CHAPTER ONEIsadora
Ican do this.
Isadora Maris took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and maneuvered her luggage into the San Diego airport. Bags checked and through security, she stopped at a coffee shop before heading to her gate. Flying is no big deal. How many times a year do I fly? Nothing bad has ever happened.
She had a few moments, so she took a seat at one of the small tables in front of the shop. Maybe she should buy a magazine. Something light and fun to read? She popped the lid off her cup and tried to ground herself with the aroma and taste of the latte. She was safe, she was fine. Everything’s cool. I’ve got this. If I can handle stonewalling senators and aggressive lobbyists, I can handle a flight.
“Babe, I would totally die for you.” Isadora caught a man’s voice murmuring a table over. She glanced at the couple just as his blond companion let out a kittenish giggle.
“Kenny, sweetie, you are so dramatic,” she said.
Isadora suppressed an eye roll as the couple leaned into each other open-mouthed. It wasn’t that she was averse to public displays of affection. But how long had it been since someone looked at her like that? Touched her like that? It didn’t matter; right now she had too much on the line. This time next year, her boss, Daniel Etcheverri, would be president pro tempore of the state senate, and as chief of staff, her hard work and drive had helped get him there. From there, she’d manage his (hopefully) successful race for U.S. representative and she’d reach her childhood dream: congressional aide in Washington, D.C.
“You know,” the guy said after smacking his lips, “after last night, the plane could fall out of the sky, crash and burn, and I’d die a happy man.”
Isadora choked on her coffee, a wave of terror charging over her skin from her scalp to the soles of her feet. She wrenched her phone out of her bag, unlocked it, and tapped on an icon on her home screen. She scrolled down to the most important line in the article.
The odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million. The odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.
“If we crashed into the water, we—”
Isadora had to get away from these people. She grabbed her phone and the cup, pushed her chair back, took one step, and promptly collided with something tall and warm. She watched in slow motion as her latte shot out of the cup, arced into the air, and exploded against a white dress shirt.
“Dammit!” came a low, deep voice above her.
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She grabbed some napkins out of the dispenser on the table, fingertips clumsy and buzzing. When she glanced up at the man’s face, she stopped dead. Green eyes framed by dark hair stared back through nerdy-cute glasses. He was well over six feet tall, had sun-kissed olive skin, and was hot. Cover model hot.
She’d just scalded the sexiest man she’d ever seen.
“Here.” She offered him the napkins.
“You must be in a hurry,” he said, taking them and dabbing at the coffee.
“No. Well…I mean, yes.”
“Maybe watch where you’re going next time.” Just her luck, the demigod was pissed at her.
“Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” she snapped. “The tables are right there.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, looking her up and down. She wasn’t going to give him a pass to talk to her any kind of way, just because he was gorgeous.
“If you’ll excuse me, miss, I need to go get cleaned up.”
She narrowed her eyes back at him. She’d taken a step away and was stuck between him and the wall of the coffee shop.
“You’re in my way,” she said.
Waving the hand holding the napkins out and bowing in a sarcastic display of gallantry, he let her by. “Have a nice day,” he called after her.
She shot him a dirty look over her shoulder and headed to her gate.
—
Isadora adjusted her earbuds and started her pre-takeoff ritual. The odds of dying in a plane—
“Well, isn’t this a surprise?”
She opened her eyes as the demigod’s messenger bag slid onto the seat next to hers. Heat blasted into her cheeks as a bright flash of embarrassment crackled over her already frayed nerves when she realized he’d changed into a moss green shirt.
“Uh…yeah,” she mumbled, tugging at the cuff of her cardigan. “Nice shirt.” She snapped her mouth shut. Great. My nerves are making me snarky.
He chuckled, taking his seat. “Thanks. I started the day with a white one, but some crazy lady spilled coffee all over it and I had to change.”
Swallowing over the lump in her throat kept her from clapping back. Why did he have to be so hot? She smoothed her cardigan sleeve, trying to ground herself again. She was going to be next to him for nearly two hours. And you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow.
“That color works better for you than plain white.”
“Does it?”
She nodded, proud of the ability to flirt while strapped in a giant steel tube about to be blasted into the air. The corner of his mouth dipped down, and a hint of red crept up his neck as he leafed through his bag, found a magazine, and tucked it in the seat pouch in front of him.
Is the demigod a little shy? She suppressed a chuckle.
