outside the window, the whir of the ceiling fan above my head. I’m about to roll over and try to get a little more sleep when I hear it again, the sound of a kitchen cabinet closing. It’s earlier than Bishop is usually up and he’s trying hard to be quiet. I can tell because the sounds coming from the kitchen are careful, the tread of his feet light.
I startle him when I appear in the kitchen doorway, still rubbing sleep from my eyes. Belatedly, I realize I’m dressed only in a tank top and my underpants, but I guess it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, given the bikini I wore to the river. “What are you doing?” I ask.
He is wearing a T-shirt and shorts, his hair unruly from sleep. His eyes skim over my bare legs then rise to my face. I manage not to blush. “Nothing,” he says. He’s not trying to hide the open backpack on the counter, but I can tell he doesn’t want me to notice it, either. “It’s early. You can go back to bed if you want. ”
