Rise: Populations Crumble, Book 2 Page 7

  She stiffens at the mention of his name, but accepts the plate, and focuses on the pastries.

  “Not right now—I needed some time to myself.” Her voice is all cool control, just like the rest of her.

  “That’s hard to come by around here, but I understand. I used to spend a lot more time solo, at the ranch. Well, solo with Morgan, my horse,” I say wistfully.

  “Yes, it is very difficult to find a moment to think.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you. I’ll get out of your hair and let you get back to it.” My plate is already three-quarters full of flaky pastry goodness, while hers is still noticeably empty.

  Odette lowers the plate, dropping all pretense. “Sadie, do you have feelings for Patrick?”

  Her abrupt change of topic startles me. “Uhm, well . . . kind of? We’re still working on that,” I stammer, unsure what to say to her given the complexity of my relationship with Patrick right now.

  She nods. “Well, Dominic isn’t a bad man. But I don’t love him, and he doesn’t love me. He still loves Carla, even though she’s married and already pregnant with another man’s baby.” Her eyes drift from the table down to her toes and, for the first time, I catch a glimpse of the pain underneath her icy façade.

  “I’m sorry, Odette. That has to be incredibly difficult.” I reach out, resting a hand on her forearm.

  “It is. It is incredibly difficult. I—” She stops, unable to articulate her feelings.

  “Would you like to talk about it? I won’t share whatever you tell me. It can stay between us,” I offer, but I sincerely doubt she’ll take me up on it. Although, if you’d asked me yesterday if I’d be having a personal chat with Odette at all, I’d have laughed at you.

  She’s silent for a long moment. “No, no—I wouldn’t want to detract from your day. I am sure you and Patrick are off to enjoy your honeymoon.”

  I snort. “Not quite. I’ve got time. Come on, let’s go grab that table in the corner.” I walk over, and plop the overflowing plate between us.

  She follows, and perches daintily in the chair across from me.

  “Don’t be shy—what’s your favorite?” I ask, gesturing to the plate between us.

  Her eyebrows lift nearly to her hairline when she takes in the smorgasbord I’ve selected, but she selects a small custard tart dusted with powdered sugar without comment and sets it on her plate.

  “So, tell me about you and Dominic. Are you two a good genetic match, at least? Are you friends, or trying to be?”

  She tucks her head, and fiddles with the edge of the tart crust before answering, “Not terribly strong, no. Around sixty percent. And in the beginning, we tried to be friends. It isn’t easy for me to open up to people.” She glances up briefly at the admission before continuing to fiddle with the dessert.

  “Well, that’s all right. It takes time to build up trust in a relationship. Especially with obstacles to overcome.” The last part is for me, as much as her.

  Her mouth is set in a tight line, but she nods. “I thought we had a chance to at least get through this in a companionable way, if not as a true love match. But he’s still pining for Carla, and I am not going to compete for affections that I know I can’t win.”

  I reach across and cover her hand with mine. “Hey, there are no guarantees in this life, Odette. You two can still build a friendship, over time. Maybe don’t focus on love first. Maybe you could try to speak openly with him about how you’re feeling, and how it hurts to see him pining for another woman. I can’t imagine him intentionally trying to hurt you. He is probably oblivious. He might not realize that it still hurts, even if you two aren’t in love right now.”

  Patrick comes strolling into the dining room at that moment, clearly looking for me. I discreetly wave him off under the table, where Odette can’t see me. He looks surprised at my table companion, but walks back out without her noticing.

  “I don’t know if I can, Sadie. He is a good man, but he wants nothing to do with me. How am I supposed to overlook that? How am I supposed to have a physical relationship with someone who I know wants someone else?”

  The depth of her problem sinks in, and I feel awful for her. Patrick has his issues, sure. But at least I don’t have to try to make it through this program while watching him pine for someone else, and knowing he’s thinking of another woman. “I’m so sorry, Odette. What’s the alternative? Is there anything you can do? I heard—” I pause, embarrassed that the source of my information is gossip. I clear my throat, and forge ahead. “I heard that you two have already been on an intensive getaway. Is there nothing else the program can offer to help you two work through this? You aren’t the first ones to leave someone else behind.”