“It’s also a good cut for you,” she said. He slid his bag under the seat. “It fits your shoulders just right.”
Demigod raised both eyebrows and gave her a genuine smile. He had a chiseled jaw. And full, inviting lips. And dimples. Literally, the sexiest man she had ever seen. Her heart dipped as his gaze caressed her cheek and the hollow of her throat.
“I’m Karim,” he said, offering his hand.
“Isadora. I am sorry about your shirt.”
“No, it’s nothing.”
“At least let me have it cleaned.”
“Really, it’s no big deal. I already rinsed it in the restroom. I doubt the stain will set.”
“That’s good.” Unsure of what to say next, she returned her earbuds to their place. She didn’t want to be impolite, but it was a habit, part of her method to get into an acceptable mental space before takeoff. The flight attendants were about to start their safety instructions and her ritual included following along. She’d mastered the art of watching disinterestedly with her earbuds in place. Nobody else knew that her music was off, and she was actually hanging on to every word, willing her heart to stop pounding. But now it was going a little fast for a different reason. Her pre-flight ritual did not include basking in Karim’s cologne. Or…what was that smell underneath? Him? Deep, calming breaths let her conceal her investigation.
Oh God…he smells amazing! Deep and woodsy and—something brushed her cheek. She opened the eyes she didn’t know she’d closed. The curved headrest saved her from utter mortification after she’d leaned toward him. She stole a glance with her peripheral vision, hoping he hadn’t noticed. His attention was on the magazine in his lap, but he might have been watching her out of the corner of his eye. Shifting as far over as possible in her seat, she feigned interest in the view out the window while listening to the flight attendants explain what to do if they were facing imminent demise.
She needed to focus on something else. She undid the low bun she always wore for flights. Running her fingers through her blown-out hair, she twisted it back into place, then ended up knocking an earbud loose. Karim was unwrapping a piece of gum and offered her one.
“I hate having to pop my ears later,” he said.
“Thanks. I hate that too.” She focused on the explosion of gooey mint across her tongue as the engines roared. His eyes were shut, so she didn’t have to hide the fight to slow her breathing as the plane left the ground. She chewed and chewed and chewed, trying to get back to a calm place. The grating whine of the wheels coming up into the body of the aircraft sent a flash of thick moisture over her skin and she had to send her mind in a different direction.
“I don’t understand your priorities,” her mother had sighed on the phone the previous night. “Things haven’t been easy for me.”
The same call, the same words, the same guilt, every time.
“It’s a thankless job, being a parent. Especially when you’re on your own.”
What do I have to do for it to be enough? Do I have to thank her for raising me every time we talk?
“It’s not like he died on purpose,” Isadora had said, as always.
Her mother continued, unhearing or uncaring, as always.
“You don’t understand my pain. I don’t think you’ll ever understand.”
How could I understand? He was just my dad. It’s not like his death hurt me too.
Her gaze fell to the window, but she saw nothing. Pulling in a chestful of recycled air, she willed the tears back down. She pulled her phone out of her cardigan pocket, put the meditation playlist on, and closed her eyes. About twenty minutes into zen, Karim startled her, brushing his fingertips along her arm. She took out her earbuds.
He nodded at the flight attendant, a row ahead of theirs, distributing beverages. “Would you like a drink, Isadora? I’m
going to get a coffee, but I’ll do my best not to pay you back,” he said, smiling.
The depth of his voice sent pleasant tingles through her, the pain she’d dredged up washed away. Smiling, she let herself fall into a present that excluded the rest of the world.
“Guess I deserve that. A sparkling water would be good. It’s nice of you to offer.”
“My pleasure.” He asked the flight attendant for their drinks and handed Isadora’s to her with care. His casual way of ordering for her was a pleasant surprise. A touch of chivalry. She thanked him and started to put her earbuds back in, but he spoke again.
“These early flights are tough, huh?”
“Yeah.” She sipped.
“Do you usually fly business class?” He put his coffee down and caressed the edge of the tray with the pad of his thumb.
Lucky tray.
“I try. I like to get off as quickly as possible.” He raised his eyebrows and she caught how that had sounded. Face burning, she took a quick breath. “You know, um, I mean, the plane. Get off the plane.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling a little. “I understand. Always seems to take forever when you’re at the rear.”
“Yeah,” she echoed. What to say? He was nice. She didn’t want to just pop her earbuds back in and seem rude.
