Page 74 of Inheritance

She didn’t slow, just pulled me into an adjoining hall.

We slipped down the narrow hall unnoticed; the staff were too busy to care, not that it was their place to question. She pushed open a small door that led into a side pantry—cooler, darker, lined with shelves of glassware and sealed boxes.

She crouched low, reached behind a box, and pulled out a half-full bottle of something amber.

“What is that?” I asked.

She shrugged.

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“We’re dressed up like dolls about to be judged by every powerful person in the city. You tell me.”

Can’t argue with that.

She scrunched up her face as she tugged at the bulging cork. It popped off, and she drank from the bottle, closing her eyes softly.

She passed me the bottle after wiping her lipstick off it.

The first sip burned. The second didn’t.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Just the sound of distant movement from the ballroom and the low hum of some vent overhead.

“What did you see in Ivan?”

I found I had asked, feeling the alcohol already.

She took the bottle again, turning it slowly in her hands. “What do I see in him, you mean? He has a few issues, I admit it. But the side you saw—I’ve only seen it a few times. And it wasn’t nearly that bad.”

She shrugged, almost to herself. “Everyone assumes that’s the part I loved. But it’s not. That’s just the worst of him. He doesn’t hide himself, even when he’s desperate. That’s more than I can say for most people.”

She drank again. “He never lied to me. Not once. Not about who he is. Not about what he’s capable of. Everyone else dresses it up. Calls it duty, or sacrifice, or family.”

“That’s not better,” I said.

“I didn’t say it was better. I said it was real.”

She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

“He talked to me like I mattered. Not like something to trade. Not like a pawn. He didn’t care what I could offer his family. He cared that I saw him. And I did.” Her voice softened. “I still do.”

I let the silence settle. From somewhere above, a burst of music flared, then cut out again.

“You know what he almost did to me.”

“I know.”

“And you still?—”

“I don’t excuse it,” she said, cutting me off. “But I also don’t overlook the fact that he didn’t actually do it. He has good in him. And I bring it out.”

She turned to look at me. “You think our family’s any different?”

I wasn’t about to have that conversation again, so I didn’t answer.

She passed the bottle back. “Just saying.”

I drank. It tasted smoother now.