Chương 38

Louis woke to gray river light. Angelique was still asleep. Sometime in the night, she had turned toward him. One arm lay across his ribs, and her hand rested over his swollen knuckles. Her robe had fallen open at the collar. Her loose hair lay across the pillow and his shoulder. He lay still. His hand hurt. His head hurt. He felt exhausted and exposed after everything she had seen. His phone lit up on the table. Then again. He reached for it. The lock screen was crowded with news alerts.

Every major outlet he recognized had carried the story overnight. Collins–Bourbon Betrothal Confirmed After New Orleans Altercation. Dominion Heir Strikes New Orleans Cultural Figure as Betrothal Emerges. Free City Host Admonished for Overfamiliar Conduct. The wording varied, but every report repeated the same version of events. His father had got there first. They had decided what happened, and now it was simply being repeated in slightly different fonts. He scrolled numbly.

He was still looking at the screen when Angelique stirred. Before opening her eyes, she tightened her hand over his injured one. At first, she did not move. Then she saw the phone in his hand.

"How bad?" she asked, her voice rough with sleep. Louis turned the screen toward her.

"Not worse than expected." She pushed herself up on one elbow and read in silence. Her robe had fallen farther open, revealing the upper curve of one breast. She made no attempt to close it.

"They moved quickly."

"They always do." She held out her hand. He gave her the phone. She scrolled through a few headlines, then set it face down on the sheet between them.

"Don't read any more of it," she said.

"It won't improve." The phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Erin Hobbes, secretary to the Supreme President. He answered.

"Yes." Erin spoke briskly.

"Good morning, Mr. Collins. The Supreme President asked that I check in with you. The breakfast is scheduled to begin in thirty minutes at the presidential suite. Both you and Miss Bourbon are expected to arrive together. Security will meet you outside your door in twenty minutes."

"Understood." Her tone softened.

"We're handling the press. Don't worry about that part."

"Thank you." Erin hung up. Louis lowered the phone and looked at Angelique. She was already standing at the wardrobe, reaching for the first outfit she saw. Her robe had slipped off one shoulder. Her back was turned to him, and she moved with quick motions. He forced himself to sit up.

"Breakfast is in half an hour. Together." She paused with one hand on the hanger. She did not turn.

"Of course it is." He stood, wincing as his hand throbbed again.

"Angelique." She looked at him over her shoulder. Her expression had returned to the controlled calm she wore in public.

"What, Louis?" He met her eyes. He wanted to ask about the night. He wanted to ask if she was still mad at him. Instead, he hesitated and said, "Do you want to use the bathroom first?" She stared at him before giving him a tired smile.

"Yes," she said.

"Thank you." She went into the bathroom and closed the door. Louis let out a breath and began to dress. His right hand was stiff. The skin over the first two joints was purple and stretched tight by the swelling. He buttoned his shirt clumsily with his left hand and tried not to think about the cameras outside or how the press would interpret everything he and Angelique did that day. The shower started behind the bathroom door. Louis sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.

The sheets were still warm where Angelique had been. It was already hard to believe they had spent the night holding each other. When she came out, the robe was gone. Her wet hair was pulled back in a simple knot, and she wore black trousers with a plain cream blouse. She looked calm, severe, and ready for the day ahead. He stood as she approached.

"You look good," he said. She looked at him.

"I'm supposed to." She glanced at his hand.

"Is it worse?" He flexed his fingers.

"It's fine." She reached into her bag and took out a slim tube of ointment.

"Let me see it." The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He held out his hand. She squeezed some gel onto her fingers and rubbed it over the bruised skin, avoiding the split joint. The cold eased some of the throbbing.

"There," she said.

"Don't flex it too much today."

"Alright." She capped the tube and put it away. Then she looked directly at him.

"Louis," she said quietly.

"We're going to get through this. You understand that?" He nodded.

"I need a shower." She turned toward the door.

"Don't take too long." She left. Louis went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water was hotter than he needed. He stood beneath it with his eyes closed, keeping his injured hand out of the spray, until his breathing steadied. When he stepped out, he looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were swollen from crying, and his right hand was dark with bruising.

In less than twenty minutes, he would have to stand beside Angelique and let the cameras treat that hand as proof of the story his father had written. He dried off, dressed, secured his Colt in its holster, and left the room. Two security men were already waiting in the corridor. Angelique stood nearby with her bag over one shoulder. Her expression gave nothing away. She did not speak to Louis, but when he approached, she did not move away either.

The security men formed a loose perimeter around them and led them to the elevators. One of the guards used a keycard to send the elevator to the presidential floor. The doors closed. Louis checked his reflection in the mirrored doors.

"Stop checking," Angelique said.

"It only makes you look nervous." The elevator opened before he could answer. Staff were already moving through the presidential suite level. When Louis and Angelique entered together, conversation continued without pause. Breakfast had been set out in the river room. Silver pots of coffee sat on the table beside fruit, eggs, pastries, smoked fish, sliced ham, and several jars of preserves. Their places had been set beside each other. Judith sat with an untouched cup of coffee before her.

