“WHO WAS THE PRESIDENT OF the United States during the Third World War?” Silvia quizzed us.
This was one I didn’t know, and I averted my eyes, hoping Silvia wouldn’t call on me.
Luckily, Amy raised her hand and answered. “President Wallis.”
We were in the Great Room again, starting the week with a history lesson. Well, more like a history test. This was one of those areas where it always seemed that what people knew was varied, both as far as what was fact and just how informed they were. Mom always taught us orally when it came to history. We had pages and worksheets to master for English and math, but when it came to the stories that made up our past, there was very little that I knew for sure was truth.
“Correct. President Wallis was the president before the Chinese assault and continued leading the United States throughout the war,” Silvia confirmed. I thought the name to myself. Wallis, Wallis, Wallis. I really wanted to remember this to tell May and Gerad when I went home, but we were learning so much, it was hard to keep it all straight. “What was their motivation for invading? Celeste?”
She smiled. “Money. The Americans owed them a lot of money and couldn’t pay them back.”
“Excellent, Celeste.” Silvia gave her a doting smile. How did Celeste wrap people around her finger like that? It was so irritating. “When the United States couldn’t repay their massive debt, the Chinese invaded. Unfortunately for them, this didn’t get them any money, as the United States was beyond bankruptcy. However, it did gain them American labor. And when the Chinese took over, what did they rename the United States?”
I raised my hand, along with a few others. “Jenna?” Silvia called. “The American State of China.”
“Yes. The American State of China had the appearance of its original country, but was merely a facade. The Chinese were pulling strings behind the scenes, influencing any major political happenings, and steering legislation in their favor.” Silvia walked through the desks slowly. I felt like a mouse in the sights of a hawk that was circling ever closer.
I looked around the room. A few people seemed confused. I thought that part was common knowledge.
“Does anyone have anything they’d like to add?” Silvia asked.
Bariel piped up. “The Chinese invasion prompted several countries, particularly those in Europe, to align themselves with one another and make alliances.”
“Yes,” Silvia replied. “However, the American State of China had no such friends at the time. It took them five years to regroup, and they could barely handle that, let alone trying to forge alliances.” She tried to express the hardship through an exhausted look. “The ASC planned to fight back against China but was then faced with another invasion. What country attempted to occupy the ASC then?”
Lots of hands went up this time. “Russia,” someone said without waiting to be called on. Silvia looked around for the offender, but couldn’t pinpoint the source.
“Correct,” she said, slightly unhappily. “Russia tried to expand in both directions and failed miserably, but this failure on their part provided the ASC with an opportunity to fight
back. How?”
Kriss raised her hand and answered. “The entirety of what was North America banded together to fight Russia, since it seemed clear they had their eyes on more than just the ASC. And fighting Russia was easier because China was attacking them as well for attempting to steal their territory.”
Silvia smiled proudly. “Yes. And who headed up the assault against Russia?”
The whole room shouted out the answer: “Gregory Illéa!” Some girls even clapped.
Silvia nodded. “And that led to the founding of the country. The alliances the ASC acquired had formed a united front, and the United States’s reputation was so damaged, no one wanted to readopt that name. So a new nation was formed under Gregory Illéa’s name and leadership. He saved this country.”
Emmica raised her hand, and Silvia acknowledged her. “In some ways, we’re kind of like him. I mean, we get to serve our country. He was just a private citizen who donated his money and knowledge. And he changed everything,” she said with wonder.
“That is a beautiful point,” Silvia said. “And exactly like him, one of you will be elevated to royalty. For Gregory Illéa, he became a king as his family married into a royal family, and for you, it will be marrying into this one.” Silvia had moved herself to awe, so when Tuesday raised her hand, it took her a moment to acknowledge it.
“Umm, why is it that we don’t have any of this in a book? So we could study?” There was a hint of irritation in her voice.
Silvia shook her head. “Dear girls, history isn’t something you study. It’s something you should just know.”
Marlee turned to me and whispered, “But clearly we don’t.” She smiled at her own joke, and then focused again on Silvia.
I thought about that, how we all knew different things or had to guess at the truth. Why weren’t we given history books?
I remembered a few years ago when I went into Mom and Dad’s room, since Mom said I could choose what I wanted to read for English. As I went through my options, I spotted a thick, ratty book in the back corner and pulled it out. It was a U.S. history book. Dad came in a few minutes later, saw what I was reading, and said it was okay, so long as I never told anyone about it.
