The Kingmaker

I stuff a feral scream and tamp down the urge to yank a handful of blond strands from her scalp.

“But she’s never been here.” He tips my chin up again. “Just you, Nix.”

I search his eyes and find what looks like the truth. Some of the tension in my shoulders drains and I smile. The curtain opens again, and Laura rolls in a large cart bearing several silver domes.

Maxim shifts me off his lap so he can get up and take the seat across from me. Laura rolls the table between us. There’s chicken, seafood, potatoes, asparagus, salad, and even some rich chocolate-ganache-looking thing.

“Thank you,” I murmur to Laura.

“Thanks, Laura,” Maxim says. “Can you wait to clear this when we land? We aren’t to be disturbed again.”

She nods, and I take a gulp from my glass of water, hoping to cool the heat rising from the center of my body and fanning out over every part of me.

“I hope it’s okay she brought everything out at once instead of in courses,” he continues. “My mother would die a thousand deaths. She thinks it’s vulgar to eat food all slammed together.”

“You want it all and at once. A man of big appetites.”

“So you do remember,” he teases. “You’re right, but I also didn’t want her coming in and out. I want to be alone with you.”

As quickly as we shove the delicious food in, we can’t seem to get the words out fast enough. I’d forgotten how each conversation with Maxim opens up something I’d never considered. His mind reaches for things most people would never imagine. Even while he’s plotting how we could save this planet, he’s wondering how we could survive on Mars if necessary.

I pierce the last bite of chicken and release a satisfied sigh. He nods to the empty plate I’ve practically licked clean. “I really wish you had enjoyed your meal more.”

I toss a dinner roll at him, which bounces off his forehead. His flinches, fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “It’s all coming back to me, why I never bring girls on my plane.”

I toss my head back and laugh, and can’t remember the last time I enjoyed anyone’s company this much. Once we finish our meal, he pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I hope there won’t be ten years between this date and our next one.”

“Well at the rate we’re going, with me being on the campaign trail and you being all over the world,” I say ruefully, “it may be.”

“Nah. I won’t let that happen again.”

There’s a serious note in his voice that makes me look up. His expression is completely void of humor.

“I deserved your distrust, Nix,” he says softly. “I know how I handled things hit a particular nerve for you, and I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. And I told you, thanks to my therapist, I now recognize there was more to it than what was on the surface.”

“I understand your fear about me . . .” He shakes his head. “Over the years, I always needed to make sure you were okay, so I get you being concerned about my . . . how did you put it? Love for danger?”

I manage a smile because it still scares me on some level that his pursuit of the next thing, the thing that doesn’t even exist yet, might one day put him in danger he can’t get out of. I’ve picked up those pieces before, and I’m not sure I can do it again.

“I wanted to give you something.” He lifts the lid from a small dome by his plate to reveal a small flat box.

“What is it?” It doesn’t even matter. It’s for me from him. It’s him thinking about me when we were apart.

“Open it.”

He offers me the jewelry box and my hands tremble the slightest bit when I take it from him. Our fingers brush, and that same charge zips over my nerve endings in a way I’ve never experienced with anyone else. My body finds a thousand ways to tell me Maxim is distinct. It has refused to offer this response to any other man, and I’m finally accepting his place in my life. It’s hard to imagine where I fit in his if I think about it too hard, so I’ve determined to just feel how good it is to be with him again.

“Doc, it’s absolutely beautiful.” Tears prick my eyes and I touch the compass charm dangling from a platinum bracelet. “You didn’t . . . you don’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.”

He takes it from me, wraps the delicate rope around my wrist and does the clasp. I trace the points—north, south, east and west—and remember running in the four directions during my Sunrise Dance, gathering the elements to myself. This gift feels perfect and meaningful.

“It’s because we found our way back to each other,” he says, a self-deprecating twist to his mouth. “Or rather I got tired of waiting and demanded you back in my life. Maybe I’m more like my father than I want to admit.”

He says it lightly, but I know he means it and on some level, questions it, maybe even worries about it.