  “Well, I have an appointment with Melissa to discuss some things. It’s not possible to separate before the three years are up, but, they might be willing to help remove the personal element from the process.” She breaks a single crumb off her pastry, and tastes it.

  It takes me a minute to realize what she’s alluding to. “Oh, they’re going to do a fertility treatment for you? That’s pretty invasive, isn’t it?”

  She shrugs one shoulder delicately. “Not as invasive as the alternative.”

  I can’t contain my snort. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. You’re right, I’ve just never heard it put in quite those terms before.”

  She looks up again and a smile is playing at the corner of her lips. My heart warms at her willingness to open up to me.

  “Well, I really hope they’ll help you, if that is what you’d prefer. And I want you to know, you’re not the only couple here with problems. Patrick and I are working on things, too. It’s not all glitter and rainbows for us.”

  The concern on her face is genuine, and I find myself questioning all of my original assumptions about her. “I am sorry to hear that. I hope you two are able to come together and work through it. Is there anything you would like to discuss? I will keep your confidence, as you’ll keep mine.”

  I swallow, and suddenly I’m the one staring at my plate, the pastry I’d been enjoying before turning dry in my mouth. “I fell for him, hook line and sinker. And I picked him, out of my other options. Sent other really nice men home, because I was so sure he was it.” I pause, and force myself to meet her eyes. I have nothing to be ashamed of here. “But then, after the wedding, I found out he’d been dishonest with me. It shook me, and it shook my faith in him. My faith in my ability to choose a trustworthy person.”

  She shakes her head, her expression grim. “That is hard to recover from. Has he been honest with you since then?”

  “I think so. But, it’s hard to trust again. It’s hard to pick myself back up, trust myself to know who I can believe anymore.” A lump forms in my throat. “What if he lies again? What if there’s more he hasn’t told me?”

  She taps a slim finger on the table, thinking about what I’ve confessed. “Did he tell you himself?”

  “Sort of? He was caught out, and then fessed up.”

  “Hmm, it’s a toss-up, then. Liars will always lie. But an honest man will make it right. The question is, which is Patrick? I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Actions don’t lie, even if handsome men do.” She shakes her head, “Well, I should get back, and I’m sure you should, as well. Thank you for talking with me, Sadie. I don’t have any friends here, and it means a lot that you were willing to listen.”

  “You’re wrong, Odette. You have a friend here now—me.” I give her a warm smile, meaning every word.

  Her return smile is timid, but it’s a start. She takes the plate with her single pastry, and heads out of the dining room. I follow behind her, and find Patrick waiting on a tufted bench in the hallway.

  “Everything good?” he asks, as he stands and we walk towards the back door.

  “Yeah, actually it is.”

  “Want to talk about it?” He reaches over and twines his fingers with mine, and the simple contact melts my heart.

  “Nah, it’s girl stuff,
” I say lightly.

  “Okay. Are some of those for me?” He sounds hopeful, so I pass him the plate.

  “Go nuts. But the cheese Danishes are mine,” I warn.

  Unrest

  Patrick and I spend the rest of the day in our cottage, playing board games and reading, as has become our routine. We don’t discuss the meeting further, even though it hangs in the air between us like a heavy curtain. Our living room is still filled with unpleasant blinking pink light, so we spend the majority of the day in our room, lounging on the bed.

  Finally, the knock comes on our door that signals our dinner’s delivery. Patrick meets the delivery man, and I hear them exchange a few muffled words as I make my way to the kitchen. We’ve taken to eating our fancy dinners at the island bar stools, so I wait there as he brings in the tray and sets it down. I notice immediately, however, that there aren’t just silver cloche domes on the tray tonight, as there were the last few nights. There is a baby pink box tied with a matching ribbon nestled at the center of the tray.

  “What’s that?” I ask Patrick, pointing to the small box.

  He frowns. “I was told it’s for you. They didn’t tell me what’s in it, only that Melissa sent it.”