When Dad asked me to keep a secret, I did so without question, and I loved looking through all those pages. Well, the ones that were still legible. Lots had been torn out, and the edge of the book looked like it might have been burned, but that’s where I saw a picture of the old White House and learned about the way holidays used to be.
I never thought to question the lack of truth until it had been placed in front of me. Why did the king just let us guess?
The flashbulbs went off again, capturing Maxon and Natalie smiling brightly.
“Natalie, bring your chin down just a touch, please. That’s it.” The photographer snapped another picture, filling the room with light. “I think that will do. Who’s next?” he called.
Celeste came in from the side, a general group of maids still swarming around her before the photographer started up again. Natalie, still beside Maxon, said something and kicked up her foot flirtatiously behind her. He responded quietly, and she giggled as she walked away.
We’d been told after yesterday’s history lesson that this photo shoot was merely for the amusement of the public, but I couldn’t help thinking that there was some actual weight to it. Someone had written an editorial in a magazine about the look of a princess. I didn’t get to read the article myself, but Emmica and some of the others did. According to her, it was
about Maxon needing to find someone who actually looked regal and photographed well with him, someone who would look nice on a stamp.
And now we were all lined up in identical cream-colored, cap-sleeved, drop-waist dresses with a heavy red sash across our shoulders, taking pictures with Maxon. The photos would be printed in the same magazine, and the magazine staff was going to make picks. I was kind of uncomfortable with it all. This was the thing I’d been bothered about since the beginning, that Maxon was looking for nothing more than a pretty face. Now that I’d met him, I was sure that wasn’t true, but it got to me that people thought that Maxon was like that.
I sighed. Some of the girls were walking around, munching on no-drip foods and chatting, but the majority, including myself, were standing around the perimeter of the set erected in the Great Room. A huge golden tapestry that reminded me of the drop cloths Dad used at home was hung up against a wall and spilled across the floor. A small couch was off to one side and a pillar was on the other. In the middle the Illéan emblem stood, giving the whole silly thing an air of being patriotic. We watched as each Selected paraded across the space to be photographed, and many who watched were whispering things they liked and didn’t or what they were planning for themselves.
Celeste walked up to Maxon with a sparkle in her eyes, and he smiled as she approached. The moment she reached him, she put her lips to his ear and whispered something. Whatever it was, Maxon leaned his head back with laughter and nodded, agreeing with her little secret. It was strange to see them like that. How could someone who got along so well with me do the same with someone like her?
“All right, miss, just face the camera and smile, please,” the photographer called, and Celeste immediately complied.
She turned herself toward Maxon and placed a hand on his chest, tilted her head down, and gave an expert smile. She seemed to understand how to use the lighting and set to her best advantage and kept moving Maxon over a few inches or insisting on changing their pose. Where some of the girls took their time and made their turn with Maxon last— particularly those who still hadn’t secured a date—Celeste appeared to want to show her efficiency instead.
In a bolt of speed, she was done, and the photographer called for the next girl. I was so busy watching Celeste run her fingers down Maxon’s arm as she exited that a maid had to gently remind me it was my turn.
I gave my head a tiny shake and willed myself to focus. I gathered up my dress in my hands and walked toward Maxon. His eyes shifted from Celeste to me, and maybe I imagined it, but his face seemed to brighten a bit.
“Hello, my dear,” he sang.
“Don’t even start,” I warned, but he merely chuckled and reached his hands out. “Hold on a moment. Your sash is crooked.”
“Not surprised.” The darn thing was so heavy, I could feel it shifting every time I stepped.
“I suppose that’ll do,” he said jokingly.
I fired back, “In the meantime, they ought to hang you up with the chandeliers.” I poked at the glittering medals across his chest. His uniform, which looked almost like something the guards would wear, only far more elegant, also had golden things on his shoulders and a sword hanging off his hip. It was a bit much.
“Look at the camera, please,” the photographer called. I looked up and saw not just his eyes but the faces of all the other girls watching, and my nerves shot up.
I wiped my moist hands on my dress and exhaled. “Don’t be nervous,” Maxon whispered.
“I don’t like everyone looking at me.”
He pulled me very close and put his hand on my waist. I went to step back, but Maxon’s arm held me securely to him. “Just look at me like you can’t stand me.” He squinted into a mock pout, which made me crack up.
