When In Doubt, Ship It.

            “You need not follow me any further,” Charlotte told Brimsley.

            “Are you sure, Your Majesty?”

            “Do I seem like I am not sure?”  She snapped.  Brimsley responded with a deferential nod of his head, but she could see the worry on his face.  Softening her voice, she said, “I will be fine, Brimsley.”

            “Of course, Your Majesty.”

            She turned on her heel and made the journey up to George’s bedroom.  Coe House was full of memories, but in recent, there was nothing but dread.  She rarely called unless George took ill, long ago accepting that he had succumbed to the heavens.  Her presence only upset him. 

            The physician stood outside of the room, seemingly waiting for her.  He stepped forward when she approached, his face holding the sort of impassivity that always irritated her.  She liked being able to read people’s expressions. 

            “How is he?” She asked.

            “He is asleep now.  But, he has been asking for you.”

            “He has?” Charlotte asked, her breath catching.  He hadn’t asked for her in years.  “I would like to see him now.”

            “He is resting.”

            Charlotte set him with a look, straightening herself to her full height.  “I said I would like to see my husband. Please move aside, or I will call someone to move you.”

            Chagrined, the physician stepped aside and Charlotte stepped inside George’s bedroom, closing the door behind her.  The room smelled of sickness and she longed to open the windows, but she knew they had been locked shut since they were first married. 

            They had shared many memories in this room and she was flooded with thoughts of days past as she walked over to the side of the bed, sitting next to George.  He was asleep, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids.  He must be dreaming, she thought.  But, what of?  Her, perhaps?  Or was he dreaming of Venus, the stars weaving a tapestry across his mind?

            “Oh George,” she sighed, smoothing his hair away from his face.  She did not love him any less than forty years earlier, when he had first touched her heart.  In many ways, it was a curse.  Life would have been easier if she could have forgotten him.  If she could have given up on him.  But she couldn’t, because there were moments that gave her hope, as slim as it was.  They were sparse in the later years, but every so often, her George returned.  He came back to her, and so even when the stars overtook him, and when he yelled and barricaded himself behind tables at her presence, she could not give up.  She would not. 

            He stirred in his sleep and she placed her hand on his chest.  “Shhh, go back to sleep.  Go back to sleep, my love.”

            “Charlotte?”

            His eyes fluttered open and she could tell immediately that these were one of those moments.  He was himself again, and while her heart sang, it also broke.  Would this be the last time he returned to her?

            “Charlotte, you’re here.”

            “Of course, I am here.  Where else would I be?”

            He took a hold of her hand and held it tightly against his chest.  She could feel the labored work of his breath beneath her hand. 

            “How long have I been gone?” He asked.

            She knew what he meant, but was surprised by the question nonetheless.  Before, whenever he would have an episode, when he came to he would ask her how long it lasted.  He hadn’t been lucid enough in years to ask.

            She chose her words carefully, and said, “It has been a while.”

            Tears filled his eyes.  “I’m sorry, Lottie.”

            “You have nothing to apologize for,” Charlotte said fiercely, holding his face in her hands.  “You are here now.  That is what matters.”

            “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

            “Well, I believe you became the king of a country that my brother wished to strike an alliance with.”

            George laughed, but the laugh quickly turned into a hacking cough.  There was a glass of water on his nightstand, and Charlotte quickly grabbed it and held it to his lips.  He took a sip and when his cough subsided, he leaned back into the pillows.

            “The best alliance Great Britain ever made,” he said.

            “I’d have to agree with that.”

            “Tell me about our family,” George asked. 

            “The children are doing well,” Charlotte told him.

            “And our grandchildren?”

            “We are up to five now,” she said.  The last they had spoken, they were only expecting their first.  “We had our first boy last year.  Named George, naturally.”

            “George the Fifth?”  He asked with a weak smile.  “How splendid.”

            “I thought you would enjoy that.”

            He went to speak, but was overcome by another racking cough.  Charlotte tried to give him the water again, but he swatted her hand away.  When he the cough settled, she said, “You shouldn’t talk any more.”

            He nodded, closing his eyes shut.  When they opened again, he stared at her, and for a moment she thought he was gone to the stars again.  But then he took her hand and tugged her toward the bed.  She laid beside him, lying on her side to face him.  When they were younger, they had spent many nights this way, talking well into the early morning hours.  Looking into his eyes, she could see him that way again.  His white hair dark again, the lines on his face softened.

            “I’ve missed you, George.”

            “I’m sorry that I have not been here.  You deserved a husband who could be.”

            “I made my choice and I would make it time and time again,”  She inched closer, pressing her forehead against his.  “It is you and me.  Always.”

            “You and me,” he echoed.

            The next morning, Charlotte left Coe Hall, Brimsley walking three-paces behind her.  Three days later, she received the news that King George passed away.  While many around her shed tears, for Charlotte, she felt relief.  George was finally free of his illness.  He was at peace.

            That evening, she went to the observatory and situated herself in front of one of George’s old telescopes.  She hadn’t used one for years, the stars really having been more of George’s interest than her own.  It felt right, though, and so she set up the telescope as George taught her, adjusting the scope just right.  She looked into the scope, the stars spread out before her.  She could read the usual constellations, and then something caught her eye.  It was a bright star, larger than those in the constellations, but smaller than a planet.  As she looked at it, the star almost seemed to brighten.  Charlotte’s chest tightened. 

            “Kate!”

            The eldest Sharma daughter looked up just quickly enough to see a mass of chestnut hair throw themselves at her.  She laughed, stumbling back at the sheer force of the other woman.  While she hadn’t fully seen who was hugging her, she recognized the tight grip.