  That can’t be good. I pick up the box as he starts removing the shiny silver cloches from the food, revealing platters piled high with ribs, greens, and mac and cheese. The final dome hides a basket of pillowy-looking yeast rolls and mounds of whipped butter. I stare, momentarily distracted from the box I’d yet to open.

  “Did you seriously track down the chef? This is nothing like the food they’ve been sending us, but it smells amazing!” I reach for a roll and take a small nibble of the corner before setting it down and returning my attention to the box.

  “I didn’t track down anyone in the kitchen, although I was discussing the lack of barbecue with Teddy last night at dinner. I guess one of the staff overheard our conversation.” His frown deepens, despite the delicious spread in front of us.

  I reach out a hand for his and twine my fingers between his larger ones. “Hey, I’m sure they were just trying to be accommodating. The staff here seem very eager to please.”

  He meets my eyes briefly and nods before turning to grab blue plates from the cabinets. “I’m sure you’re right, it’s just disconcerting to think someone was eavesdropping on our conversation.” He turns back around with plates and starts filling them. “Are you going to open that thing, or use it as a paperweight?”

  I sigh, and tug on the ribbon. It falls away easily, and I lift the lid from the small box. Inside is a folded piece of paper. When I open it, feminine script fills the small page.

  Sadie, there is no reason to let anxiety stop you from doing your duty to society. Take these with dinner, and let Patrick do the rest.

  —Melissa

  My jaw hits the floor as I set the note aside, and nestled into a bit of jewelry padding is not, in fact, a gift, but two small purple pills. My hands start to shake as fury rolls over me from my head to my toes. I grip the box so tightly in my hand that the corners start to crumple in on themselves.

  Looking up from the plates he set in front of our usual seats, Patrick asks, “What’s in the box?”

  I wordlessly shove the note at him, and walk over to the kitchen sink. I turn the water on full blast, and then start the garbage disposal with a flick of one finger.

  Patrick reads quickly and says, “You’ve got to be kidding me. What’s in that box, Sadie?”

  I hold up the box, showing him the two purple pills nestled inside. Before he can comment, I pick them up and drop them, one after the other, right into the angry maw of the garbage disposal. The grinding sound rings hollow in my pounding ears. I flip off the disposal after it’s returned to its normal hum, and brace both hands on the countertop.

  “This is ridiculous. They can’t seriously prefer you to drug yourself than to wait a month or two. How is that supposed to be keeping you in good health, exactly?” His rant falls on deaf ears, and my vision grows tunneled as I just stare into the stream of water flowing out of the shiny faucet. My knuckles are white on the countertop.

  I feel like screaming or hitting something. But the people who deserve it aren’t here, and the message is clear. Get in line, or we’ll put you in line.

  Arms gently encircle my waist from behind, and my mind slowly focuses back on the present moment. I pry one hand free from my death grip on the countertop and lower it to Patrick’s where it rests softly on my waist.

  “I can’t do this. I can’t live like this, Patrick. I’m not some zoo animal that can live under a microscope!” My breaths are coming in fast gulps now, and for the first time, I feel truly panicked. My rage is still there, burning in my gut. But without an outlet, the panic has surged to the forefront.

  “Hey, hey—it’s going to be okay. It’s not okay. Not really, but it will be.” He strokes my hair gently with his free hand, and I close my eyes and lean into his touch. Eventually I turn in his arms and sink into his hard chest. My sobs break free and it’s like a dam bursting after all this time, anger and frustration pouring out in the only way available to me.

  “We can’t let them get away with this, Patrick. They don’t deserve this kind of power over people’s lives,” I say it quietly, but I know he hears me when his chin bobs against the top of my head.

  “I know, Sadie. I know.”

  ✽✽✽

  The next morning, our blinking pink television has returned to normal, thank God. We meander out and down to the guest house to have breakfast and see what everyone else is up to today.

  Once we arrive in the dining room, we spot Teddy and Faith sitting at a large table with Emmett and Carolina, so we walk over to join them.

  “Hey, newlyweds! Nice of you to join us.” Emmett is the first to greet us, grinning widely. He seems to always be welcoming, which I appreciate.

