“Exchange pleasantries. Let them know you’re working hard. We just need to appear to be getting along with the rest of the world here. It’s why you came, remember? Wait here.”
As he walked up to the pair, I wondered what the threads would be like on the Doll Soldiers forum. Maybe the title would be, Maia Builds Bridges with Senator Tracy Ryan, with a set of pictures of me shaking hands with the woman widely known for her xenophobic, anti-immigration rhetoric and misogynistic policies straight out of the Baroque period. Of course, it would more likely be, Maia Selling Out to Political Trash, or, Self-Hating Daughter of an Immigrant Cosigns Racist. Or maybe, Maia Hangs with the Woman Who Once Suggested that She and Her Friends Be Locked Up and Tortured.
I turned right around, the bag over my shoulder swinging by the chain, and almost ran straight into Rhys standing behind me in a gray suit tailored perfectly to his tall, lean body.
“Maia. I . . .” He reached out to steady me. “I thought that was you. Your hair . . .” He pointed to his head, and my hand unconsciously went to my thick, curly hair. Still, I said nothing.
He looked even better than he usually did. He filled his suit nicely, his physique sturdier than his brother’s, his proportions cruelly phenomenal. I swallowed my greeting. It slid down painfully.
I’d already decided he couldn’t have killed Natalya, so I should have been more comfortable around him. I should have already sorted out the conflicted mess that were my emotions, but they were still in turmoil. Was it because of how I felt about him? Or was it the shadow of his secrets refusing to be put at ease? I couldn’t tell.
His long lashes fluttered as he blinked nervously before steeling himself with a cough. He kept a little amiable smile strapped to his face like a shield, but it wouldn’t make me forget that night Vasily had picked him apart piece by piece from the inside with his words alone. Or the tears streaming down his cheekbones as he’d looked at me, ashamed.
He waited for me to say something, but whatever I could say fell limp on my tongue. I hadn’t even known he’d be here. Are you okay, Rhys? I thought. I wanted to say at least that.
“Your . . .” The word came out timid, unsure. “Your wrist seems okay now,” I said, pointing at his arm. His black wrist brace was noticeable, but his hand looked like it could move a lot more easily now.
“Yeah,” he said. “The doctors did what they needed to. And I’ve been resting.”
“That’s good,” I told him, and my little smile seemed to encourage him. His face brightened hopefully at the sight of it.
“Maia,” he said finally, taking his chance. “I want to—”
“Maia—and Aidan, nice of you to come.”
Damn it, I’d stayed still too long. I turned to find Brendan walking up to us with Prince and Tracy Ryan in tow. Prince was formidable up close, but I could smell the judgment on him, feel the air of superiority. Once he reached me, he stared down at me without a word, picking me apart, sizing me up, trying to quantify my worth with nothing but the power of his glare.
“Ms. Finley,” Prince said finally. “It’s good to see you in person.”
“Yeah . . .” Then, catching myself, I added, “Um, yes, sir.” I was supposed to call him “sir,” right? There was something about him that made me feel like I had to add it.
He didn’t greet Rhys. Looking at them both up close, it was clear that Prince shared most of his genes with his eldest son: the dark, dirty-blond hair, the square shape of his head. But the intensity in Rhys’s and Prince’s eyes was the same.
“Hello, Director,” Rhys offered, only to be greeted with a curt nod.
“Maia, you know the director of the North American Division.” Unlike Rhys, Brendan’s voice swelled with pride as he formally introduced his father. “And this is Senator Tracy Ryan.”
On cue, Ryan gave the photographers the practiced grin of a politician, even if she couldn’t hide its insidiousness. “It’s good to meet one of you in person, Maia.”
I looked at the hand she offered me. “Does seeing me in person make it easier or harder to dehumanize and belittle me?”
“Maia,” Brendan warned through gritted teeth, flicking his head not-so-subtly at a reporter talking to a dignitary nearby.
“Ryan has said some rather unfavorable things about the Sect,” started Prince, his Adam’s apple bulging in his throat. “But we welcome these opinions. The Sect has never been above critique or scrutiny. We are as accountable to the rest of the world and its citizens as any other agency, and we’ve always conducted ourselves as such.”
He was great at hiding it, but I caught it anyway: the way his eyes scanned the reception hall as he spoke. He certainly made sure his voice was loud enough for others to hear.
“So you told me.” Ryan swirled her wineglass. “Look, I’m not here to debate politics. Lord knows we can all use a break from that from time to time. I’m here in good faith as a public servant just like everyone else. I will say, though, that if you want to win the people over, you should try asking your girls to fix their attitudes a little.”
I blinked, shaking my head because I wasn’t quite sure what I’d heard. “If you have something to say, I’m standing right here.”
“You see?” Ryan said to Prince again, who, to my fury, sighed almost in apology. It was only then that she turned to address me. “I know it’s not your fault. That’s just the trouble with young women. Despite all that, you’ve managed to keep things together so far, and I commend you.” I glared at her as she sipped from her glass. She “commended” me as if I were a newly potty-trained child. “But can you blame good, honest people for being worried when you can’t even behave yourself at a simple fund-raiser?”
“But where are the good, honest people?” I looked around. “Surely you don’t mean yourself?”
“That’s enough.” Prince kept his voice low and menacing. “This isn’t the time to make a scene. And you should know your place.”
My place. It was like a gut punch I’d seen coming, but I reeled from it anyway, from Ryan’s smug look of victory, from Brendan’s docility as he avoided my eyes.
“Wow, this is really something, isn’t it, Maia?” Rhys glared at his father. “So what, Director? We’re surrounded by cameras, so you’re going to pretend you can stand to be around someone you once called the political equivalent of a monkey on a tricycle?”
Ryan bristled. This was clearly the first time she’d heard this, but Rhys hadn’t finished.
“The Sect has a bad image, so you’re just gonna spread it for assholes like this and let them talk to our people any damn way they want?”
Brendan looked furious. “Watch your tone with the director,” he hissed.