            “Eloise, it is so good to see you.”

            “You are late.”

            Kate grinned indulgently and said, “I am afraid the Atlantic Ocean is to blame.”

            Kate and her family had planned to arrive earlier in the week, but inclement weather during the sea portion of their journey had waylaid them.  Eloise tugged her toward the house. 

            “Since you weren’t here, Colin won pall mall.  He’s been gloating ever since.”

            “It’s been – what – six years since he’s won?”

            “Seven,” Eloise corrected.  “I was a close second.  Naturally.”

            Kate smirked.  “Of course.  Who got last place?”

            Eloise grinned wide.  “Anthony.  Please bring it up when you see him.”

            “Oh, I most certainly will,” Kate said with delight.  “I’m guessing he didn’t get the mallet of death this year?”

            “No, he did.”

            “He got last place with the mallet of death?”

            “It was an exceedingly bad game for him.”

            Kate spotted Anthony and said, “Excuse me, Eloise.”

            Spotting her brother, Eloise said, “Give him a little bit of a hard time, will you?”

            Kate smirked.  “I’ll do my best.”

            She walked toward Anthony, who had appreciated her approach and halted his move toward the front door of the house, and she said, “My condolences, my Lord.”

            He looked at her with confusion.  “For what?”

            “Your pall mall game.”

            Anthony’s jaw ticked.  “It had rained the day before.  The entire lawn was a mess.” 

            “I would not have taken you for one making excuses for a fair loss.”

            “Did you approach just to irritate me?”

            “Of course not, my Lord.  Just a convenient byproduct.”

            Kate delighted too much in his irritation, but it had always been this way.  Ever since they were children, both had taken enjoyment out of needling the other. 

            “Of course,” he parroted back, shaking his head.  “And stop calling me that.”

            “Calling you what?” She returned, knowing very well what he was talking about.  Having known each other since children, he never required her to use his title.  She only did it to annoy him.

            He narrowed his eyes.  “See, when others use my title, it is as a sign of respect.  When you say it…”

            She grinned wide.  “I assure you, I mean nothing but respect, my Lord.”

            Anthony held her gaze for one heated moment, his gaze shifting from frustration to something more calculating, and then he said, “I see it is just yourself, Ms. Edwina and Mrs. Sharma.  Still without a husband, I see?  You are now, what, eight and twenty?”

            “I don’t see a Lady Bridgerton, either.”

            “I can choose a wife whenever I wish.”

            “Oh yes, of course, because you are a man.  How could I have forgotten?”  Kate held her chin high.  “If you must know, though, I am engaged to be married.”

            Anthony blinked with surprise.  He hadn’t expected that.  “Are you?  Where is he then?”

            “He had business.”

            “Business,” Anthony repeated.  “And what business is that?”

            “He is a solicitor.  His livelihood does not afford him the luxury of taking an extended holiday.  He must work.”

            The insinuation was clear that Anthony’s given title did not require him to work, a misapprehension as being the Viscount kept Anthony exceedingly busy, but he didn’t take the bait.  It would be too easy.

            Instead, he said, “Tell me about your solicitor.  Who is it that captured the discerning eye of Ms. Kate Sharma?”

            Kate didn’t like him asking questions.  Not that she hadn’t brought it on herself, which she did.  She shouldn’t have mentioned James.

            “He is kind and fair,” she said carefully, setting him with a level look.

            “Kind and fair,” Anthony repeated slowly.

            Feeling a criticism on the horizon, Kate said, “And industrious.”

            “And industrious?”

            “Yes,” Kate said irritably.  “Why are you repeating everything I say?”

            “He sounds like quite the gentleman.  A shame he couldn’t join you here.  I would have loved to have made his acquaintance.”

            “And what of you?  Has the time come for there to be a Lady Bridgerton?  Or will you waste yet another year away with opera singers and actresses?

            “You say waste.  I say I have received …” he stepped closer, lowering his voice, “and given immense pleasure.  That hardly sounds like a waste to me.”

            Despite herself, Kate felt her breath catch and she knew he had won.  Damn it.

            “I believe I have other guests to attend to,” Anthony said, stepping around her.  As he passed, his sleeve brushed her bare arm.  “Good day, Ms. Sharma.”

—

            Kate settled into her room, enjoying the moment of quiet before the preparations for the ball that evening would begin.  Her thoughts drifted back to her conversation with Anthony.  She held her left hand in front of her, examining her engagement ring.  It was an intricate design, a pattern of small diamonds and pearls swirling above a yellow gold setting.  Not at all the ring she would choose.  But then again, James wasn’t exactly the husband she would have chosen, either.

            She hadn’t lied before to Anthony.  James was kind, fair and industrious.  He was a steady and strong match.  Which was exactly what their family needed.  Edwina had gone and married a penniless writer for love.  Kate never begrudged her sister for that, but it did leave her with the responsibility of securing their mother’s future.  Their father had not been a wealthy man and each year, the funds on which Mary lived dwindled.  She did not love James, but he made a good living and, having always been practical to a fault, that was enough.  When he asked her to marry him, the only logical answer was yes.

            The respite was too short before there was a knock on her door.  A moment later, her sister’s voice sounded on the other side of the door.

            “Kate?”

            Reluctantly, Kate sat up on her bed and said, “Come in, Edwina.”

            The door opened and Edwina came in, climbing onto the bed beside her sister. 

            “Why are you hiding in here?”

            “I am not hiding.”

            “I saw you and Anthony talking.  You two aren’t at odds again, are you?”

