Kingmakers, Year Two

10. Zoe

10

ZOE

H old up,” Miles says.

He’s looking at the doorway where Dax Volker and Jasper Webb are trying to enter.

“Let me get rid of the party crashers,” he tells me. “Go on with Chay and Anna if you like—I’ll find you in a bit.”

It’s difficult to locate my friends in the tightly-packed press of students, with only dim red lights illuminating my way. Miles’ parties are always busier and better-organized than the random get-togethers thrown by other students. I’m continually surprised what he manages to pull off under all the restrictions of the island—he’s so resourceful .

The professors are well aware that we throw parties in the stables, and they don’t seem to care as long as the mayhem doesn’t spill out into other areas of campus.

Even in the chilliest parts of winter, it’s plenty warm in here, especially once everyone starts dancing. The red lights throw up wild, demonic shadows from the gyrating bodies and the piles of old furniture heaped up on the far end of the space.

I know Anna and Chay will be dancing, because it’s their favorite thing to do. I actually love dancing too, though I haven’t had as many opportunities to do it other than at stuffy parties with my father and Daniela, or in my own bedroom.

I find the two girls with Cat between them, and Leo, Ares, Hedeon, and Matteo Ragusa completing the circle.

I wish I were as graceful as Anna, or as uninhibited as Chay. I feel a little stiff at first, until Miles’ punch takes hold and I start to relax. The music is pounding, the weight of all our bodies shaking the wide wooden floorboards.

After a minute, Ozzy joins us.

“Who’s covering the door?” Anna asks, looking sharply toward the entran ce.

“Miles is paying Kasper Markaj to do it,” Ozzy says. “Don’t worry, no assholes tonight. Or at least, none we don’t like.”

Ozzy is trying to edge his way over to Chay, mindful of his injured arm, but Chay is dancing as close to Ares as possible, so she’s not paying any attention to him.

Hedeon seems to have decided that, in the shortage of girls, he might as well dance with Cat. Cat is confused by this at first, and keeps trying to edge away from him, so Hedeon grabs her hands and twirls her around. I have to stifle a laugh at the terrified look on Cat’s face. Hedeon may be grumpy, but he’s not a bad dancer. He’s surprisingly patient as Cat steps on his foot a couple of times before getting into the swing of it.

Anna’s definitely the best dancer of any of us. She slips in and out of Leo’s arms, sometimes dancing with him, sometimes with Chay and me. Chay had a couple of shots before we came down, so she’s plenty loose, grinding up on Matteo until his face is redder than her costume, then turning her attention back to Ares.

Ares lets Chay sidle up against his broad chest, but when she tries to put his hands on her hips, he only holds them there a minute before letting go again. Disappointed, Chay finally gives Ozzy the up-close-and-personal attention he’s been craving.

Ares is a mystery to me. He never flirts, which I suppose isn’t surprising since he’s quiet and reserved. But I’ve barely seen him lo ok at a girl, even one as beautiful and as obviously interested as Chay.

I don’t get the feeling he’s gay. Of course, that’s just a guess—it’s not always easy to tell.

I think the real issue is that he knows no relationship at Kingmakers would go anywhere, long-term. Especially if Ares plans to go back to Syros. The mafia daughters at our school are expected to make the most advantageous matches possible—which doesn’t include the eldest son of a family that lost all its former glory.

It’s unfortunate, but true. Ares is a realist, and so am I.

That doesn’t stop me feeling a thrill of pleasure when Miles joins us.

“Hey,” he growls in my ear, pushing his shock of dark curls back out of his eyes with his palm. “Hope you didn’t tire yourself out already.”

I can feel his warm breath on my bare shoulder, and the heat radiating out of his body. Pressed together on the dance floor, we’re closer than we’ve been since he carried me to the infirmary.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not tired at all.”

“Good,” Miles says, his white teeth flashing in his tanned face. “Let’s get to dancing, then. ”

He pulls a little remote out of his pocket and clicks it to change the song. Instantly the speakers switch to something slower and sexier, with a playful, insistent beat.

