Nita

Every year, when Nita stepped out onto the landing to descend into her personal hell, she spared a moment of silence to perform her most tragic ritual.

Ten years. Tonight, it’s been ten years.

One should always mark the anniversary of the night one had fallen hopelessly in love.

At least this year, Nita had a distraction available. Managing Grace and Laurel and Ana as they prepared for their first ball had given her an outlet for all the simmering tension she’d stored during the long days trapped in her mother’s clutches. She had orchestrated their entry into the world of Sector One nobility like a leader preparing her rawest recruits for their first battle. Dresses and makeup were armor, and the jewels adorning perfectly displayed cleavage were weapons.

Their own personal charms were doing the rest. Nita watched from beside a convenient potted tree as Laurel and Ana cut a swath through the hapless nobility. Ana had one of Gabe’s great-aunt’s hanging off her every word, while Laurel had entranced two of Nita’s twenty-year-old cousins. Both boys looked torn between lust, awe, and fear.

Nita empathized. Laurel provoked all three feelings in her, too.

Grace wasn’t faring so well. The Monteros had reacted with predictable speed to the unveiling of the gowns she’d made. Gabe’s younger father was twirling Grace around the dance floor, his handsome face all smiles and charm. They weren’t wasting time by sending in the cousins and uncles--if Grace wanted, she could leave the Reyes estate as Gabe’s newest mother.

Somehow, Nita doubted Grace wanted that at all.

Maricela was stuck dancing with the Montero patriarch, which might have been even worse. No doubt Miguel Montero was trying to smooth over any ruffled feathers caused by his son’s drunken idiocy. He probably thought he was succeeding, too. Maricela’s smile was gracious and warm and utterly convincing...if you hadn’t grown up with her.

Or if you weren’t a broody, obsessed bodyguard.

Nita sipped her champagne as she watched Ivan drift through the crowd like a moon orbiting Maricela. Pretending that she hadn’t noticed the way they were circling one another had grown difficult, but she and Maricela had a silent understanding, born of who they were and the lives they were expected to lead.

You never, ever talked about someone else’s hopeless love.

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, and habit had Nita skimming the crowd for the source of the disturbance. It wasn’t hard to find. Gideon had taken to the floor for one of his rare dances, and on his arm...

By all the saints, Avery was stunning.

Her brown hair was piled on top of her head, baring a graceful neck and black pearl earrings. Her body wasn’t all that different from Nita’s--they were both big in the chest and bigger in the ass, with wide hips and solid frames. But Nita was short, with muscles under her generous curves, thanks to a childhood spent in a saddle and subsequent years of wrestling with clay and throwing huge pots.

Avery was...softer. More graceful. Elegant. She walked like she was dancing, and when she started to dance, it was like her feet didn’t even touch the floor. Her black gown hugged her body. The skirt flared as she spun, and every movement was liquid poetry.

Even her makeup was a work of art. Simple, smoky eyes, dramatic eyeliner, a hint of blush, and heart-stopping red lips. Classic and sophisticated. Perfect. As a master of the game of personal presentation, Nita couldn’t help but respect Avery’s skill.

And try to find an exit before--

“For heaven’s sake, don’t lean against the wall. You’ll crush your gown.”

Oh, shit.

Satisfied that her admonition would be heeded, Nita’s mother followed her gaze and pursed her lips. “She dances well. I suppose she had lessons.”

Avery had come from Sector Two, from one of the infamous training houses that had turned out the most skilled courtesans in all eight sectors. No doubt dancing had featured prominently among the many things she’d been forced to learn.

Desperately, Nita tried to shift the vector of the conversation. “I suppose so. But you must be pleased to see Gideon dancing. He didn’t dance once at the Monteros’ winter ball.”

“And why should his sudden appreciation for the activity please me?”

“Because you threw the best party. Everyone will be talking about it, Mama.”

Estela smiled and touched Nita’s cheek. “You always see the silver linings, don’t you?”

Her mother’s voice was so warm that familiar guilt curled around Nita’s gut and squeezed. When they were apart, it was easy to build Estela into a monster who wanted to wreak havoc on her children’s lives, but then Nita came home and her mother smiled and hugged her and praised her latest pottery work. She was protective and fierce, loving and brilliant. Nita loved her mother. She even liked her mother.

But she could feel the sword, too. Dangling over her neck, waiting to drop.

Still, it always felt good to be at the center of Estela’s regard. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling in return. “I try.”

“Now...” Estela tapped her chin thoughtfully. “The question is, what do we do about her?”

