Page 65 of Sapphires and Snakes
“I don’t know what you mean.” They try for exasperation.
“Oh, really?” I cross my arms. “So you’re not flirting with Angela? You know, short, combat boots, bob so sharp it could cut through bone.”
Pat looks anywhere but at me. “We’ve texted.”
“You’re such a masochist.” I grin at them, indulging in this moment of normal between us, a bubble that will burst the moment we open the door again.
“And she’s a sadist.” They return my grin. “It’s a match made in heaven.”
“Or hell, depending on your morals.”
Pat’s grin turns wicked, and they waggle their brows.
“Gross.” I smack their arm, and we both laugh, though it’s muted to keep our voices contained within these four walls. I glance in the mirror, my inappropriate black dress a glaring reminder of the stakes tonight, tomorrow.
My face drops, and I lean over the counter to check my makeup, anything to keep the fear from rising up and smothering me. “Has Angela said anything about…”
“No.” Pat sobers. “She thinks it’s a betrayal to talk about her like that.”
I wrinkle my nose at that, holding my hand out for my lipstick. “Such self-righteousness for a sadist.”
Pat drops the tube in my palm, their pockets often my purse at these type of events. “Don’t act like you and I wouldn’t do the same for each other.”
“But we’re best friends.” I sweep the color across my lips, painting them scarlet again.
Pat throws me a pointed look through the mirror.
The wrinkle in my nose remains. “Angela doesn’t have friends.”
“Zarina,” Pat chastises.
“Ugh, fine.” Pat can be their friend, or whatever. I’m not threatened one bit. “But I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t care.”
“How are we best friends again?” I grumble.
They shake their head and accept the lipstick again, replacing it in their pocket as I turn off the water, armor replaced and ready to face the gauntlet in the conservatory tonight.
And tomorrow, the final battle that will determine the trajectory of the rest of my life.
TAMAYO
Last time I entered Saint Christopher’s, it was to hoodwink the Council into believing Zarina and I were engaged. We walked down this aisle hand-in-hand as a handful of white men watched us, took our measure. I stood beside her while she convinced the Council to support us rather than the Accardis and her own family. I watched as she disappeared in their eyes the moment my claim was accepted.
Now, as I kneel before the crucifix and cross my heart, I’m alone. The candles are lit, and both Jimmy and David stand to the side, rather than sit in the pews. They’re still taking my measure. David’s face passing over the edge to sour. Jimmy’s impassive, hazel eyes taking in every detail.
I rise to my feet and slip my hands into my pockets as I slink into the shadows. I don’t have a feral princess at my side, her waist waiting for the comforting weight of my hand. Instead, she’s at home, preparing for the circus show scheduled for this evening. The ceremony is meant to take place at the Gallo estate, kept small, and the reception held at the most expensive hotel in town. Considering it’s owned by Alonso Accardi certainly cut down on costs.
Speak of the devil.
Alonso and Riccardo stride through the heavy double doors, thrown wide open. G, Riccardo’s guard, swings them closed as his charge continues down the aisle toward us. My stomach clinches tight with nerves. So much rides on this meeting, not least of which is the realization of a decade of my life’s work. It hardly seems real. But I don’t have time to give the moment the veneration it deserves. Not with Riccardo and Alonso kneeling at Jesus’s feet as Jimmy and David stand front and center while I lean against a column lining the nave.
Here we go.
Alonso rises from his knees first, face already wary and annoyed. “What is this? We haven’t called an emergency Council meeting in years.”
Jimmy lowers his chin in agreement, eyes on Riccardo’s carefully blank face. “Not since the Russos.”