“Um…do you like the rear of the plane?” she asked. “I’ve always had trouble sitting back there. It bounces around too much for me.”
He lowered his gaze a millisecond, lips curling in a tiny hesitation. Then he darted a quick glance at her, like he was trying to make a decision. “Really?” he finally asked, meeting her eyes. “I quite like the rear. The bouncier the better.”
Um…She swallowed. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
Is the demigod telling me he checked me out?
“I dunno.” She warmed her voice and leaned toward him. “I gotta disagree with you. I prefer it over the wings where you can feel the thrust of the airplane. You know? When it’s fast and strong and you can’t help but let yourself go.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. You don’t like the thrust of takeoff?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Oh, I do,” he said. “It’s…exhilarating.” He smiled, drawing her attention to his lips. She ran the tip of her tongue along the inside of hers, imagining what his tasted like.
“Exhilarating. Good word choice,” she said.
“So, what do you do, Isadora?” he asked, raising his cup to his lips.
She frowned inside. Talking about work with strangers was almost always a mistake. She loved what she did, but politics rarely made for good small talk. After wrinkling her nose, she shook her head.
“Let’s not talk about work,” she said.
He smiled again and put his coffee on his tray.
“What if I guess?” he asked.
“Guess?”
“What you do. Will you tell me if I guess right?”
She folded her arms, turning toward him. Most people didn’t realize that her job even existed, so he’d never guess.
“All right,” she said, nodding.
He shifted toward her, then tapped a finger to his lips as though he was thinking. She noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
There’s no reason to notice that. No time for men right now.
He glanced back at her.
“Got it,” he said. “You’re a therapist.”
“A therapist?” she asked. “What makes you say that?”
He tilted his head to the side, glancing down to her chin and back up to her eyes.
“You seem like a warm, caring person. Easy to talk to.”
She raised an eyebrow. That was a lot to assume from their brief conversation.
“And,” he said, “I bet you don’t like talking about it because people either ask you to break confidentiality for interesting stories, or they take one look into your inviting eyes and want to talk about all their troubles.”
She flushed a little. Karim-the-demigod thought she had inviting eyes.
“You’re very kind,” she said. “I’m not a therapist. But—”
The plane slammed downward, and Isadora clutched the armrests until her knuckles burned. A hard shift to the right and the pilot turned on the fasten seat belt lights.
“Passengers, this is your captain speaking. You’ll have to excuse us. We’ve hit a patch of turbulence and there’s likely more ahead. We still have a while to go before we reach our destination, and the ride is going to be bumpy. The crew will come by and pick up any garbage you may have. Please stow your belongings and put your trays in the upright position.”
The flight attendant was next to them in a flash, with a forced customer service smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A woman behind Isadora gasped as the plane shuddered and bounced. The flight attendant stopped a moment, his hand clamped, bracing
himself, on the seat in front of Karim. “Brace.” That’s the word they use when we crash. Roiling nausea splashed through Isadora as she passed the flight attendant her empty cup with quaking hands. Karim tried to make eye contact as she followed the pilot’s instructions.
“This part sucks, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “It does.” She stuffed her earbuds back in, doing her best to show “fine” and “experienced” body language, crossing her arms and repeating her mantra in her mind. He hadn’t given her a reason to believe he would judge her, but she had to conceal fear. Raised by a perpetual victim, Isadora had learned to appear fine when she wasn’t, lest she take attention away from the person it always belonged to. Hiding any emotion was second nature.
—
Karim didn’t speak to her again until the plane landed. She wanted to say something nice to him while collecting her things, but she needed to move with focus to avoid crying out her pent-up fear. His belongings in hand, he stepped into the aisle and smiled.
“Nice meeting you, Isadora.”
“You too,” she stammered, avoiding eye contact as he left. She let at least ten people get ahead of her and stayed out of his sight at the luggage carousel. In the privacy of her rental car, a good, long cry released the anxiety and adrenaline. Still shaking, she drove to the apartment that would be her home during the legislative session.
That evening, in bed, grocery shopping done and bags unpacked, she had time for regret. Karim was nice, attentive, and damn sexy. Flirting with him made her want more.
Nice job, Isa. You could have at least gotten his number. But it’s probably for the best. This session is crucial, you must remain focused. No sense in letting a pretty face distract you.
