Chapter 77

“She’ll give in,” Justice reassured her scorching-hot and somehow doubtful fiancé as they strolled hand in hand through the Mantua Home’s wide, sunlit corridors. “It’s a wedding present.”

“China is a wedding present. A toaster oven is a wedding present. Hell, a wedding is a wedding present. You’re asking for her to allow you to return to Jordan. With me. For the IPT. Something that could lead to a deeper investigation of your ties to that mission in Syria.”

She smiled, kept pace with him as they walked. “Yeah, you people at the IPT are trouble.”

“I’m serious, Justice. Why draw more attention to your time there? The feds are already suspicious.”

Understatement. But they were the suspicious sort. And, sadly, not stupid. Kept asking after Tony. The party line was that he’d simply run away, disappeared.

A big coincidence that Sandesh had also been released by his captors. All of this was why Leland wanted them to stay away from Jordan and Syria until things quieted down.

It felt wrong. “I don’t need dishes or a toaster oven, not even a wedding. I need to fix the things I’ve screwed up.” She cringed, thought of Tony, thought of how she couldn’t fix everything. She looked up at Sandesh, at all his blond, beautiful self. “As much as I can.”

He started to say something, maybe about how she hadn’t screwed things up, how everything had worked out, how he didn’t hold her responsible—all of it, but he simply nodded. And that, right there, was another reason to love him.

Every day added one more reason.

She pulled up short before the wide, arched doorway leading into the library.

Inside the brightly lit room, Romeo sat at one of the long tables in front of a computer, typing like a lunatic. Maybe feeling her eyes on him, he glanced up. Such a cute kid.

She smiled at him. “You available to train tomorrow, around noon?”

He turned left and right in a Who me? kind of way. No one else in the library, kid. Registering this, his lips twitched into an uncertain smile. He gave her a tight nod.

Yeah. Couldn’t blame him. She turned away, met Sandesh’s alert, blue eyes. He bent and rubbed his nose against her cheek. “It’s a start.”

He was right. She’d continue to reach out to Romeo, make sure he was okay, find a way to talk to him, so that he knew—no, so that he felt he was respected here.

She’d read Tony’s letter. Finally. He’d spoken of his pain, never feeling accepted, never feeling good enough, listened to, cared about. Reading it had changed her as much as losing him had. Things here had been unfair to him and to Romeo.

Sandesh squeezed her hand. “You okay?”

The flip thing to say would be, “Yeah.” But it wasn’t the real thing to say. She swallowed the regret and sorrow. “I’m going to make it up to Tony. He might not be here to see it, but I’m going to. And you and Salma and the IPT. Got it?”

“Yeah. But if your mother says no—”

She shook her head, continued down the hall. He kept up. “She won’t. Trust me. I can convince anyone of anything. I am a kick-ass public relations specialist. Remember?”

Sandesh snorted, bit his lip, and nodded at her, nodded like he wanted to say something else. He didn’t.

Smart man.

They moved down the hallway, passing an intersecting hallway, the one with the elevators. Someone called out, “I see it worked.”

Justice startled. Dada. So stealthy. And gorgeous, especially with a baby bump. Wait. “What worked?”

The elevator doors opened and Bridget stepped out. She took in the scene with a raised eyebrow. Dada pointed at Justice’s wrist, at the braided band of light and dark leather with the garnet woven within it. “Look. It worked.”

Bridget smiled at Sandesh. “She said yes?”

He nodded, not looking half as guilty as he should have. “I appreciate the suggestions from both of you.”

Seriously? She should’ve recognized Dada was in on the whole weaving bracelets thing. “So, what, is this some kind of conspiracy proposal?”

Bridget flushed; she actually looked bothered. That didn’t happen every day. Or ever. Huh. She felt guilty. Looks like letting her keep her memory had another upside.

Dada moved closer, lifted Sandesh’s hand to examine his band. Ugh. Justice cringed. She’d made his. He’d made hers. His band was more roughly woven than hers. By far. Who knew arts and crafts were so fucking hard?

“I can show you how to fix this,” Dada said, looking at Justice.

Justice glared under a heating face. Not like she cared. Okay. She did.

Sandesh pulled his hand away. “No. It’s perfect. Thanks.”

