Page 40 of Longing for Liberty

THIRTY-ONE

STATE NEWS: POLL SHOWS FEMALES HAPPIER THAN EVER IN HISTORY!

I was riding Fitzhugh on his couch, pretending to enjoy it, when the call came from Roan. Amos put a finger to his lips and answered, his other hand gripping my hip and moving me up and down.

“Yes?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” I heard Roan say. I slowed my movements to listen better.

“What do you need?” Amos asked. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as I swirled my hips, making him shudder.

“Oh, am I bothering you?” Roan sounded annoyed.

“Yes.”

“Whatever. My place tonight. I’m finally getting a shipment.”

“I’m not interested in your shipment, Sam.”

“Fine, but you need to be there.”

Amos lifted his head and looked me in the eye, thrusting his hips upward hard enough to make me suck in a breath.

“I’m bringing someone,” Amos said, causing me to stop moving in shock. He couldn’t be talking about me.

Roan let out a young-sounding laugh of mischief. “I knew it! Who is it?”

“My…helper.”

“You’re banging your maid? Finally, Fitzy’s getting some action!”

“Good-bye.” Amos hung up, tossing his phone beside him and taking my hips with both hands to bounce me up and down harder, faster.

I gripped his shoulders and made all of the appropriate sounds, but my mind was not on the sex.

My heart was erratically racing and jumping as I digested their conversation.

I was his “helper.” Did he just say he was bringing me to Roan’s place?

My brain short-circuited, and all of the curse words tumbled around, running smack into each other. I don’t think I’d ever been so scared and overwhelmed that I couldn’t even process it.

When he finished, I waited until we were both dressed to tilt my head at him.

He sucked in a breath and let it out as a sigh. “What size dress do you wear?”

Oh, no. More crazy heart palpitations.

I told him my size, and he nodded. “I’ll get you a dress.

You’ll be accompanying me to a gathering this evening.

Text your husband and let him know you’re not coming home until tomorrow night.

” He looked at the time on his phone. “I’m going into the office for a few hours.

” He leaned down and kissed my lips, leaving the penthouse while I stood there in a state of shock.

* * *

I’d had all day to mentally prepare, and yet, I was not mentally prepared. How do you prepare to meet the tiny tyrant himself? The chosen face of the Order of Mercy? And what had he meant when he said he’d received a shipment?

I don’t think I’d ever been this scared for anything in my life. Not even the day I’d started working for Fitzhugh.

“Relax.” Amos ran his hands up and down my arms. “You look beautiful.”

He’d gotten me a black cocktail dress that drooped low on one shoulder and stopped just above my knees. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror in the dress with my hair down and makeup done. I still wore the dark shade on my lips that Kathy had given me.

“I’m not worthy of this, Amos,” I whispered, desperately wishing he’d change his mind about bringing me.

“I’ve chosen you. Nobody will question it.”

“But…” I looked around his bedroom, flailing for words. “They’ll all know that we…”

“Don’t you see?” He continued rubbing my arms slowly, his voice steady. “This is the way of men.”

What? The entire society they’d formed was based on rules about family values and Biblical commandments.

How did being unfaithful align with that?

Or, perhaps, those standards didn’t belong to the ruling class?

I didn’t dare argue. I let Amos take my hand, twine my fingers through his, and lead me out.

It was strange to walk into the elevator with him. And even stranger to go up. Amos punched in a code that I didn’t see and flashed his ID at the scanner.

I was going to puke. I closed my eyes and squeezed his hand, pulling his whole arm into a hug. He gently patted my hand with his free one.

“Just stay next to me and don’t interact with Roan if you can avoid it.”

What! Why? Not that I wanted to…

“Do I call him President?”

“Sure. Or sir. He loves it. Oh, and don’t drink anything unless I give it to you.”

Excuse me?

The elevator slid open to absolute opulence, but before I could take in the view or sort out the implications of the drink comment, I was overcome with the sound of music playing.

Actual music. Was that…Cindi Lauper? My frazzled nerves softened at the sound.

Yes! “True Colors” was the song! I looked up at Amos, feeling wonder, and he gave me that half-grin, leading me out of the elevator.

Roan’s top-floor penthouse was like a glittering museum with high ceilings, everything gold and silver, chandeliers and crystal vases, gilded paintings, black oversized couches and chairs, and a massive wall of windows overlooking the darkening sky above Community One.