Nita followed her mother’s gaze back to Avery, and there was the sword. Blissfully swift, she supposed. “Her sister is Lex Parrino, Mama. The queen of Sector Four, a war hero. I imagine we shouldn’t do anything.”

Her mother scoffed. “Relax, Nita. I’m not talking about having her killed. But there must be some way we can turn his head.”

She wanted to say so many things. The words tangled in her chest until it hurt, and she clenched her jaw to prevent any of them from bubbling up.

For all you know, that could be an innocent dance.

But who cares if it’s not?

I hope it’s not.

I don’t want him, Mama, and he doesn’t want me, and this is never, ever going to happen. Stop, please stop.

She’d tried everything. Her mother brushed away objections like annoying flies, because she loved her daughter and knew what was best, and what was best was thrusting Nita to the pinnacle of their world, even if the dizzying height would be too much for her to bear.

Estela made a soft noise of contemplation. “Perhaps Gideon suspects that your...practical education is lacking.”

“My practical education?”

“Sex, darling,” Estela answered absently. “Miss Parrino most certainly had lessons.”

A flush of embarrassment washed over Nita, followed by hot humiliation. Her face was on fire. How many times would she do this? How many times would she let down her guard, allow herself to be wooed by scraps of affection?

An actual sword would have been merciful. This was torture.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Her mother made a face. “Do you honestly think you’d be the first noblewoman to receive professional instruction? Or nobleman, for that matter? For the saints’ sakes, Nita.”

There was no graceful escape. If she argued, her mother would push back, dismantling every protest until Nita wasn’t sure which of them was right. The easiest thing to do was to nod, even though her neck was so stiff it hurt. “I’ll think about it,” she managed through numb lips, then pushed away from the wall. “I should get back to the dancing.”

“Of course.” Estela smiled as she straightened the heavy necklace Nita wore. “You are a vision, darling. Just perfect.”

Nita endured the kiss on the cheek, returned it, and used every scrap of training to keep her expression serene as she drifted--drifted, not fled--through the crowd and out the back door.

The revelry had spilled down the steps and into the garden. On a normal night, the maze might have been her refuge, but no doubt its various secluded corners were already full of lovers stealing moments together.

She turned sharply to the left instead, following the path around the side of the main wing. The music grew softer as she lifted her ruffled skirts and hurried deeper into the shadows. The path skated the edge of the kitchen garden, and Nita cut through it to her destination--an arch that led to a tiny courtyard that was nothing more than two stone benches and a tumbled-rock fountain that burbled cheerfully in the darkness.

Alone, finally, she collapsed on the bench, bent over, and struggled against the tight lacing on her bodice to take a full, cleansing breath.

Soft footsteps echoed on the stone behind her. “Are you all right?”

Any air she’d managed to suck in whooshed out again.

Of course it was him. Why wouldn’t her humiliation be absolute?

Nita straightened and smoothed her skirt over her legs, glad that the fabric was voluminous enough to hide her trembling hands. “I’m okay.”

Hunter rounded the bench, a skeptical frown creasing his brow. “Did something happen?”

She met his gaze, and Nita’s heart flipped in her chest. The golden light spilling through the windows around the courtyard gilded Hunter’s dark brown skin, and the shadows sharpened his chiseled features. He was huge, not just tall but muscular, and his tuxedo was so lovingly tailored to him that he wore it effortlessly. He made powerful elegance look natural.

He made it hard to breathe.

Ten years ago, tonight.

It had been the first summer festival after her fifteenth birthday. Her debut into grown-up society--and the marriage market. She’d spent hours preparing for that first descent down the staircase, for the moment when her adult life was supposed to start. She’d had the perfect gown, like a midnight sky fading to dawn with glittering bits of glass spilling down like a thousand stars. Her hair had been flawless, her jewels breathtaking.

And, two steps from the bottom, lightheaded from the nerves and the tight bodice and the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day, she’d caught her heel in her dress and gone sprawling across the polished marble floor to a symphony of hastily muffled laughter.

Her mother had been horrified. Her brother had rushed to help her to her feet, his glare fierce enough to silence the few remaining snickers. No one had dared to enrage the Reyes heir, of course.

But the heir had duties beyond protecting his baby sister all night. So Nita had retreated to a protected alcove, her cheeks still flushed with humiliation, her gut churning with the certainty that she could never, ever face any of them again.

Hunter had followed her that night, too. He’d drifted into her corner with his big, gentle smile and easygoing nature, and she’d been certain someone had sent him to coax her back out to dance, because that was what her mother would want. To force her back onto the horse that had thrown her.