            Kate laughed.  “We haven’t even been here a day, Edwina.”

            “It wouldn’t be the first time you two have started warring early.”

“We are not at odds,” Kate assured her.  “I actually told him of my engagement.”

            “You did?  Well, I am sure that he was immensely happy for you.”

            Kate thought of his reaction, but kept it to herself.  Instead, she said, “He was most congratulatory.”

            “That is wonderful to hear.”  Edwina grasped Kate’s hand.  “Did you ever think this day would come?  Both of us happily married?”

            Kate kept the truth of her engagement from Edwina, not wanting her to know the position that her marriage had put them in.  The guilt would consume her sister.

            “It is a miracle, indeed,” Kate said, squeezing Edwina’s hand.

—

            That evening, the who’s who of London made their appearance at Aubrey Hall.  The usual names were there, and some unusual ones, as well.  Kate kept to the side of the dance floor, watching the others dance.  While she always enjoyed coming out to the country during the summer, she never quite enjoyed the ball.  It was a beautiful affair, of course.  Violet would never allow anything short of perfection.  But when she was younger, the conversation had always been about who she would marry.  When she proved herself a likely spinster, the conversation was then about who Edwina would marry.  Then, when they had exhausted that topic, it was comments on the flowers and how the roses or lilacs or whatever other flower was center this year was an inspiring choice.  Even at a young age, it bothered Kate that in a room filled with intelligent women, all they could seem to talk about was marriage and flowers.

            Kate went out onto the balcony, needing a bit of fresh air.  A moment later, the door opened and Anthony stepped out onto the balcony.  She looked back, catching his gaze and for a moment, he seemed to reconsider making the rest of the way over to her.  She watched the hesitation pass on his face before he closed the door behind him, decision made, and joined her at the railing.

            “Seems you had the same idea as me,” he said.

            “Did you also need to escape endless questioning about your thoughts on the flower arrangements?”

            “No, I am escaping Cressida Cowper.”

            Kate winced. 

            “It seems my mother told a few of the marriage mart here that I am looking for a wife.  They all are setting their daughters on me.  Cressida is the most forward of the bunch.”

            Kate snorted, drawing an amused look from Anthony.  “Your mother is an enterprising woman.”

            “I will be sure to tell her that.”

            “Why don’t you want to marry Cressida?  She’s pretty.  Smart, too.”

            “I do not like to speak ill of women, but she is awful.  Absolutely awful.  I swear, I don’t think I have ever met a woman as awful as Cressida Cowper.”

            “Come now, she’s not that bad.”

            “You only see her one month a year.  I have to spend the other eleven months with her.  Just trust me on this.”

            “Okay,” Kate said with a shrug.  “She is awful then.”

            Anthony glanced over his shoulder, and then suddenly pulled Kate over to a dark side of the balcony.  She yelped, only to have Anthony put his hand over her mouth and whisper, “Be quiet!”

            She bit his hand and he swore, pulling it away.

            “What the-“

            “Cressida just came out here,” he hissed.  “So please, shut up.”

            Kate’s eyes narrowed.  “Don’t tell me to-“

            He covered her mouth again with his hand, quickly glancing over his shoulder again.  To his relief, Cressida seemed to have a change of heart about being outside, and she turned on her heel and went back into the ball.  He removed his hand from Kate’s mouth just as she drove her heel down into his foot.

            “What the hell!” He railed, stumbling away from her.

            “I could say the same thing!” She hissed back.  “You couldn’t just talk to her like a normal person?”

            “Not out here!  Knowing you, you would have left us outside here and Cressida would have maneuvered us into some compromising position and I’d end the night an engaged man!”

            “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.  Not all women go around scheming to trap a man into marriage.”

            “Maybe not you, but –“

            “Do you have that low an opinion of women?”

            Anthony clenched his jaw.  “No!  I am merely saying – “

            “Or that high of an opinion of yourself?”

            “Well, I mean, I am a Viscount.”

            Kate’s eyes widened.  “You cannot be serious.”

            “While you may not want to marry me, believe it or not, many other women are not so inclined.”

            Kate wanted to refute him.  It went against her very nature to agree with him, but she knew he was right.  His position did make him a catch for just about any woman in London.  The doors opened again, and almost by instinct, Anthony stepped forward and pushed her into the dark corner again.  He was pressed close, his hands against the building on either side of her waist, his mouth a breath from hers.  If either moved a fraction of an inch, they would be well past the point of decency.  Of course, neither could move.  Coming out of a dark corner in company was just about as bad as being found there.

            His eyes met hers and she nodded almost imperceptibly, agreeing that they had no recourse but to stay how they were.  Kate closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she found him looking at her mouth.  She licked her lips nervously, and felt him track the movement of her tongue.  His hands flexed beside her waist, like it took effort for him to keep them there.  His eyes met hers again and it felt as if all the air was sucked from her lungs. 

            Behind them, Kate heard the couple outside go back into the ball.  The coast was clear, but neither of them made a move.  It was as if they were frozen in the moment.  Kate heard the opening chords of a Mozart concerto begin, and it jogged her out of her momentary insanity.

            “Anthony?”             “Yes?”

            “Since I have no intention of trapping you into an engagement, we probably should move.”

            That pulled him out of his reverie, and he sprang away from her, looking about as shaken as she felt.  He ran his hand through his hair, straightening as he regained his composure.  With a slight inclination of his head, he said, “Good night, Ms. Sharma.”      