The camera flashed at just that second, capturing us both laughing. “See,” Maxon said. “It’s not so bad.”
“I guess.” I was still tense for a few minutes as the photographer shouted out instructions and Maxon shifted from a close embrace to a loose one, or turned me so my back was against his chest.
“Excellent,” the photographer said. “Could we get a few on the lounge?”
I was feeling better now that it was half over, and I sat next to Maxon with the best posture I could muster. Every once in a while, he’d poke or tickle me, making my smile grow bigger until it burst into laughter. I hoped the photographer was catching the moments just before my face scrunched together, otherwise this whole thing was going to be a disaster.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a waving hand, and a moment later Maxon turned as well. A man in a suit was standing there, and he clearly needed to speak to the prince. Maxon nodded, but the man hesitated, looking to him and then to me, evidently questioning my presence.
“She’s fine,” Maxon said, and the man came over and knelt before him.
“Rebel attack in Midston, Your Majesty,” he said. Maxon sighed and dropped his head wearily. “They burned acres of crops and killed about a dozen people.”
“Where in Midston?”
“The west, sir, near the border.”
Maxon nodded slowly and looked as if he was adding this piece of information to others in his head. “What does my father say?”
“Actually, Your Majesty, he wanted your thoughts.”
Maxon seemed taken aback for a split second, then spoke. “Localize troops in the southeast of Sota and all along Tammins. Don’t go as far south as Midston, it’d be a waste. See if we can intercept them.”
The man stood and bowed. “Excellent, sir.” As swiftly as he’d come, he vanished.
I knew we were supposed to get back to the pictures, but Maxon didn’t seem nearly so interested in it all now.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He nodded somberly. “Just all those people.” “Maybe we should stop,” I suggested.
He shook his head, straightened up, and smiled, placing my hand in his. “One thing you must master in this profession is the ability to appear calm when you feel anything but. Please smile, America.”
I raised myself up and gave a shy smile to the camera as the photographer clicked away. In the middle of those last few frames, Maxon squeezed my hand tight, and I did the same to his. In that moment, it felt like we had a connection, something true and deep.
“Thank you very much. Next, please,” the photographer sang.
As Maxon and I stood, he held on to my hand. “Please don’t say anything. It’s imperative you’re discreet.”
“Of course.”
The click of a pair of heels coming toward us reminded me that we weren’t alone, but I kind of wanted to stay. He gave my hand one last squeeze and released me, and as I walked away, I considered several things. How nice it felt that Maxon trusted me enough to let me know this secret, and how it had sort of felt like we were alone for a moment. Then I thought about the rebels, and how the king was usually quick to point out their sedition, but I was supposed to keep this news to myself. It didn’t quite make sense.
“Janelle, my dear,” Maxon said as the next girl approached. I smiled to myself at the tired endearment. He lowered his voice, but I still heard. “Before I forget, are you free this afternoon?”
Something kind of knotted in my stomach. I guessed it was a late batch of nerves.
“She must have done something terrible,” Amy insisted. “That’s not what she made it sound like,” Kriss countered. Tuesday pulled on Kriss’s arm. “What did she say again?” Janelle had been sent home.
This particular elimination was crucial for us to understand, because it was the first one that was isolated and not caused by rule breaking. She had done something wrong, and we all wanted to know what it was.
Kriss, whose room was across from Janelle’s, had seen her come in and was the only person she’d spoken to before she left. Kriss sighed and retold the story for the third time.
“She and Maxon had gone hunting, but you knew that,” she said, waving her hand around like she was trying to clear her thoughts. Janelle’s date really had been common knowledge. After the photo shoot yesterday, she gushed about their plans to anyone who would listen.
“That was her second date with Maxon. She’s the only one who got two,” Bariel said. “No, she isn’t,” I mumbled. A few heads turned, acknowledging my statement. It was
true, though. Janelle was the only girl to have two dates with Maxon besides me. Not that I was counting.
Kriss continued. “When she came back, she was crying. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she was leaving, that Maxon had told her to go. I gave her a hug because she was so upset and asked her what happened. She said she couldn’t tell me about it. I don’t understand that. Maybe we’re not allowed to talk about why we’re eliminated?”
“That wasn’t in the rules, was it?” Tuesday asked.
“No one said anything to me about it,” Amy replied, and several others shook their heads in confirmation.