Miles pulls me into his arms, putting my hands around his neck and his large, warm hands on my hips. He easily pulls me into his rhythm, which is effortless and outrageously smooth.

I’ve never seen anyone move to music like Miles can. His body flows like he’s liquid under his clothes. He’s playful and creative, making me laugh as he mixes silly little flourishes into dancing that is, over all, extremely fucking sexy.

Despite Miles booting out anybody connected to Rocco, there’s still plenty of students here who could rat me out for dancing with him. Rocco is sure to hear about it, and so is my father.

But right now, in the center of all my friends, I feel a sense of security I’ve never felt before. I’m free to laugh and dance and enjoy the music, free like I’ve never been before in my life. Cat is right next to me, giggling as Hedeon spins her around and dips her low, almost knocking over Chay and Ozzy, who are dancing back-to-back so Chay doesn’t rub against his injured arm.

Miles flips through song after song, each one better than the one before. Ares gets us all another round of punch. We’re hot and sweaty and tipsy, but none of us wants to stop.

“What’s your favorite kind of music?” Miles asks me.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “I like all of this.”

“You like Latin dancing?”

“Sure. I mean, I learned it growing up.”

He swaps the song to “Se?orita,” which isn’t strictly speaking a Latin song, but as he pulls me into an effortless salsa, I can’t help laughing.

“Why are you better at this than I am?” I demand.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Miles growls, his face very close to mine, my fingers wrapped up in his, our bodies pressed tight together. “I’d say nobody on this dance floor looks better than y ou.”

I don’t know if I was a good dancer before today, but Miles is bringing out the best in me. It’s so easy to match his rhythm, to follow his lead. The sensuality of his body seems to be drawing out the same thing in mine, so our feet move perfectly together, our hips, our thighs, every part of us entwined. I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m melting into him, dancing without thought or effort, just pure pleasure.

We dance for hours. I never get tired of it. I never want it to stop.

Anna and Leo, Chay and Ozzy, Hedeon and Cat, and poor Matteo all on his own, they come and go around us as they refresh their drinks or take a break to sit and chat on the dusty velvet couch in the corner.

Only Miles and I stay exactly where we are, completely wrapped up in each other, tireless and endlessly driven to keep dancing so this moment won’t end.

The couch fills up with half-drunk students. Cat tries to perch on a stack of filing boxes instead. The boxes tip over and she tumbles onto the floor, papers spilling everywhere.

I run over to help her up.

“I’m fine,” Cat says, face as scarlet as the punch. “You keep dancing. I’m not hurt, just clumsy.”

I help her scoop the papers back into the boxes, though it hardly matters. Everything on that side of the stable is trash, as far as I can see. Stored and forgotten, with no chance of being recovered again.

When we’ve cleaned up the mess, Cat says, “I’m pretty tired. I think I’m gonna head back to the Undercroft.”

“I’ll take you,” I say.

“I can go alone.” Cat shakes her head. Her whiskers have smeared across her face so she looks more like a chimney sweep than a kitten, but still completely adorable.

“No, I’m going with you. It’s not safe to be alone in the dark,” I say firmly.

I know Cat is making her own way at Kingmakers as best she can, but it’s late at night, and Rocco and his friends might be lurking around, pissed about being banned from the party.

“I’ll take her,” Hedeon says unexpectedly. “I’m gonna head to bed, too.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. Hedeon’s not one to offer a favor, generally speaking.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Hedeon says irritably. “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

I look to Cat to see if she’s comfortable with this.

“Alright, thank you,” she says to Hedeon .

Anna and Leo are still dancing, though Anna is tipsy enough that it looks more like swaying, with Leo half holding her up. Ozzy and Chay have disappeared. Matteo passed out on the dusty green sofa.

Now that I’ve been pulled back to reality, I’m realizing I should probably go to bed myself, before my inhibitions sink any lower.

“I think I’ll head out, too,” I say to Miles.