On one side was a massive statue of an eagle with outstretched wings standing at the tip of a boulder—it was a smaller replica of the one in the square.

The Vice President was standing next to it with a woman.

A prickly shiver went through me as I took him in.

He still had the belly. And the cowboy hat and beard.

The sight of him made me want to hide behind Amos.

“Ah, there he is!” From within a group of people standing near a sculpture came President Samuel Roan.

Oh. Wow. He was short. And I had nothing against a short guy—had dated my share—but it was still somehow shocking given how larger-than-life he appeared on screen.

As he walked toward us, spine straight, full-capacity confidence, the issue of his height completely faded.

“Fitzy!” Roan was only a few years older than me, perhaps forty, but could easily pass for thirty with his baby face, boy-next-door haircut, and his toned, muscular physique. Like all of the men, he wore a fitted, tailored suit. He reached out for Amos’s hand, and they shook.

“Sam.” Amos gave a nod.

Then Roan looked at me. I made eye contact for a zap of a second before dropping my eyes with a lurching feeling.

“And who might this be?”

“Samuel Roan, this is Liberty Carson. Liberty, Samuel Roan.”

My eyes flicked up and back down. “It’s an honor, Mr. President.”

“Liberty, really ? That’s the coolest name of all time.

Let me see this woman who’s finally caught our boy’s eye.

” He took me by the hand and spun me masterfully, making me let loose a surprised giggle.

“A ginger…I should have known.” He held onto my hand and wagged a finger at Amos, then slugged his shoulder playfully.

Roan brought my fingers up to his lips, looking up at me like a fox with a hen.

His eyes were so blue. I thought Amos’s were blue, but Roan’s were like clear arctic waters.

As he held my gaze and something predatory flashed, sudden fear spiked so hard in my body that I worried my bowels were about to liquify.

Now would be a terrible time for that. I dropped my eyes to the side, resisting the urge to rip my hand out of his.

It turned out Amos didn’t need to warn me away from Roan—my own intuition was doing a fine job of that.

“Okay,” Amos said, pulling me gently back to his side, forcing Roan to release my hand. I kept my eyes down, even though I could feel the President studying me. “Let’s get a drink.”

“Good idea! Loosen up, would ya?” Roan pointed us toward the kitchen before walking back to the group at the statue.

I felt the annoyance coming off Amos as he poured us both a glass of red wine from a bottle he’d opened. My first instinct was to refuse it, but I was too edgy. One drink would help. I took a sip, feeling the rich warmth on my tongue and down my throat, followed by a soft smoothness.

I must have looked pleased, because Amos said, “You like it?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “Thank you.”

Amos looked toward the laughing group, his face stoic, and said under his breath, “We won’t stay long.”

I nodded, thankful.

Three of the four girls came into the kitchen, chattering away, and I was able to look at them better.

They all had on cinched dresses in bright colors with poofy arms. Their hair was equally poofy, like it had been curled, then teased, then sprayed to death.

Oh, no. Were eighties hairstyles coming back?

Because they looked like they came straight out of my mom’s middle school yearbook.

“Hey, Fitzy!” Two of the girls fawned over him, and he sipped his wine.

“Melly. Phoebs.”

I was immediately curious.

The third girl picked up a bottle of champagne but was distracted when she glanced at me.

“Hey, Phoebe, is this one of your collection?” She pointed to my dress.

“Yes,” said a brunette in hot pink. “Who do you think gave it to him?”

Um…what? I looked at Phoebe, then Amos.

“Phoebe is one of my sisters,” Amos explained.

I felt my eyes bulge, and all of the girls giggled. Not girls, really. Women, probably in their mid to late twenties and thirties, but they gave off childish vibes. An immaturity of sorts.

“It’s very nice,” I said to Phoebe, motioning to the dress.

“It’s part of my silk collection with cotton lining.

The world is going through an anti-synthetic phase, and the State currently has the largest factories for cotton, wool, and silk production.

” She drank her champagne and stared at me blankly.

Amos was staring across the way at the two other men and not seeming to pay attention to our conversation.

My brow scrunched in confusion as she blinked at me, and I immediately caught myself and smoothed my expression. “That’s wonderful. Wow. You’re a designer?”

“Mmhm. All three of us. Expert designers and sewers. We give our designs to our husbands, who oversee the fabric factories in C2.”

Flabbergasted.