One cell has a fairly attractive man in it, and I linger, trying to see if he can see me like my guys can. But he can’t. I’m not sure who he is, but he looks a little broken. For whatever reason, I sort of feel sad for him, and I hang out beside him like I’m commiserating with him.
There was a long silence before General Leger answered. If that’s what you think is best.I do, she said, her voice sounding assertive, before she sank into tears again. I still can’t believe I’ll never be a mother.
A second later her cries were muffled, and I knew her husband had pulled her to his chest, trying to comfort her as best he could.All these years I had thought the Legers had chosen to be a childless couple. Miss Lucy’s struggles had never made it into conversation when I was in the room, and she seemed content enough to play with us as children and send us on our way. I’d never considered that it might have been an unfortunate circumstance thrust on them.Was my mother right? Was I not as observant or caring as I thought? Miss Lucy was one of my favorite people in the world. Shouldn’t I have been able to see how sad she was?
THIRTY-FIVE MASSIVE BASKETS SAT IN the office, filled with what must have been tens of thousands of entries, all left in their envelopes to protect the gentlemen’s anonymity. I tried to give off an air of eager anticipation for the sake of the camera, but I felt like I might vomit into one of those baskets at any given moment.That would be one way to narrow the pool.
Dad placed a hand on my back. All right, Eady. Just walk to each basket and select an envelope. I’ll hold them for you so your hands don’t get full. Then we’ll open them live tonight on the Report. It’s that easy.
For something so simple, it seemed incredibly daunting. Then again, I’d felt overwhelmed since we announced the Selection, so this shouldn’t have been a surprise.In other words, don’t do me any more favors. Killing a random hell dude isn’t the hell spawn equivalent to popping a Midol, I dutifully explain.
He always looks angry when he wants to smile about something stupid I’ve said. Taking my hand in his, he pulls me close and begins to dance with me. His other hand draws me closer at the waist until our bodies are flush against each other’s.We move in time with the haunting music so fitting for a royal hell gathering. Idly, I wonder when the hell I learned to do this dance. I almost feel like I’m being cheated out of the fun parts of learning these things with this memory.
This is the first time you’ve acted truly angry, he tells me, his intrigue shining in his dark eyes. What’s going on?My jokes never get much of a reaction. But my anger always seems to amuse him. I suppose it should be fair, since his anger can amuse me at times.