“I’ll walk you,” he replies, not trying to argue with me.

We leave alongside Hedeon and Cat, the four of us sticking together until we reach the junction point where Cat needs to head south toward the Undercroft, and I go north to the Solar.

The night air is crisp and windless. Only a few lights shine out from the windows of Kingmakers, allowing the blanket of stars overhead to glitter dense and brilliant. Hedeon looks up into the sky moodily, ignoring Cat now that they’re not dancing anymore.

Cat is so exhausted she can barely walk straight. Her classes are hard on her. She’s not used to this level of activity every day. Besides Combat, Stealth, and Environmental Adaptation, which can all be extremely physical, the conditioning classes require us to go for long cross-country runs down in the River Bottoms, as well as grueling workouts in the gym. Even Marksm anship classes are strenuous—my hands and arms ache after a long session of shooting.

I give Cat a quick hug as we part ways, saying, “Sleep in tomorrow if you can.”

She nods sleepily.

I watch her and Hedeon walk away, ensuring that Hedeon stays right by her.

Then it’s just me and Miles, alone on the dark, empty campus.

Somehow this feels even more intimate than dancing pressed tight together.

I’m shy, all of a sudden.

Miles breaks the silence between us.

“Did you make those?” He nods toward my paper wings, composed of hundreds of individually-cut feathers, each with its own unique design, like a snowflake.

“Not a chance,” I say. “That was all Cat. She’s so artistic. She was supposed to go to art school this year, before I fucked it up.”

“What do you mean?”

I tell him about the engagement party and Rocco’s surprise visit to my house .

We’re walking up toward the Solar, slowly because neither of us is in a hurry. The thick sod muffles our footsteps.

“That’s not your fault,” Miles says, frowning.

“It is, though. When I disobey my father, he always takes it out on Cat. I knew that beforehand. When I rebel, she suffers.”

Remembering that immutable fact makes me realize that I’m making the same mistake all over again. I spent the night at the party, dancing and drinking with Miles, heedless of the consequences that might follow.

Reading my thoughts, Miles takes my hand. His hand is large and strong, and immensely warm.

“Your cousins weren’t here tonight,” he says. “None of Rocco’s friends, either.”

“They’ll still hear. Everybody talks.”

Miles doesn’t bother to deny that—he knows it’s true.

“Tell me about your marriage contract,” he says.

“I haven’t even read it,” I admit. “I wasn’t part of the negotiations.”

“Do you know what your father’s getting out of the deal? What’s in it for Rocco’s family? ”

I explain it to him as best I understand, starting with the wars amongst the Galician clans, and ending with everything I know about my father’s business, and the Princes’.

Miles takes it all in, occasionally asking clarifying questions. This is something I’ve noticed about Miles—he’s an information-gatherer. He’s good at asking just the right questions to figure out what’s really going on.

When I’m done talking, he stays quiet a while, considering.

“There’s a personal element on Rocco’s side, isn’t there?” he asks me.

“Do you mean, is he in love with me?” I say. “I wouldn’t call it love.”

“He’s fixated,” Miles says.

“Yes. We’ve been betrothed since I was twelve. He’s been planning what he’ll do with me once we’re married for eight years now. He’s more than fixated—he’s obsessed.”

Miles’ expression is serious as he looks at me. In the infirmary, I realized that Miles has eyes of a color I’ve never seen before—a pure, clear gray. Under the starlight they shine almost silver, much lighter than his deeply-tanned skin.

“Tell me more about your Marilyn obsession,” he says, abruptly changing the subject .

I assume he doesn’t want to talk about Rocco anymore, because that topic is depressing. Honestly, I feel the same.

“I love old movies and TV shows,” I say. “I always have. I used to watch them at my Abuelita’s house—we didn’t have television at home. My stepmother is very strict. My Lita was not strict. She’d give us all the treats and snuggles and screen-time we wanted, every time we came to visit. She’d make leche frita, and we’d watch White Christmas, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Singin’ in the Rain, Some Like It Hot, West Side Story . . . all the Alfred Hitchcock films, those were her favorite. I think she watched them when she was young to learn English, and never stopped.”