           Two days later, a carriage had arrived and the Haywards were befuddedly helping their daughter in the car with her trunk. She had explained to them that one didn’t exactly turn down an invitation from Susan Worcester. Besides, maybe it would do her some good.  She hadn’t been able to shake a constant sense of melancholy since she returned to Wellington.  At least London would be distracting.

           “Promise me that you will write,” her mother implored, smoothing her hair away from her face.  

           “I promise.  Every week I will send a letter.”

           Charlotte waved to her parents as the carriage departed and then settled herself inside, wondering what came next.  Idly, she thought how Sidney was also in London.  She felt both a dinstict thrill along with the churning of her stomach.  But, as he said before, it was a city of a million people.  What were the odds they would meet?

           “Charlotte, my dear, it is so good to see you,” Susan said, pulling the younger woman into a tight hug.  She beckoned a footman to take Charlotte’s trunk as they walked into her opulent manor.  Charlotte hadn’t known what to expect, but the house certainly did not disappoint.

           “How was your journey here?”  Susan asked.

           “Pleasant, thank you.”

           “I’m glad to hear it.”

           “Thank you for your hospitality in inviting me,” Charlotte said.

           “Nonsense, I did nothing of the sort.  You are my friend, no hospitality needed.”

           They went inside into the front drawing room and Charlotte spoke to one of her maids who returned a few minutes later with a tray of tea and tea cakes.  Charlotte happily took a tea cake, famished from her travels.

           “Tell me, how are you doing?”  Susan asked.

           “I’m perfectly fine.”  Susan set her with an apprising look, and Charlotte sighed.  “I’m trying to forget him, which is practiclay impossible.”

           “Of course it is, love doesn’t fade that easily.”

           “It was impossible to stay in Sanditon, there wasn’t a place I could go that didn’t remind me of him, so I went home to Wellington, but then admittedly, I wasn’t able to escape him there, either.”  She took a deep breath.  “But I must.”

           “Which is why you are here,” Susan said, punctuating the sentence with the clank of her tea cup against its saucer.  “There is no better distraction than London.  You have music, art and dancing.  Just you see, Sidney Parker will soon be nothing but a distant memory.”

           Charlotte smiled slightly, taking a sip of tea.

           “First order, I plan on throwing a ball to celebrate your arrival for the season.”

           “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Charlotte said quickly.  “I couldn’t imagine putting you out like that.”  

           “Nonsense.  It’ll be nothing.  We’ll have it for this weekend.”

           Charlotte nodded.  “That sound wonderful.”

           Susan grinned, pleased as punch, and Charlotte said, “Do you mind if I lie down for a bit?  I’m a little tired from the ride.”

           “Of course,” Susan said, standing.  “Your room is all ready.  Bridgette will take you there.”

           Charlotte followed Bridgette, glancing back at Susan for a moment as she left.  The older woman was smiling placidly and offered her a small wave.  When Charlotte was out of earshot, Susan turned to one of her other maids and said, “Make sure Sidney Parker and Eliza Campion receive invitations.”

           Susan Worcester’s thoughts on the whole Charlotte Hayward and Sideny Parker situation was simple.  She was never wrong with matters of the heart.  And here, one of those hearts involved happened to belong to someone that she held in the highest regard. She did not know the details of Sideny Porter and the Campion woman’s engagement.  The whispers around it all had been regrettably quiet, but she had heard from a certain footman, who reported Sidney Parker chasing after Charlotte’s carriage on horseback on her way out of Sanditon.  There was only one reason that a man did such a thing, and it was not indifference.  Therefore, she would set things right.  She’d make sure of it.

           The next day, Charlotte set out into town to explore a small book shop that Susan had told her about.  The sun was unusually warm, even more so than in Sanditon, and she pushed her bonnet further down on her head to shield her eyes. The street was busy, people of all sorts moving and talking, but instead of finding it overwhelming like when she had come to find Georgiana, Charlotte found it invigorating.

           She easily found the book shop and went inside, breathing in the heady scent of leather and paper.  She didn’t have the slightest idea what she was looking for, which was her favorite way to look.  She wove through the aisles slowly, letting her attention fall wherever it may.  She came across a thick volume on botany, and for some reason it caught her attention. She hooked her finger around the top of the book and pulled it out.  To her surprise, she recognized a man through the now vacant hole of the shelf.  She quickly put the book back, but it was too late.

           “Charlotte?”

           There he was.  Tall and broad, and every bit the man that she remembered.  The man whose heartbeat she had felt through his hands. The man who kissed her.  The man who had a question that he could now never again ask.

           “Mr. Parker,” she said in a stilted voice.

           They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say.  She didn’t know how long they would have stood there had another shopper not nudged past them, literally pushing them into action.

           “I’m surprised to see you in London,” Sidney said.

           “Susan Worcester invited me to stay with her during the season,” Charlotte said.   “She’s over on Darlington?”

           He nodded.  “Yes, I’m familiar.”

           Another person passed – she didn’t know where all these people were coming from – and she stepped closer to avoid an elbow.  She was close enough now to smell his aftershave, a mixture of tobacco and musk.  He looked down at her, and the very act of holding his gaze hurt, because they had such a future ahead of them back in Sanditon, and now there was nothing. They were nothing.      

           “Excuse me, I need to go,” she said thickly, pushing past him.  “It was good to see you, Mr. Parker.”

           “This isn’t funny, Benedict.”

           “It’s just sex.  Honestly, we’re all a bit puritanical about it, don’t you think?”

           Anthony tended to agree, but he also knew the family company’s board of directors also happened to be the most puritanical.  They had objected enough to the namesake of the company being unmarried.  He could only imagine what they would think of him regularly seeing an escort.