CHAPTER TWOKarim
Karim waited in the conference room of the Sacramento office of State Senator Julian Brown. His potential new boss was in the hallway with Christina, the legislative director he would be replacing during her maternity leave. This second interview had gone even better than the Zoom call while Karim was still in Michigan. The only hitch was the length of the position. Covering for a maternity leave wasn’t ideal; he was looking for something long-term to start his new life.
You’re in a rebuilding stage. It’s okay. Just get your foot in the door and see what permanent opportunities present themselves.
Once he’d been admitted to the California State Bar, and with his experience as a senior aide, something would come together. The conference room door snapped open, and Senator Brown walked back in, Christina following with a small stack of papers.
“Well, young man, welcome to the team.” He offered his hand. Karim stood to accept it.
“Thank you,” he said. “Can’t wait to get started.”
“Excellent, because we need you here tomorrow, bright and early. There’s no time to waste, with Christina leaving us who knows when. That’s women for you, right? They keep you waiting or guessing, or they walk out on you in your time of need.”
The remark was a double slap to Karim, despite the senator’s chuckle. It was both inappropriate for work and hitting too close to home.
“Very funny, Julian,” Christina said, stapling some papers and handing the stack to Karim. “You know I’ll be here as long as possible, and back as soon as possible. Karim, I already took care of your pre-screening. Just fill these forms out, and the secretary will get them to Senate Administration so that you’ll be clear to start tomorrow.”
“Will do,” he said. “Thanks again, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“I won’t be here,” Julian said at the door. “Gotta head back to the district office in San Diego for a couple days. Christina will
get you set up. There’s one bill I want you to focus on: cosponsoring a freeway project with our dear majority leader. It’s very important I show my constituents who really cares about them.”
“Got it,” Karim said.
“Karim, will you join me in my office?” Christina asked, rising from her seat.
“Sure thing.”
Down the hall, Christina closed the door behind her after Karim took the seat she indicated in front of her desk. She took her seat facing him.
She wove her fingers together and rested them on her crossed knee, leaning back into her seat.
“This is going to sound silly, but since you need to be up and running quickly, I need for things to be clear.”
Karim raised an eyebrow.
“Okay,” he said slowly.
“Julian just mentioned our majority leader. His name is Daniel Etcheverri. He also represents part of San Diego.”
“Yes.” Karim nodded. He was well accustomed to cities with populations large enough to require more than one state senator.
“And yeah, we’re members of the same party,” Christina continued. “So, we work together in public. We ultimately have to be on the same page, especially in the face of the minority party. But we do not get along. We never have. We never will.”
Christina’s face was hard. Her jaw looked like it could cut diamonds. Karim had come across his fair share of intractable-seeming positions in his years in politics, but the idea that there could be no hope of cooperation in the future was new to him, especially from people within the same party.
“Never will?” he asked.
“Never,” she said. “Let’s just say that the Capulets”—she pointed at herself—“and the Montagues”—she jerked a thumb toward the window—“have to work together.”
“The Capulets and the Montagues?”
She wove her fingers together again and rested her hands on her knee.
“And San Diego is ‘fair Verona.’ ” She shrugged. “Everything in the district is a competition. Anything they bring home for their constituents, you’d better believe we’re bringing home the same for ours. Daniel’s aides are always on the lookout for ways to make him look better than Julian, so it’s our job to make sure Julian looks even better. And that’s amplified at the state level. Anything Daniel does, we do better. Always.”
What have I gotten myself into? There’s always some degree of ego in politics, but come on, it’s supposed to be about the people.
He cleared his throat.
“Okay,” he said.
“You need to be careful who you associate with, who you are seen with,” Christina said. “Very careful. You never know who is really on Daniel’s team and is looking for a way to stab you, and by extension Julian, in the back. I imagine that the last thing you want is to ruin your new start in California by becoming an Achilles’ heel for your new boss?”
Christina’s tone chafed. A lot. But he was brand spanking new. He wasn’t going to create problems by reciprocating her attitude.
“Of course not,” he said.
She nodded, then continued. “It will take a little time for you to get to know everyone, but here are the people you can count on.” She leaned over, opening a drawer to her right, brought out a file folder, and placed it on her desk. Flipping it open, she took out two stapled front-and-back pages with two columns of ID badge photos and lists of names. “These are the aides.” She handed him the pages. “And these are the members.” She handed him a second, similar page, titled Senators and Assembly Members. “Naturally, we don’t expect you to memorize everyone’s name right away. But knowing friendly faces is important.”