Constantine stood by the windows with Venessa and Erin, holding a tablet. He spoke quietly in the controlled tone Louis knew from previous crises. Philip sat at the end of the table, reading one of the folders without looking up. Maria stood near the sideboard, speaking quietly to Jessamine. David and Gladice had arrived before them. So had Serana and Jacques. Gladice was buttering her toast. She looked up when Louis and Angelique entered. She glanced at the small gap between them, then at Louis.

One corner of her mouth lifted before she looked back at her toast.

"Well," Gladice said, "you do both look as though you survived the night." Angelique drew out her chair and sat.

"Barely." Gladice smiled.

"Oh, you did better than barely, Angel. You managed not to kill each other. I'd call that progress." Louis sat beside Angelique. A waiter approached at once to pour coffee for both of them. Louis watched the coffee fill his cup and wondered how many people would notice the swelling in his right hand and decide it meant pride rather than stupidity. Venessa finished speaking with Constantine and came to the table with a slim folder and a tablet.

"Good morning," she said.

"The overnight line held. The first wave of pickup favored the engagement story over the altercation itself, which was good news for us. There are still two local outlets trying to push a counter-narrative about conduct, but they haven't reached national syndication within the Collective yet." Angelique lifted her coffee cup.

"What are we doing about them?" Venessa did not sit.

"We'll let them speak. By midday, the engagement confirmation will have drowned them out. We've pushed a second round of clips from earlier days—carefully chosen moments of you both looking very much as you should in public—to reinforce the impression that the betrothal was already understood, even if not yet announced." Louis looked at her.

"And the punch?" Venessa glanced down at her tablet.

"We've downplayed the clip itself and provided context language. The official line remains: the incident was regrettable but understandable, given the inappropriate overfamiliarity directed toward Miss Bourbon. The security footage from the ballroom has been erased from the hotel system, by the way. Only the private mobile version remains in circulation." Gladice said, "How convenient." Venessa glanced at her.

"It was necessary. We couldn't risk multiple versions emerging." Angelique stirred her coffee.

"What happens next?"

"Miss Hobbes will brief you on the details of the schedule after breakfast," Venessa said.

"Though I am afraid there will be a lot of last-minute changes today. Several local activist groups have organized their protests around the narrative of Dominion interference. The mayor has agreed to modify the morning tours to limit exposure." Philip looked up from his folder.

"Will that be enough?" Venessa paused before answering.

"It's difficult to say. Some of the groups have been calling for a public apology from Mr. Collins, which is not happening. Others have already begun to frame the incident as evidence of Dominion aggression. We are preparing responses for all likely channels."

"Of course you are," Gladice murmured. Venessa did not respond.

"The most important thing is that both of you appear together, publicly, and without tension. If any local media approach you directly, please refer them to us. Do not speak on your own behalf." She looked first at Angelique, then at Louis. Angelique said, "We understand." Louis added, "I'm not planning to talk to anyone." Venessa nodded.

"Good. Then I'll leave you to breakfast." She turned and returned to Constantine by the windows, already looking down at her tablet. Judith set down her coffee cup.

"Come here, Louis. Let me see your hand." He went to her. She took his right hand between hers, turned it over, and examined the swelling and split skin.

"The swelling is down," she said.

"But it will be visible all day." He nodded. She looked up at him.

"If anyone asks, you will say you were defending Angelique from unwanted advances. That is the only line we are giving the world. Do you understand?"

"Yes." She looked at him a moment longer, then released his hand.

"Sit down and eat," she said.

"It's going to be a long day." He returned to his chair. Angelique did not look up from her plate, but she moved her chair enough for him to sit beside her. He took a sip of his coffee. It was bitter and strong. Gladice leaned forward over the table.

"Tell me, Angel," she said to Angelique, "did he at least kiss you properly after all the drama, or did he just go straight to bed feeling sorry for himself?" Louis nearly choked on the coffee. Angelique raised one eyebrow.

"That's not your business, Gladice." Gladice laughed.

"Oh, but it is everyone's business now, isn't it? Suddenly you two are a romantic story whether you want to be or not." Serana glanced up from her plate.

"Not exactly romantic."

"Not exactly," Gladice agreed, smiling at Serana.

"But people love a good engagement story, even when it arrives with a bruise or two." She looked at Louis again.

"So. Was she worth the fight?" Louis met her gaze.

"I'm not discussing it." Gladice's smile widened.

"Diplomatic. I approve." Jessamine cut in from across the table.

"Gladice, I think that's enough." Gladice turned toward her mother.

"Forgive me, Mama. I was merely trying to lighten the mood." She picked up her coffee and took a sip.

"It's been such a heavy morning." David sighed.

"If you're finished being charming, you might consider that some of us have real work to do today." Gladice set her cup down.

"Of course, Daddy. I would never interfere with your negotiations." He looked at her, shook his head, and returned to the reports on his phone. The conversation ended there. Waiters refilled the coffee and cleared the plates. Around the table, people began to stand and collect their folders. One by one, they left to begin the revised morning schedule.