He hung up with Benedict, hoping that the story would die on The Whistler.  Certainly there had to be something more interesting going on than his sex life.  But his hopes were to no avail.  By that afternoon, it had been picked up by both The New York Times and the Post.  By 5:00, he had a meeting with the Board of Directors scheduled for the next day.

           “I think this is being blown out of proportion. What I do in my private life has no bearing on this business,”  Anthony said, glancing around the table of investors.  They were the same faces that had been at his father’s funeral many years ago, and he could only imagine them thinking how far the apple had fallen from the tree.  His cheeks burned.    

           “That is where you are wrong, Anthony,” one of the older men intoned.  “By virtue of your last name, your personal life has everything to do with this company, your father’s company.  This is a family company and it is imperative that we represent that at all levels.”

           “This must be handled.  And swiftly,” another contributed.  “We’ve already called our PR firm on retainer.  A meeting has been scheduled for tomorrow.”

           “Is that really necessary?”

           “Our stock has dropped four points already since the news broke.  The fallout is far from over.  You will meet with PR.”

           Anthony nodded stiffly.

           The next day, Anthony waited in one of the conference rooms at the office to meet with the public relations team.  In the past twenty-four hours, Bianca Pope had already given an exclusive interview to a news station and revealed more names, including several politicians.  What had started as a whisper of a story was now at full volume.

            The door opened and a woman in an orange pantsuit walked in, closing the door behind her.  He hadn’t expected only one person and when he asked if there would be anyone else, she set him with an apprising look and said, “No, but I can assure you, I am quite enough.”

           “I didn’t mean to imply that you were not.”

           She sat down across from him and said, “Of course, you weren’t,” although the tone of her voice said otherwise.

           “I’m Kate Sharma.”

           “Anthony Bridgernton.  All of this frankly seems like overkill,”  Anthony said, leaning back in his chair.  “I didn’t do anything that half of the New York stock exchange hasn’t.”

           “Yes, but they didn’t get caught,” she said crisply.

           “So, what do you suggest?”

           “Why do you do it?”  she asked interestedly.

           He looked at her strangely.  “Why do I do what?”

           “Resort to escorts.  With your last name, I’m sure it would be easy to find someone.”

           “Is it really appropriate for you to ask me that?”

           “Mr. Bridgerton, your sexcapades are splashed across newspapers throughout New York right now.  I think we’re past appropriateness.”

           She had a point.

           “Fair enough.”  He considered her question.  “I like the simplicity of it.  I don’t have time for, or any interest, in relationships.  My focus is my business and ensuring its survival.”

           She looked at him for a long while, her dark eyes examining his face.  Taking a deep breath, she said, “There are several options here.  We could start with an outright denial.  But, something tells me that Bianca Pope is not the only place you have dipped your wick.”

           “Excuse me-“

           “Am I wrong?”  she asked pointedly.

           He swallowed hard.  “No.”

           “We could choose silence, but that only allows others to form their own opinions of your culpability.  I recommend a press release.  You will apologize for embarrassing your family and make it clear that you do not condone the commodification of women or sex.”

           “I don’t condone the commodification of women,”  Anthony said heatedly.

           “Well, good, then that part will be easy for you.”

           “Are we done here?”  

           “No, we aren’t,” she said.  “A press relase will only do so much if you go right back to doing the thing that got you into The Whistler in the first place.  The Board of Directors want a more permanent fix.”

           “Like what?”  he asked warily.

           “They want you to get married.”

           He laughed.  “They can’t make me get married.”

           “No, they cannot,” she agreed, beginning to gather her belongings.  “But they can push you out.  How much did the stock drop this morning?  Four points?”

           “This is my family’s company.  My father’s company.”

           “Then protect it,”  Kate said, holding his gaze.  “You said your focus was on your company and ensuring its survival, yes?”

           “Yes.”

           “Then you know what you have to do.”

"So, that's your recommendation?  I pretend to play the part of a dutiful husband because of one stupid article?"

"You wouldn't be the first person marrying for reasons other than love.  Believe me, there are more than you think.  Besides, you said yourself that you have no interest in an actual relationship.  What's the harm?"

           With that, Kate picked up her bag and stood from the table.  “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

           Anthony nodded and glumly said, “You too, Ms. Sharma.”

           Kate left Bridgerton Enterprises, thinking to herself that marriage was one of her more unusual recommendations for a client, but she learned in her years of being a fixer that sometimes the fix was not always what you expect.  Anthony Bridgerton hadn’t exactly been pleased with her services, but he would get over it. They always did.  Her job, after all, was to be there when everything went upside down.  There wasn’t much use for her when things were going well.

           She went home at the end fo the day, her sister, Edwina, already making dinner for them.  The apartment was fragrant with the rich scents of cumin and turmeric.  Edwina was the better cook of the two of them, and Kate was more than happy to simply eat her share and handle the dishes afterwards.

           Kate couldn’t share much of her day with Edwina, as she had routine non-disclosure agreements with her clients, but Edwina filled her in on the antics of her students.  Edwina was a kindergarten teacher, and always seemed to have some story about one of the children.

           “Today one of them kept telling everyone about how his dad slept on the couch downstairs and he wanted to have ‘sleepovers’, too,”  Edwina said between bites of chicken.  “It’s sort of frightening how much children talk, isn’t it?  No household can have a secret.”

           “It seems that no one can have a secret these days,”  Kate said, thinking of Anthony Bridgerton.  “Although, I must say, it’s good for business.”

