Page 32 of Roma Queen
“I don’t know. Cooking? Story telling?”
A cheeky glint brightens her eyes even further. “Babysitting?”
I nearly choke on my own tongue. “Might be a little early to be thinking about that.”
“Eh.” Connie waves me off with a flick of her wrist. “All right. Well, you just let me know.” She trundles off, and, to my utter surprise and disbelief, four more people add a stone to the small collection I have going on my hands before anyone else votes for Shelta.
Patrin’s turn comes around, and he growls incoherently as he dumps a rock into my hands. “Better not fuck this up,” he mutters. “Shelta’s going to skin me alive if she wins this thing. I hope you know that,Rom Baro.”
And it’s as if Patrin uttering these words opens a flood gate within the camp. Each clan member who steps forward steps to me instead of my mother’s bowl, and the same words are uttered each time.
“For you, Rom Baro.”
“Baksheesh, Rom Baro.”
“Blessings, Rom Baro.”
“Luck, Rom Baro.”
Cleo openly weeps as she places her vote in my hands and kisses me on the cheek. The line begins to dwindle, and something fucking terrifying happens. Suddenly, my hands are fuckingfull.
Every time someone new steps forward, they have to precariously balance their rock on top of the pile I’m struggling to contain in my cupped hands, and…and I don’t know how to fucking deal with it. I feel like my chest is being cracked open. After all of it. After me leaving, and not looking back…
Here they are, still willing to take a chance on me.
The last person to gingerly place their rock on top of the others in my hands is Archie. He winks, wagging his index finger at me the way a co-conspirator would. “That girl’s smarter than you. Just you remember that. Women like her are dangerous to men like us. It’s the hair. Redder than murder. Redder than passion. It confuddles our minds.”
Once he’s gone, I look down at my hands, and then I take a look at Shelta’s bowl, which contains barely a quarter of the votes that are currently tumbling from in between my fingers. There’s no need to count. No need to trouble ourselves with the math. Some part of me would like to revel in the exact number, to know precisely how many votes I beat her by, but a larger part of me doesn’t give a flying fuck.
It’s over.
It’s done.
I won.
Sarah’s going to be safe, and I…
I really am going to be king.
When I recover from the shock and look up, Shelta’s disappeared.
Slowly, the sound of chanting floods the night. “Rom Baro, Rom Baro, Rom Baro, Rom Baro.”There is no deafening applause. No shouting and cheering. There are only these two words, over and over again, rising higher and higher, louder and louder with each repetition.
She’s been giving the clan their distance, but now Zara skirts around the fire and joins me. She looks so alive with her cheeks stained red from the cold and from the excitement that’s so evident on her face. God, she’s so fucking beautiful. She throws her arms around my neck, kissing me deeply, and the snow-clad world falls silent for a second. Dozens and dozens of small rocks bounce off the tops of our shoes as I tip my hands and circle my arms around my Firefly, hugging her to me.
“Is that it, then?” she whispers. “Are you their king now?”
I shake my head. “There’ll be a super obnoxious ceremony. The other clans will need to be invited.”
A flash of worry passes over her. “But…will this be enough? Will this be enough to appease Lazlo?”
“He said I needed to accept my role, and I’ve accepted it. He can’t object.” I hate the motherfucker for hurting that little boy. I hate him even more for kidnapping Sarah. Or Kezia. Whatever. I have no fucking idea how I’m supposed to think of my aunt anymore. But I hate Lazlo the most for causing so much worry and distress to Zara. If I could wear her pain for her, I would. I’d take it all from her and shoulder the burden of it gladly, if only she could be worry-free and happy. Once I’ve dealt with Lazlo, no one will ever dare to cause her pain again. They won’t even risk souring her mood for fear of what I’ll fucking do to them.
I plan on being a good leader. Honest. Kind. Fair in all things. But if anyone evendreamsof fucking with my woman, I’m gonna gut them and hang their entrails from a tree like they’re goddamn Christmas decorations.
The warmth of her body and the sweet smell of her—floral and bright, intensified by the cold—eases such dark thoughts from my mind. All my adult life, along with a considerable part of my teenage years, the inside of my head has been a dark and angry place. I started dreaming of a woman with red hair, such gleaming, shiny, luminous dreams, and the darkness lifted a little. Now, it’s happening when I’m awake; Zara has somehow mastered the ability to erase the darkness during my conscious hours, even under such stressful, nightmare circumstances, and I have no idea how.
I have no idea how any of this has happened. All I know is that, two weeks ago, I was fighting every night at the flower market, tattooing clients as and when I felt like it, happy in the knowledge that the clan was far, far away. Fast forward a mere fourteen days, and here I am, cradling a fierce, strong, brave and amazingly beautiful woman to my chest, and I’m a fucking king.