Karim took a moment to scan the pages. That they would have the “family” printed up and ready made it clear just how serious these allegiances were.
“Obviously, that’s for your eyes only,” Christina said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I got—” Karim had continued scanning the list while she’d been speaking and had just reached the bottom, where he’d found his own photo.
Guess that makes me a Capulet.
—
He walked through the glass doors of the senate office building, squinting into the sunlight as he loosened his tie. Taking a deep breath, he felt some of the weight lifting from his shoulders. As he walked down the street, more than one woman’s head turned. It was something he appreciated, though he always had to mask a wave of shyness when it happened.
Reaching his rental car, he tossed his jacket on the passenger seat and called his brother back.
“Hey, man, what’s the word?” Khalil asked as soon as he answered.
“Hey. I got the job. Start tomorrow.”
“Excellent! Not a surprise, though.”
Karim shook his head. “You never know. Will you pass the word around? Don’t need Mom to keep worrying.” Though maybe she would if she knew about this Capulet-Montague stuff. Maybe he should. He decided to look on the bright side and focus on the fact that he had landed the position.
“Like it’s possible to stop her,” Khalil said. “But yeah, I’ll let everyone know. So, I’ll see you in San Diego on Saturday?”
“You know you don’t have to come all this way. I can move in on my own.”
“I’m overdue for a vacation. Never been to California. It’s the perfect excuse.”
“Uh-huh.” Khalil wouldn’t admit to being worried about him, so Karim wouldn’t push. But he could give him a hard time. “One thing,” Karim said, admiring the palm trees swaying in the breeze. “You might wanna ease up on the food, man. I didn’t wanna say anything before, but you’re getting a little soft.”
“Hey,” Khalil said. Karim could tell he was trying to hold in a laugh. “Don’t hate ’cause my girl can throw down. And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it when you were here.”
“You’re right. And I shouldn’t complain. It’s probably for the best.”
“Why’s that?”
“People can finally tell us apart.”
“Ouch!” Khalil laughed. “I’m glad for you, bro. New city, new start.”
“Yeah.”
“Now all that’s missing is a new girl.”
Karim hesitated, remembering his flirtation with the woman from the plane. That Isadora who’d almost scalded him, then made up for it by boosting his confidence. But he wasn’t ready to share.
“Don’t, Khalil. Gotta go. I’ll see you Saturday.” He hung up, the phone joining his jacket. As he was getting ready to go to the apartment complex Christina had recommended, his phone rang again. Expecting it to be Khalil, he went to send the call to voicemail, but noticed the number. The area code was familiar, but it wasn’t anyone in his family.
Who else would be calling from Detroit?
Whatever it was could wait. He needed to get his living situation squared away. Pulling onto the street, he returned to his checklist.
Move to California—check
Find a job—check
Place to live in district—check
Place to live at the capital—almost check
Get a life…
—
Two hours later, apartment situated and back at the hotel to check out, he was loading his bags into the trunk when his phone rang again. It was on the front seat; he didn’t reach it in time. The missed call was the same number from that morning, and again, no message.
If you can’t be bothered to leave a message, I’m not calling you back.
—
That evening, he took a stroll through Midtown Sacramento. He was settled in his new place, fridge stocked, and clothes set aside for the next day. His phone rang again, the same number he didn’t recognize.
“Finally,” a woman said when he answered.
His vision blurred, and he caught his footing with a brief staccato step. But he kept moving forward. Moving forward down the street, as he was determined to keep moving forward in his life.
“Raniya,” he said, his mouth cotton, but his voice strong.
“I was beginning to think you didn’t want to talk to your dear sister-in-law.” If there was a silver lining to his wife’s abandoning him, it was that he didn’t have to deal with her smug sister anymore.
“As I’m sure you can understand, certain events led me to delete certain contacts from my phone. Had I known it was you, I would have avoided wasting my time and yours by answering.”
“Now, Karim. That’s no way to speak to your family.”
“We aren’t family anymore, Raniya. We haven’t been for some time.” He stopped at the window of an Italian restaurant. Inside, a man who looked like a younger version of himself sat across a table from a woman with long dark hair and golden skin.
Watch yourself, he wanted to warn the guy.
“I must say, we’re rather disappointed in you. Running off like this.”
His bark of a laugh ricocheted across the street. ...
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