           They finished their dinner, chatting companionably, and then it was the regular bit of television before they went to sleep. Their life was one of routine.  Each day more or less the same, until one day, it wasn’t.  Edwina was late coming home from work, and when she did, her cheeks were flushed, voice breathless as she described the encounter she had just had on her way home.

           “My bag of groceries broke in the cross walk, and there I was – running around trying to grab my oranges rolling all around – and I didn’t see the car coming, when this person just comes and grabs me!  I was shaking badly, and he helped me pick up my groceries, and then, Kate, you will not believe who it was!”

           “Who?”  Kate asked interestedly.

           “Anthony Bridgerton!”

           “What?”  Kate said loudly.

           “I know!”  Edwina enthused.  “I could hardly believe it myself.  But he was so kind, and I was really shook up, so he started talking to me and asking me about myself.  And, then, if you can believe it, he asked for my number.”

           “No,” Kate said immediately with alarm.

           “Yes!  He did!” Edwina said, misunderstanding her sister’s alarm.  “We’ve been texting since and set up a dinner later this week.  Oh, Kate, isn’t it amazing!”

           The plan was for fall break.  Essex customarily had a week-long break for its students the last week of October. Before the Nico business, Kimberly had talked excessively about how her town put on a Civil War re-enactment throughout the month of October and how her family went every year in home-made costumes. Honestly, Leighton had largely tuned out the talk – how could someone get this excited about people in costumes - but then she got an idea.

           “We’re going to that re-enactment.”

           “You can’t be serious,” Nico said.  “She won’t talk to me.  How is following her out to Arizona a good idea?”            “Because it shows you’re serious.   Only someone who really likes a person would subject themselves to a re-enactment.”  She held her phone out toward him. “Now, look at these uniforms and order one.”

           Nico scrolled through the uniforms.  “These are all over five hundred dollars.”

           Leighton tilted her head to the side.  “Maybe you shouldn’t have slept with her when you had a girlfriend?”

           “You’re going to throw that in my face every time I disagree, aren’t you?”

           “Yes.  I absolutely am.  Now, pick a uniform.”

           “What are you wearing?”

           Leighton laughed.  “Oh.  I’m not wearing a costume.  I’ll be playing on my phone at a nearby coffee shop in case this all implodes.”

           “You can’t be serious.”

           “I’m not the one who needs to use embarrassment as a means of groveling.  That’s just you, Nico.”

           Nico grumbled something under his breath and then dutifully chose a uniform.  

           “Done,” he said, giving her back her phone.  Without a word, Leighton held out her hand and Nico handed her his credit card.

**

           “Yes!” Leighton enthused.  “She’s totally right.”

           “I’m not really a hook up person,” Kimberly said.  “There’s too many variables.”

           “Variables?”  Bela said with a laugh.  

           “Do I go to his place or mine?”

           “Whichever is closest,” Bela answered easily.

           “And how do you initiate it?  Like, do you both just know?  Do you ask?  It feels weird to ask, but like, how do you not?”

           “Wow.  Your brain is an exhausting place, isn’t it?”  Leighton said.

           “It really is.”

           “Look, just don’t think about it too much,” Leighton said. “Just let it happen.”

----

           That night, the girls went out to a frat party.  It was filled with undergrads, bodies pressed together as they well exceeded the maximum occupancy for the house.  On their way out, Kimberly saw a photo her ex-boyfriend posted of him and his new girlfriend kissing in front of a building on their campus, which didn’t exactly put her in the mood for partying.  But, they bee-lined to the drinks as soon as they got to the party, and soon, Kimberly wasn’t feeling too bad.  

           “Kimberly, don’t look now, but Nico is totally checking you out.”

           “He’s what?”  Kimberly said, doing the opposite of what Bela said and twisting her head around to follow her roommate’s gaze.  Sure enough, there was Nico, and he raised his glass to her like a little salute.  

           Kimberly quickly swung her head back to Bela.  “Oh my God.”

           “You know who you should hook up with?”

           “Who?”

           “Um, the hot guy staring at you.”

           “No way.  I told you how he wouldn’t even leave his comment about my dress up because of Leighton.  There’s no way.”

           “Then you just have to convince him.  For starters, unbutton another button on that shirt. Seriously, with a rack like yours, it’s a crime to keep it under wraps.”  

           Bela reached toward Kimberly’s shirt and Kimberly swatted her hand away.  “You really think I could convince him?”

           “Yes, you totally could!  Now, please,go bag that hottie with a body.  The sexual tension is becoming unbearable.”

           Kimberly smiled slightly and finished her drink before heading over to Nico.  He gave her a congenial grin and said, “Hey, how are you liking the party?”

           “It’s good,” she said, clutching her drink tightly to her chest.  This had seemed like not the worst idea a few seconds ago, and now she didn’t know what to do with her hands or mouth.  Nico looked down at her drink and said, “Looks like you need a refresher.”

           Kimberly looked down at her drink.  “Yes.  I do.”

           “I can go get you another, if you want.”

           Figuring it was now or never, Kimberly said, “Are there any drinks in your room?”

           “My room?”  Nico asked with confusion.

           This was harder than Kimberly expected.  She took a deep breath and said.  “Look, I’m attracted to you.  I’m pretty sure you’re attracted to me.  And, I want to hook up with someone tonight, so, what do you say?”

           “I’ve never heard someone announce they want to hook up before.”

           Kimberly’s cheeks flushed.  “Well, it’s important to set a clear intention.”