Instead, he just...talked to her. About his family’s newest trade contracts, how they’d found an exclusive source of real coffee, and how much better it tasted than the stuff they made in Sector Eight or the commune’s attempts to grow it in their greenhouses. Easy topics. Low pressure. And when her stomach had growled audibly, he’d left her for a few minutes, only to return with two glasses of champagne and a pilfered tray of stolen snacks.

She’d eaten for the first time that day, hidden in the shadows with him as the champagne bubbled to her head and their conversation drifted. She’d told him about her pottery, and the minerals and clay she harvested to make her own glazes. They’d talked about books and music and the adorable baby foals sired by her brother’s favorite horse.

She’d told herself over and over that he was just being nice to his friend’s baby sister, but he’d been so earnest, so kind, so handsome that she’d ended the night dizzy in love and determined to talk her mother into opening negotiations. She was fifteen years old, naive, and convinced her happy ending was within her grasp.

By her sixteenth birthday, Hunter had joined the Riders, and Nita gave up on happy endings.

Knowing it could never happen should have killed this longing. Instead, somehow, it only seemed to grow deeper every year. Probably because Hunter still did things like follow her out into the night to gaze at her with earnest concern and ask if anything was wrong.

Everything was wrong. But that wasn’t an answer she could give him. “You know how it is. My mother’s anxious to find me a suitable spouse.”

“You mean Gideon.” At her look, he shrugged one shoulder. “Estela Reyes doesn’t think small.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Nita stared back down at her hands, tangled in the deep purple ruffles of her dress. “She would have settled for Maricela, but she’s going to see me married to a Rios or... Well, I don’t think there’s an or for her.”

Hunter remained silent as he sat down beside her, careful not to rumple her skirt. “She’s determined, I’ll give her that.” He paused. “But why is it so important to her?”

His tuxedo sleeve grazed her bare arm, and she fought a shiver. “We’re the only ones not tied to the Rios family by marriage.”

“Yes, but what would it accomplish? It can’t elevate the Reyes family. You’re already the second most powerful in this sector.”

No, if it had just been about that, Nita suspected she would have found herself married off to Isabela years ago. Estela’s dreams were much grander. If she could slip Nita into Gideon’s bed--and into the coveted spot of first wife--the Reyes family wouldn’t be second anything.

They’d be well on their way to tied for first.

“I don’t know how long I can do this,” she admitted in a whisper. “I’m the oldest acolyte at the temple. I can’t hide there and pretend I’m courting Maricela anymore. My mother’s lost patience. Now she’s suggesting--” She bit off the words, hoping it was too dark for him to see the flush in her cheeks.

“Do I want to know?”

Maybe if she said it, they could both laugh, and it wouldn’t have this sick, horrifying power over her. “Oh, you know. She wants to hire someone to teach me about sex so Gideon won’t have to worry that I’m bad at it.”

He did chuckle, but it was a reflexive noise that didn’t sound genuinely amused at all. “Well, then.”

“Yeah.” Her cheeks were still burning. The humiliation wasn’t fading. If anything, the helplessness in her chest was twisting tighter. She covered her face with her hands, unsure if the sound they muffled was the start of a laugh or a sob.

“Hey.” He touched her shoulder, his hand big enough to engulf it and still so gentle. “It won’t ruin your family if you tell her to shove all this up her ass. It won’t hurt them. Only your mother’s pride.”

“That might be the worst thing of all.” She stiffened her spine, refusing to let herself lean into him. His strength was a comfort she couldn’t afford to rely on. “I can say no and risk being cut out of the family, but if I do that, I won’t be able to help my younger sisters. I need to find someone to marry. Then I’ll have my inheritance, along with enough money to make a safe place for them.”

“That doesn’t seem fair to you.”

It wasn’t. Somewhere, in some alternate universe that had been fair to her, they were still sitting on this bench together, but they were married. In love. They’d snuck away the way they did every ball, just like the first, and their children were tucked upstairs in bed under the watchful eye of their nanny. They’d steal a kiss, and Nita would lean into the warmth of Hunter’s body, secure in the knowledge that she was safe and loved. That happiness wasn’t just possible, but guaranteed.

In a fair world.

She rose, and his hand slipped away from her shoulder. She locked down the part of her that immediately missed the contact, imagining that ice flowed beneath her skin instead of blood, and nothing could touch her. “Thank you for listening, but we should get back. I promised Grace I wouldn’t abandon her.”

He stood as well, wordlessly offering his arm. She accepted it, and they started back to the party in companionable silence. Two casual friends, sharing an evening walk. Nothing more. Never, ever anything more.

It would be nice to live in a world that was fair.

Unfortunately, Nita was stuck in this one.