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When I embrace her, I feel how small she is, how delicate and dainty.Dwarfed in my embrace, she has to stand on the tips of her toes.
“I remember when I could hold you with one hand,” she says, laughing. “And now look at you. I’d bet you eat bricks for breakfast.” She pulls away, smiling sadly. “I’ll leave you now and I’m sorry to come unannounced.”
“Take a guard with you home.” I beckon for one of my men to come. “Drive her home.”
I’d drive her myself if I didn’t have Cosette in the other room.
On her way out, she looks over her shoulder at me, her gaze thoughtful. “Lyam, did you see what Montague said on the news?”
I grumble and shove my hands in my pockets. “I did.”
She stands in the doorway, tugging on her gloves one at a time. “Should I be concerned?”
I shake my head. “Of course not.” I repeat what Philippe said earlier. “We all know the politicians are more corrupt than we are.”
“Still, I worry,” she says thoughtfully.
“Don’t. You have nothing to worry about. Go, buy some clothes for the new baby. I’m sure Savannah’s already started the nursery.”
Maman rolls her eyes at me. “As if I haven’t started shopping yet. Good night, Lyam.”
I wait until my mother’s gone.
She has a tender heart. That means in front of her, I’m cognizant of who she is and how she feels. But when she’s gone, all bets are off.
She doesn’t know what I do, and she doesn’t have to.
I’m here for a reason. I have a code to follow. And Maman goes home safe tonight because of that.
Jacques looks at me. Waiting for me to dismiss him for the night.
“You can go,” I tell him. “Philippe won’t be back tonight.”
“Is there anything else you’ll need this evening, sir?”
I shake my head. “Nothing I can’t get myself, thanks.”
When he leaves, I remember the nip Philippe gave me. I pull it out of my pocket and twist the top off. I polish it off in two gulps, welcoming the warmth and burn of the whiskey. It’s smoother than I expect. I look at the label. Bastille. Good stuff.
I sit until the whole house is quiet.
I remember Montague’s promise to rid the city of the scum and shake my head. The irony is rich.
I pull out my phone and look at the screen. I half expect Cosette to be asleep, but when I see her, she’s standing at the window, peering out. She looks so small, so innocent and frail.
Her tray of food sits on the desk. Untouched.
I wonder why she hasn’t eaten.
Only the weak need to hurt those who are vulnerable.
The reason the vulnerable are safe to begin with is becausesomeoneis willing to hurt those that threaten their safety.
I stand and whip the mini bottle into the waste bin. It hits the side and shatters.
I shake my head.
Pacifism is the privilege of the protected.