           Nico smiled slightly.  “Yeah, I guess it is.  Look, I appreciate the offer, but-“

           “You know what, never mind.  This was a dumb idea.  I know things are weird because of Leighton.  And, besides, I’m in a frat house full of guys!  Lots of options, right?”

           Nico’s jaw tensed.  “Sure.”

           “I’m going to go now.”

           She turned to leave when Nico grabbed her arm.  “Kimberly, wait.”

           She looked back at him.  “Yeah?”

           After a pause he said, “I think I actually do have some drinks in my room.”

---

           Kimberly tried not to stare too much in his room, but she couldn’t help herself.  There was his bed on one side, a decent sized TV hung up haphazardly on the wall.  She wondered if that was where they would have watched the French Golden Girls together.  And then she wondered if they have sat on the bed or the floor, their legs almost touching, Nico’s arm brushing hers as he reached for another piece of cheesecake.

           She invited herself up to his room and now she couldn’t find enough distance from him.  Maybe this had been a mistake, after all.  She had too much to drink and Bela had been too persuasive with all of her feminist sex-positive talk.  But then Nico said, “We can go back downstairs.”

           “No,” she said immediately.  She had thought a lot about this moment.  Had literal dreams about it.  Kimberly walked toward him, feeling as if every nerve ending was on fire as she closed the distance between them.  She kissed him first, needing to feel in control, but when he palmed her waist she leaned into him, letting him take lead.  His mouth was soft and warm and he tasted like raspberry vodka.  He slowly guided them backwards and she startled when the back of her knees hit the bed.

           “Are you okay?” he asked.

           “Yeah.  Totally. I just, uh, haven’t done this before.”

           He pulled back.  “What?”

           “Not sex,” she said quickly.  “I’ve had sex.  Lots of it. Well, not really lots of it.  Just once.  With my ex-boyfriend.  It was actually when he came to visit here and then he broke up with me the next morning. And now he’s already dating someone else at Princeton and taking selfies with her around campus.”

           “That’s rough.”

           “It’s fine.  I mean, he always told me selfies were a marker of our society’s self-obsession when I wanted to take one.  But, it’s fine.”

           “When did you guys break up again?”

           “Last month.”  She read into his silence and said, “This isn’t about that.  I mean, I guess it sort of is.  But, it’s less about him and more about me.  I guess it just makes me wonder if I’m that forgettable.”

           Nico looked over at her, the intensity of his gaze making her stomach flip.  “You are many things, but forgettable is not one of them.”

           The heat of the moment had passed, and Kimberly looked down at her shoes.  “We probably should go back downstairs.”

           “We could do that.  But I think I may have a better idea.”

           She raised her eyebrows.  “You do?”

           He got up and went over to his dresser, rifling through the top drawer before he pulled out a DVD.  Kimberly grinned when she saw what it was.  He was holding a DVD of the French Golden Girls.

           “Better late than never?”  he said.

           “You won’t miss the party?”

           He shrugged.  “I’ve been to enough.”

           He popped in the DVD and then settled on top of his bed, gesturing for her to follow him.  She scooted backward, smiling to herself when she thought about how she now had her answer for where they would have watched it.  

           The characters talked fast, so she had trouble following them, but it didn’t matter.  She instead spent the hours furtively watching Nico watch the show.  As each episode passed, they grew more comfortable next to each other on the bed, until she was practically tucked into his side. His body was warm, and to the sound of incomprehensible French, Kimberly drifted off to sleep.  

----

           The next morning, Nico was awoken by a knock on his door.  Kimberly was curled next to him, snoring softly.  Her hair had fallen over her face in her sleep, and he gingerly brushed it back and behind her ear.  She stirred and for a second he thought she was going to wake up, but then she turned over, the snore becoming higher in pitch.

           He went over to his door and opened it, swearing under his breath when he found his sister on the other side.  Leighton went to say something when her gaze fell on Kimberly.  With a pinched expression, she said, “What the actual fuck?”

           “Nothing happened,” Nico said, telling only a half-truth.  But, his sister didn’t need the whole story.  “We were just watching TV and she fell asleep.”

           “Hold on, she’s in your bed and you didn’t have sex?” Leighton said incredulously.  “That’s even worse.”

           “How is that worse?”

           “It’s one thing to sleep with one of my roommates. But to catch feelings.”

           “Hold on, no one said anything about feelings.”

           Neither were particularly successful at first.  June was originally going to leave, but Luke convinced her to stay, still unwilling to give in even when confronted with the worst of her character.  But, it was futile.  Luke wanted his wife back, but she died in that forest seven years ago.  For weeks, they circled each other like wounded animals, trying not to spook the other while piecing together a relationship that no longer fit.  June didn’t want to accept it.  All that time, she had been fighting to get back to Luke.  But, when she looked back, it wasn’t that straight-forward.  She had stopped fighting for Luke a long time ago.  

           Back in Gilead, Nick was met with a nation teeming with renewed patriotism.  The Waterford saga had stirred the nation’s sentiment.  No doubt helped along by a steady dose of propaganda put out by the State. Everyone else just didn’t understand.  They were poisoned by immorality that rotted them to the core.  To where they couldn’t see the righteous good that Gilead had done. They didn’t understand.  They never could.

           It was maddening.

           “You made a real fucked up place,” Nick said to Joseph, swirling the bourbon around his glass slowly.

           Joseph took a sip of his own, jaw tight.  “Right back at you.”  Settling back into his seat, he wryly added, “Talk about buyer’s remorse.”

           “It’s up to us to fix it.  To end it.”

           Joseph looked over, eyes cloudy behind his glasses. “I know.”