“But what did she say then?” Celeste urged.
Kriss sighed again. “She said that I’d better be careful of what I say. Then she pulled away and slammed the door.”
The room went quiet a moment, considering. “She must have insulted him,” Elayna said.
“Well, if that’s why she left, then it isn’t fair, since Maxon said that someone in this room insulted him the first time they met,” Celeste complained.
People started looking around the room, trying to discover the guilty party, perhaps in an effort to get them—me—kicked out as well. I gave a nervous glance to Marlee, and she sprang into action.
“Maybe she said something about the country? Like the policies or something?”
Bariel sucked her teeth. “Please. How boring must that date have been for them to start talking policy? Has anyone in here actually talked to Maxon about anything related to running the country?”
No one answered.
“Of course you haven’t,” Bariel said. “Maxon’s not looking for a coworker, he’s looking for a wife.”
“Don’t you think you’re underestimating him?” Kriss objected. “Don’t you think Maxon wants someone with ideas and opinions?”
Celeste threw her head back and laughed. “Maxon can run the country just fine. He’s trained for it. Besides, he has teams of people to help him make decisions, so why would he
want someone else trying to tell him what to do? If I were you, I’d start learning how to be quiet. At least until he marries you.”
Bariel sidled up beside Celeste. “Which he won’t.”
“Exactly,” Celeste said with a smile. “Why would Maxon bother with some brainiac Three when he could have a Two?”
“Hey!” Tuesday cried. “Maxon doesn’t care about numbers.”
“Of course he does,” Celeste replied in a tone someone would use with a child. “Why do you think everyone below a Four is gone?”
“Still here,” I said, raising my hand. “So if you think you’ve got him figured out, you’re wrong.”
“Oh, it’s the girl who doesn’t know when to shut up,” Celeste said in mock amusement.
I balled my fist, trying to decide if it would be worth hitting her. Was that part of her plan? But before I could move at all, Silvia burst through the door.
“Mail, ladies!” she called out, and the tension in the room flew away.
We all stopped, eager to get our hands on what Silvia was carrying. We’d been at the palace nearly two weeks now, and with the exception of hearing from our families on the second day, this was our first real contact from home.
“Let’s see,” Silvia said, looking through stacks of letters, completely oblivious to the almost-argument that had taken place not seconds ago. “Lady Tiny?” she called as she looked around the room.
Tiny raised her hand and walked forward. “Lady Elizabeth? Lady America?”
I practically ran forward and snatched the letter out of her hand. I was so hungry for words from my family. As soon as it was in my clutches, I retreated to a corner for a few moments to myself.
Dear America,
I can’t wait for Friday to come. I can’t believe you’re going to get to talk to Gavril Fadaye! You have all the luck.
I certainly didn’t feel lucky. Tomorrow night we were all getting grilled by Gavril, and I had no idea what he would ask us. I felt sure I’d make an idiot out of myself.
It’ll be nice to hear your voice again. I miss you singing around the house. Mom doesn’t do it, and it’s been so quiet since you left. Will you wave to me on the show?
How’s the competition going? Do you have lots of friends there? Have you talked to any of the girls who left? Mom is saying all the time now that it’s not a big deal if you lose anymore. Half those girls who went home are already engaged to the sons of mayors or celebrities. She says someone will take you if Maxon doesn’t. Gerad is hoping you marry a basketball player instead of a boring old prince. But I don’t care what anybody says. Maxon is so gorgeous!
Have you kissed him yet?
Kissed him? We’d only just met. And there’d be no reason for Maxon to kiss me anyway.
I bet he’s the best kisser in the universe. I think if you’re a prince, you have to be!
I have so much more to tell you, but Mom wants me to go paint. Write me a real letter soon. A long one! With lots and lots of details!
I love you! We all do. May
So the eliminated girls were already getting snatched up by wealthy men. I didn’t realize being the castoff of a future king made you a commodity. I walked around the perimeter of the room, thinking over May’s words.
I wanted to know what was going on. I wondered what had really happened with Janelle and was curious if Maxon had another date tonight. I really wanted to see him.
My mind was racing, searching for a way to simply speak to him. As I thought, I stared at the paper in my hands.
The second page of May’s letter was almost completely blank. I tore off a piece of it as I wandered. Some girls were still buried in pages of letters from their families, and others were sharing news. After a lap I stopped by the Women’s Room guest book and picked up the pen.