  “Good morning,” Patrick greets him in return as we grab two empty seats.

  A pink-shirted waiter hurries over with a basket of their signature pastries, and takes our breakfast order. Once that’s taken care of, we turn our attention to the other couples at the table.

  “What are you guys all doing today?” I ask.

  “We’ve got appointments at the medical facility all morning for early screenings,” Faith says, her voice betraying her nerves.

  “I think we’re going to stay in and watch a movie. We hiked out to the lighthouse yesterday, so we’re pretty beat,” Carolina says. “You guys are welcome to join us, if you’d like! We haven’t had a lot of company since we’ve been here,” she says with sadness.

  “Odette and Dominic not much for group activities?” Teddy asks.

  She shakes her head. “No, Dominic seems like a nice guy, but Odette barely talks. We’ve been trying to let them have their space, but it doesn’t seem to have improved any.”

  I see an opportunity, and I take it. “Have there been any other couples here, or just you two so far?”

  “There was another couple when we first got here, Katie and Liam, but they got pregnant and had some issues, so had to transfer over to York for a procedure.” She realizes what she said, and darts her eyes over to Faith’s anxious face. “I’m pretty sure it was something minor, nothing life threatening,” she adds with a forced smile.

  Faith gazes down at her barely-touched plate with a troubled expression. “It’s okay, Carolina, this is my third match. I’ve seen couples get sent to the Reproductive Issues Department plenty of times.”

  Carolina looks relieved. “I’m sure you have. I’ve always thought they should have named it something better. I mean, ‘RID’ is kind of ominous, don’t you think?” she muses as she takes a bite of her omelet.

  Faith looks up with a small smile. “Yeah, I thought the same thing. Not that any of the names are great. I mean, this place is beautiful, but Mairmont Honeymoon Resort is a pretty bland name.”

  I snort. “Any chance to remind us why we’re here—I expected somethin
g more along the lines of ‘Baby Factory.’ The NLC wasn’t any better. Remember the dorms? Instead of calling it a dorm, they had to call it the ‘Future Mothers’ Wing” on the plaque by the front door.”

  Our pleasant chat is interrupted by one of the staff rushing in and turning on one of the televisions behind the waiters’ service area. The screen pops on, and he urgently selects a news channel. The volume is low from this distance, but the message is clear enough.

  A blonde reporter in her late forties is giving the report at a desk, with live footage of men holding signs outside of the capitol building in Wrightsville. “Just this morning, I’ve heard news that a vote has been called once again about changing the political structure of our nation. Unlike last time, the bill is said to have near-unanimous support, and comes on the tail of the major leak earlier this week that the prime minister’s son has in fact been married as part of the Compulsory Marriage Program. We have no official news that the two events are related, but it seems likely at this time.”

  I can feel the color drain from my face, and I look over to see Patrick—also pulled from his conversation by the sudden intrusion—looking grim.

  Emmett is the first to comment. “Poor bastard. You know he tries hard to stay out of the limelight since nobody knows what he looks like, but vultures are everywhere. Do you think they’ll really turn the North American Alliance into a monarchy, though? Marriage is great and all, but that’s no guarantee he’s going to be able to continue the line, not yet.”

  Teddy speaks up, giving Patrick another moment to compose himself. “It does seem premature, but I’m sure there’s more to the story than we know. They’ve been bandying the idea around for years, even before the son was married off. This is heaping fuel onto the fire that was already burning. I’m sure if it passes, he’ll keep getting assigned a new wife until one produces an heir.”

  My stomach flips, turning against the cheese Danish I’d already scarfed down. The thought of Patrick re-married to someone else sends a wave of heat over me. Am I really jealous? I don’t want to be a political figure. I want to go back home to the ranch as soon as I can. And if Patrick and I stay together, that probably won’t be an option. But the idea of divorcing him— I shudder. Deep down, I’m already attached. The idea of going home a divorcee, for no reason other than his job, doesn’t sit well with me. I can already see the looks of disappointment etched into my parents’ faces if I were to go home and tell them that. It’s not an option.