Aw. Love for him, sharp and steady, fired another neuron, stored another cherished memory.

Dada looked like she was about to argue the fact, but Justice interrupted with, “Just saw your baby daddy in the gym, surrounded by munchkins playing soccer. You might want to rescue him,” then turned and led Sandesh down the hall to the open doorway on their left.

His warm hand loosely held in her own, she slipped into the drawing room. The drawing room. Momma’s idea of a joke. It was literally a room for drawing—more accurately, painting—not the traditional drawing room for greeting guests. Hardy. Har. Har.

Easels, stools, blue and red cabinets splotched with every shade of paint, along with shelves lined with art supplies. The astringent smell of paint cleaner and the dull smell of paint enveloped her. She rubbed her hand back and forth against her nose. Ew. Artists might have acute sight but their olfactory sense had to be diminished.

Two artists sat on stools and painted at easels. Momma and a teenager. The kid was all skin and bones and stiff shoulders. Someone from the school?

Maybe. But whatever Momma saw in this frail girl made her special indeed. Momma had taken off her niqab. Revealed her scars. Mostly she didn’t, not even with her daughters.

She only showed her scars to girls so broken that they found comfort with people as wounded as themselves. Just one more way Momma made herself vulnerable to strengthen another.

That was Momma. The woman who’d rescued her. She wasn’t perfect, but she did want to do good in the world. “Momma, Sandesh and I are here to speak with you.”

She’d expected Momma to put on her niqab before turning around. She didn’t. She turned from where she painted a colorful landscape dotted with wildflowers. The slight spasm of Sandesh’s hand was all he gave away at the sight of her mother’s horrible scars. The vibrant beauty Momma painted only seemed to highlight the peaks and valleys of her puckered, damaged skin. “Come in, Justice. Sandesh.”

Technically, they were inside. Momma meant for her and Sandesh to stop lurking in the doorway. Justice let go of Sandesh’s hand, walked over, and kissed Momma’s scarred cheek. The skin was hard against her lips.

Her mother grasped her hand, looked at the band woven with the garnet on her wrist. Momma’s eyes traveled to Sandesh’s wrist and the matching band there. “I see it worked.”

He winked at her. He winked at Momma? Conspirators. How many of her family had been in on this whole get-Justice-to-marry-Sandesh thing?

“Thanks for the advice. Short and sweet.”

Huh. Guy had had a freakin’ army. “Nice to see you approve of the whole wedding thing, because I’m here about a wedding present.”

Momma raised one damaged eyebrow, or where the eyebrow should have been. “Okay. But first—”

“Nope. No. I need—”

Momma put up a hand, silenced her. “If it is in my power to give, it will be yours.”

Oh man. She’d probably regret that. Still, that promise worked for Justice. She grinned at Sandesh as if to say, Told you.

He winked back at her.

“I stopped you because you’re being rude. You haven’t said hello to your newest sister. I believe you have met.”

Huh? Justice took a closer look and sucked in a breath so sudden the girl turned.

It was Cee. Cee whom she’d saved. Cee who, in turn, had saved her life.

Cee pushed her stool back with a scrape and stood. Same bony body. Same half-challenging, half-wary tiger, red-brown eyes.

Justice licked lips gone dry, moved toward her. Cee wasn’t like Hope. Not physically. Hope was blond. And yet, she reminded her of Hope. In the tension of her shoulders. In the take-me-on-and-you’ll-get-more-than-you-bargained-for gleam in her fierce eyes.

That’s how Hope had protected her. Stood in front of her when they’d come to take Justice. She held out her hand. “It’s so good to see you, Cee.”

Cee’s fire-burned brown eyes looked at the outstretched hand. She shook her head. “I know it was you.”

Justice dropped her hand. She looked over at Sandesh, who’d moved closer.

Cee stepped forward and tucked her arms around Justice’s waist. “You were the one. You didn’t give up on me.”

Oh. A moment of warm surprise and, with her throat growing tight, Justice wrapped her arms around the girl’s thin body. They stood that way. Holding each other.

From behind, Sandesh placed his warm, strong hand on Justice’s shoulder. And something in her heart, a very small piece, but one she’d desperately missed and needed, repaired itself. She felt a spark of something that had been missing for a long time: Hope.

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I Am Grace

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