I scribbled quickly on my scrap of paper.
Your Majesty—
Tugging my ear. Whenever.
I walked outside the room as if I were simply going to the bathroom and looked up and down the hall. It was empty. I stood there, waiting, until a maid rounded the corner with a tray of tea in her hands.
“Excuse me?” I called to her quietly. Voices carried in these great halls. The girl curtsied in front of me. “Yes, miss?”
“Would you happen to be going to the prince with that?” She smiled. “Yes, miss.”
“Could you please take this to him for me?” I held out my little folded-up note. “Of course, miss!”
She took it eagerly and walked away with a newfound energy. No doubt she would unfold it as soon as she was out of sight, but I felt secure in its odd phrasing.
These hallways were captivating, each one more ornate than my entire house. The wallpaper, the gilt mirrors, the giant vases of fresh flowers all so beautiful. The carpets were lavish and immaculate, the windows were sparkling, and the paintings on the walls were lovely.
There were some paintings by artists I knew—van Gogh, Picasso—and some I didn’t. There were photographs of buildings I had seen before. There was one of the legendary White House. Compared to the pictures and what I’d read in my old history book, the palace dwarfed it in size and luxury, but I still wished it was around to see.
I walked farther down the hall and came upon a portrait of the royal family. It looked old; Maxon was shorter than his mother in this picture. He towered over her now.
In the time I’d been at the palace, I had only ever seen them together at dinners and the Illéa Capital Report airing. Were they very private? Did they not like all these strange young girls in their house? Were they only all here because of blood and duty? I didn’t know what to make of this invisible family.
“America?”
I turned at the sound of my name. Maxon was jogging down the hall toward me. I felt like I was seeing him for the first time.
He had his suit coat off, and the sleeves were rolled up on his white shirt. His blue tie was loosened at the neck, and his hair that was always slicked back was bouncing around a bit as he moved. In stark contrast to the person in uniform yesterday, he looked more boyish, more real.
I froze. Maxon came up to me and grabbed my wrists. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he pressed.
Wrong?
“Nothing. I’m fine,” I replied. Maxon let out a breath I didn’t realize he was holding.
“Thank goodness. When I got your note, I thought you were sick or something happened to your family.”
“Oh! Oh, no. Maxon, I’m so sorry. I knew that was a stupid idea. I just didn’t know if you’d be at dinner, and I wanted to see you.”
“Well, what for?” he asked. He was still looking me over with a furrowed brow, as if he was making sure nothing was broken.
“Just to see you.”
Maxon stopped moving. He looked into my eyes with a kind of wonder. “You just wanted to see me?” He looked happily surprised.
“Don’t be so shocked. Friends usually spend time together.” My tone added the of course.
“Ah, you’re cross with me because I’ve been engaged all week, aren’t you? I didn’t mean to neglect our friendship, America.” Now he was back to the businesslike Maxon.
“No, I’m not mad. I was just explaining myself. You look busy. Go back to work, and I’ll see you when you’re free.” I noticed he was still holding on to my wrists.
“Actually, do you mind if I stay a few minutes? They’re having a budget meeting upstairs, and I detest those things.” Without waiting for an answer, Maxon pulled me over to a short, plush sofa halfway down the hall that rested underneath a window, and I giggled a little as we sat. “What’s so funny?”
“Just you,” I said, smiling. “It’s cute to see that your job bugs you. What’s so bad about the meetings, anyway?”
“Oh, America!” he said, facing me again. “They go round and round in circles. Father does a good job at calming the advisers, but it’s so hard to push the committees in any given direction. Mom is always on Father to give more to the school systems—she thinks the more educated you are, the less likely you are to be a criminal, and I agree—but Father is never forceful enough to get them to take away from other areas that could manage perfectly with lower funds. It’s infuriating! And it’s not like I’m in command, so my opinion is easily overlooked.” Maxon propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. He looked tired.
So now I could see a bit of Maxon’s world, but it was just as unimaginable as ever.
How could you deny the voice of your future sovereign?
“I’m sorry. On the plus side, you’ll have more of a say in the future.” I rubbed his back, trying to encourage him.
“I know. I tell myself that. But it’s so frustrating when we could change things now if they’d only listen.” His voice was a little hard to hear when it was directed at the carpet.
“Well, don’t be too discouraged. Your mom is on the right path, but education alone won’t fix anything.”