           In the end, it was Gilead’s own pride that brought its ruin.  In the early days, when salvagings were more frequent, and brutal, each one was videotaped.  They were initially used in the Red Center as cautionary tales.  Stay in line, or you’ll end up on the end of a rope.  In the beginning, it was effective.  Back when people still thought there was an end in sight.  But then, people lost hope and, with that, fear.  Resistance bred, messages sent through muffins and scones. Eventually the videos were phased out of the Red Center, and they were supposed to be destroyed, but like many things that the Commanders were supposed to do, they didn’t.  

           Seven years later, the videos had their grand debut on the landing page of the online New York Times and went viral.  In another setting, Gilead would have been proud. They were front-page news.  The troops came a week later.

           Both Nick and Joseph offered themselves up, promising a look at the inner workings of Gilead and enough information to indict every other Commander rounded up in exchange for immunity.  Waterford had provided limited information before his death, so it was an enticing proposition.  Joseph had always been meticulous with his paperwork, and he handed it all over to the Canadian government.  A paper trail all the way back to the first insurrection.

           “You might want to get yourself some snacks. It’s a long read.”

           At first, it didn’t seem like the deal would go through, but then it did.  Joseph called it a political move, but secretly, Nick thought something else.  Stepping out of the Provincial Court of Law, sun bathing his face, Nick believed for the first time in miracles.  But, there was still one more to go.  And she was sitting on a bench.

           His feet moved of their own accord, and when he was in front of her, he murmured, “How did you know I was being released today?”

           June gave him a sliver of a smile.  “I have my ways.”

           He crouched in front of her, instinctively resting his hands on her knees.  After a second, he realized he didn’t know if he could still touch her here.  A lot could change in six months.   Regimes fall. Relationships change.  But when he pulled back his hands, she quickly grabbed onto them and held his hands in her lap.   Her grip was tight and he noticed then that her eyes were filled with tears.  He quickly moved closer, bracing one hand on her jaw as he said, “Hey, it’s okay.  It’s okay, June.”

           “I know it is,” she said, grinning wide.  “It’s more than okay.  You’re here.”

           It had been rare to see her this incandescently happy back in Gilead, and Nick decided that he never wanted to see her another way.  He kissed her and when she kissed him back, for the first time in months, he felt at peace.

           “How is Hannah?” he asked.  When the Canadian troops had taken control of Gilead, he used what weight he had left to make sure Hannah was on the first flight out to Canada.

           June grinned, wiping at her eyes.  “She’s good.  Really good.  It was difficult at first.  She was confused with everything.  But, she’s settled in now. Obsessed with her little sister.  She wants to hold her all the time.”

           Nick felt as if he had no breath when he asked, “How is she?”

           June covered her hand with his.  “Our daughter is beautiful.”

           She stood up and tugged his hand for him to do the same.  “Come on, let’s go see her.”

           “Where?”

            June looked over at him.  “Home.”

           Home.

           Part of June had been worried that she and Nick wouldn’t know how to be together without Gilead.  They had lived and loved with such intensity since the beginning, that she didn’t know what it would look like for them to lead a normal life. Have breakfast together.  Watch Netflix.  Go grocery shopping.  It turned out, it looked a lot like how she remembered.  There wasn’t much time for it during the trial.  Nick had to be there every day and she went of her own accord, sitting in the back and watching the testimony.  She expected to feel something at it all coming to an end.  Maybe happiness.  Relief. But, all she felt was tired.  She had spent the better part of the last seven years fighting Gilead.  She was finally ready to leave it behind.  

           She and Nick planned to celebrate the end of the trial with a dinner out, but they ended up ordering takeout and falling asleep by ten.  When she woke up the next morning, sunlight came in through the half-open blinds, bathing Nick’s face in a warm, golden glow.  She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.  His arm tightened around her waist.

           “Good morning,” he said, brushing a kiss against her hair.

           “Good morning.”

           They laid together for a while, not talking, and then she murmured, “It’s really over, isn’t it?”

           “There could be appeals.”

           “There probably will be," she said sardonically. “But, the damage is done.  That place.  Those people.  It’s over.”

           She knew it was an over-simplification.  They both did.  Gilead had always been more than a place.  It was a belief system.  But, after what had come out during the trial, it could never take hold the way it had.  Not for a long while.

           “It’s over,” he agreed.

           They laid there for a few minutes, silence stretching between them and punctuated by the sound of children playing outside, and June asked, “How do you feel about pancakes?”

           “Pancakes?”

           She nodded.  “I have a mix.  And chocolate chips.  I always make them when I have Hannah.  So far, I’ve gotten no complaints.”

           “She’s eleven,” he deadpanned.

           She turned on her stomach, resting her chin on his chest.  “I think we have some bacon in the refrigerator, too.  And eggs.”

           He grinned.  “That all sounds good.”

           They got out of bed, June tossing over her shoulder for Nick to get Nicole from her crib, and then she was making pancakes, singing along to some music she put on her phone.  Nick made eggs, burning the first batch, but then getting the second just right.  They made the bacon in the microwave, a convenience that June still found novel after her time in Gilead.  They sat down together, Nick cutting up small bits of pancake and eggs for Nicole.  It was odd sometimes to think that this much joy had come from such a joyless place.  But it had. One of life’s mysteries, Aunt Lydia would say.  Probably followed by the cattle prodder.  June wondered then if this was her real triumph over Gilead.  Not escaping, but finding something good within its festering walls.

           “June?”

           Nick’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.  “Yeah?”

           “I asked what you wanted to do today.”

It was a simple question.  A simple answer, too, that still felt revelatory.