“I used to watch Peaky Blinders with my Grandma Imogen,” Miles says. “She said it wasn’t accurate—the Peaky Blinders gang was never that organized. But she liked it all the same, just to hear the Irish accents and see the streets she knew.”

“It was opposite for Lita—she wanted to see the places she was never going to visit, like New York or Oklahoma.”

“She always stayed in Spain?” Miles asks.

“Yes. We’d go see her every week, Cat and me. Then my Abuelito died, and my father didn’t have to send us over there anymore. They were my mother’s parents. As long as Tito was alive, he could pressure my father into letting us visit. Once he was gone. . .there was nothing Lita could do.” I swallow hard. “She di ed last year. I didn’t see her for the last four years she was alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Miles says. I can hear in his voice that he means it.

We’ve reached the Solar. The wind picks up, rustling the paper feathers of my angel wings.

“I shouldn’t have kept you out here so long,” Miles says, looking at my bare arms. “You must be cold.”

I should be cold, going from the heat of the crowded stables to the crisp, open air. But I’m not. I’m never cold around Miles—my heart is always beating too hard, blood thundering through my veins.

“Your cut is almost healed,” Miles says, gently touching the place next to my eye where Rocco dug his knife.

When Miles touches me, it ignites every nerve beneath his fingertips. That one part of my body becomes more sensitive than every other inch of skin combined.

I don’t think he means to kiss me.

But one hand on my face becomes two, and then he pulls me toward him, our lips coming together in one smooth movement. Miles’ lips are full and warm, firm and yet soft against mine. The kiss is gentle at first, and then it becomes deeper, his tongue sliding between my lips, caressing mine .

The taste of his mouth turns attraction into lust. My heart races so hard that it feels like one, continuous throb. I’ve thrown myself into his arms. We’re clinging to each other, kissing with a kind of desperation that feels wild and reckless and utterly addictive.

Kissing Miles is like dancing with him. We’re perfectly in sync. Time melts away. I can’t get enough of it, I can’t seem to stop. The wind buffets my paper wings, making a sound like a thousand whispers, lifting me slightly like I might fly away.

Slowly, I realize that we’re out in the open at the base of the Solar. Even in the darkness, anyone looking out their window might spot me in my white gown.

I break away from Miles.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

It was Miles who kissed me, but I shouldn’t have let him. It’s not only dangerous for me to break my contract with Rocco. If anything, it’s even more dangerous for Miles. The Princes could seek retribution.

“I did it,” Miles says, looking at me intently. “And I’m not sorry.”

“We can’t,” I say to him.

We both know we can’t, and yet I allowed myself to pretend otherwise. I enjoyed the fantasy that I could talk to a boy I liked, flirt with him, dance with him. I let myself experience the feeling of actually falling for someone, reveling in that sense of mutual attraction. I had never felt it before. It was intoxicating.

But now I’ve crossed the line. And it felt too good. So good that I’m terrified of what I’ll end up doing if I don’t stop now.

“I can’t see you anymore,” I say to Miles.

He’s looking at me, face impassive, not answering.

I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I can’t read Miles as well as he reads me.

“You’re going to see me tomorrow,” he says.

“I’m not.”

“You will,” he says. His gray eyes are brighter than ever, fixed on mine with an intensity I’ve never seen in Miles before. He acts like he doesn’t care about anything. But I always knew that couldn’t be true, because he’s the furthest thing from lazy. He’s always hustling, always working an angle.

I’m finally seeing what it looks like when Miles is chasing something he wants.

“I can’t kiss you anymore,” I say. “And I can’t be alone with you. ”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Zoe,” Miles says, his eyes burning into mine. “I’m also not going to stop.”

Before I can say another word, he turns and strides away from me, across the dark grounds.

I’m staring after him, open-mouthed, my lips still throbbing where he kissed me.