Maxon raised his head. “What do you mean?” It almost sounded like an accusation. And rightly so. Here was an idea that he’d been championing, and I’d just squashed it. I tried to backpedal.
“Well, compared to the fancy-pants tutors someone like you has, the education system for Sixes and Sevens is terrible. I think getting better teachers or better facilities would do them a world of good. But then what about the Eights? Isn’t that caste responsible for most of the crimes? They don’t get any education. I think if they felt they had something, anything at all, it might encourage them.
“Besides…” I paused. I didn’t know if this was something a boy who’d grown up with everything handed to him could grasp. “Have you ever been hungry, Maxon? Not just ready for dinner, but starving? If there was absolutely no food here, nothing for your mother or father, and you knew that if you just took something from people who had more in a day than you’d have in your whole life, you could eat … what would you do? If they were counting on you, what wouldn’t you do for someone you loved?”
He was quiet for a moment. Once before—when we’d talked about my maids during the attack—we’d kind of acknowledged the wide gap between us. This was a far more controversial topic of discussion, and I could see him wanting to avoid it.
“America, I’m not saying that some people don’t have it hard, but stealing is—” “Close your eyes, Maxon.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes.”
He frowned at me but obeyed. I waited until his eyes were shut and his face looked relaxed before I started.
“Somewhere in this palace, there is a woman who will be your wife.” I saw his mouth twitch, the beginnings of a hopeful smile.
“Maybe you don’t know which face it is yet, but think of the girls in that room. Imagine the one who loves you the most. Imagine your ‘dear.’”
His hand was resting next to mine on the seat, and his fingers grazed mine for a second.
I shied away from the touch.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking my way. “Keep ’em closed!”
He chuckled and went back to his original position.
“This girl? Imagine that she depends on you. She needs you to cherish her and make her feel like the Selection didn’t even happen. Like if you were dropped on your own out in the middle of the country to wander around door to door, she’s still the one you would have found. She was always the one you would have picked.”
The hopeful smile began to settle. More than settle, it started to sag.
“She needs you to provide for her and protect her. And if it came to a point where there was absolutely nothing to eat, and you couldn’t even fall asleep at night because the sound of her stomach growling kept you awake—”
“Stop it!” Maxon stood quickly. He walked across the hall and stayed there for a while, facing away from me.
I felt a little awkward. I hadn’t realized this would make him so upset. “Sorry,” I whispered.
He nodded his head but continued to look at the wall. After a moment he turned around.
His eyes were searching mine, sad and questioning. “Is it really like that?” he asked.
“What?”
“Out there … does that happen? Are people hungry like that a lot?” “Maxon, I—”
“Tell me the truth.” His mouth settled into a firm line.
“Yes. That happens. I know of families where people give up their share for their children or siblings. I know of a boy who was whipped in the town square for stealing food. Sometimes you do crazy things when you’re desperate.”
“A boy? How old?”
“Nine,” I breathed with a shiver. I could still remember the scars on Jemmy’s tiny back, and Maxon stretched his own back as if he felt it all himself.
“Have you”—he cleared his throat—“have you ever been like that? Starving?”
I ducked my head, which was a giveaway. I really didn’t want to tell him about that. “How bad?”
“Maxon, it will only upset you more.”
“Probably,” he said with a grave nod. “But I’m only starting to realize how much I don’t know about my own country. Please.”
I sighed.
“We’ve been pretty bad. Most times if it gets to where we have to choose, we keep the food and lose electricity. The worst was when it happened near Christmas one year. It was very cold, so we were all wearing tons of clothes and watching our breath inside the house. May didn’t understand why we couldn’t exchange gifts. As a general rule, there are never any leftovers at my house. Someone always wants more.”
I watched his face grow pale and realized I didn’t want to see him upset. I needed to turn this around, make it positive.
“I know the checks we’ve gotten over the last few weeks have really helped, and my family is very smart about money. I’m sure they’ve already tucked it away so it’ll stretch out for a long time. You’ve done so much for us, Maxon.” I tried to smile at him again, but his expression remained unchanged.
“Good God. When you said you were only here for the food, you weren’t kidding, were you?” he asked, shaking his head.
“Really, Maxon, we’ve been doing pretty well lately. I—” But I couldn’t finish my sentence.
Maxon came over and kissed my forehead. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
As he walked away, he straightened his tie.
