The Rule of One (The Rule of One #1)(9)

Before my lips touch my glass, Mrs. Roth begins her interrogation. “Darren tells me you are a very clever young woman, Ava. And what have you decided as your career path after university?”

I place my full wine glass back down on the table. Best to keep a clear mind. “Well, I really—” I begin to say before Father cuts me off.

“I am very pleased to say it is Ava’s wish to continue her medical school education at Strake University,” he answers for me. “She hopes to soon serve her great state under the Family Planning Division.”

That is not my wish. That is our future chosen by my father. I stare down at my napkin, letting my anger show for a fraction of a second.

“Just like her father,” Mrs. Roth says to me. I turn and match her beaming smile, tooth for tooth.

“Strake is the finest institution our country has ever built,” Governor Roth growls, half his wine already drained. His own grandmother founded Strake, naming the university after a part mounted on aircraft that improves aerodynamic stability. Meaning students are simply parts on a machine to make Texas soar. Not individuals or anything.

I sit back, thoroughly aware he’s about to dig into one of his long-winded speeches. I take the opportunity to dig into my soup.

“Our promising youth should stay here, where they were born and raised. The time and resources we’ve invested into these students’ futures—what benefit is there for us if the child leaves? All that potential and promise gone, given to some other state, when their skills should be utilized here, aiding in the prosperity of Texas. Not wasted on some drowning coastal city in Florida or in the Carolinas that should have been cut from our country like a useless limb.”

Like Texas severed Houston. Roth was the first governor to refuse aid to one of his own cities, setting a precedent. His Gulf Coast citizens either migrated inland or succumbed to a watery grave.

I half-listen to Father’s agreeable response and focus instead on Halton sitting across from me. He looks stuffy and cramped inside his high-collared blazer, the purple buttons on his shirt glossy and blinding. He barely touches his soup, and like the governor, he favors the wine.

“Of course, our Halton will follow in his grandfather’s footsteps as well,” says Mrs. Roth. “He’s ranked number two in his year.”

It has long been believed Halton earns his grades through fear. Not fear of him, of course. Fear of his last name.

“We are so proud,” she says, a smile plastered on her face. Governor Roth hardly glances up to acknowledge his grandson.

Halton downs the rest of his cabernet like a shot and lifts his glass for another. Gwen answers promptly with the bottle, eliciting a glare from Mrs. Roth that says, Cut him off.

Flawlessly, Gwen aborts midpour and begins clearing away the dishes for the main course.

With an air of familiarity, Mrs. Roth places a heavily jeweled hand on my right wrist, continuing her assault. “Have you chosen your date for the Anniversary Gala, Ava?”

I pause before answering, wondering if Father will let me speak. “I will be attending the celebration with my father.”

Mrs. Roth clasps her hands together, pleased. “Nonsense. Halton will be your partner.” Free from her grasp, I lightly brush my wrist and force another smile as I lock eyes with Halton.

“Agent Hayes, send in the photographer!” Mrs. Roth shouts, clapping with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Before I understand what’s happening, a large woman with a tiny camera is yelling at me to stand and move closer to Halton.

I look to Father, who takes this unexpected intrusion in stride, keeping his manner light. “Now, Mrs. Roth, you know how much Ava despises having her photo taken.”

“I’ve never been very photogenic,” I force out as our go-to excuse.

“You Goodwins are so camera shy! But think what these two will look like together as an advertisement on the side of a skyrise! The prince of the Gala and his princess.”

“Scoot closer!” the photographer orders, winking at me like she’s giving me a gift.

Halton’s arm slips behind my back, his hand hovering above my waist. He seems to think better of it and moves his hand up to higher ground, landing on my shoulder.

My skin crawls. I can’t move, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him staring at my bracelet. Or is he staring at my wrist? With enormous effort, as if moving through quicksand, I ball my hands into fists behind my back, shielding my right wrist from view.

“Your own child as the face of the Gala, Dr. Goodwin? The public will be fawning over her!” the photographer adds with eager adoration as her camera’s shutter fires off with rapid click click clicks.

Governor Roth emits a low growl at this, a Rottweiler claiming his territory. The Gala is his. Dread fills the room, waiting for his bark, but Mrs. Roth clears the air by shooing the silly woman away. I break away from Halton and return stiffly to my seat with my artificial smile.

“And who will be your partner, Darren?” Mrs. Roth continues smoothly.

As Director of the Texas Family Planning Division, Father is expected to attend with a proper guest. Mrs. Roth parrots my thoughts aloud and turns to her husband for reinforcement.

“I’m certain you agree, dear?”

Governor Roth takes a hearty sip of his wine and reviews the lavish piece of beef tenderloin set down in front of him, unimpressed.