Later That Night
The studio doors had barely closed before T’mari started replaying the interview in her head.
She said almost nothing during the ride back.
Mérida moved past the darkened limo windows in flashes of amber streetlight, food stalls, motorcycles, people spilling from restaurants into the humid night. Matt let her sit with it until they were several blocks away.
Then he reached across the leather seat, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles.
“That wasn’t exactly how I planned it,” he said.
T’mari looked at him.
“But it worked.”
Her brows drew together. “You planned that?”
“Not you calling her arrogant.”
“I said more than arrogant.”
“I noticed.”
That almost earned him a smile.
Matt leaned back.
“She was already flagged as hostile to the V’ren. I wanted to know whether that was somebody overreacting to aggressive journalism or whether she actually came into the interview looking for reasons to attack you.”
“And?”
“You heard her.”
T’mari looked down at their joined hands.
“I lost my temper.”
“Yes.”
“I should not have.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Her eyes lifted.
Matt rubbed his thumb across her fingers.
“You were angry because she took technical oversight and deliberately turned it into political infiltration after you corrected her. That anger was real.”
“I called her small-minded and arrogant on television.”
“You stopped before the rest came out.”
“Because you told me to.”
“Which means our little system works.”
She frowned at him.
Matt smiled faintly.
“You were authentic. That mattered more than being perfect. People forgive anger when they understand why somebody is angry. They are much less forgiving when they realize they are watching a performance.”
T’mari leaned back against the seat.
“You were testing her.”
“I was giving her enough room to tell me who she was.”
“And now?”
“Now her network gets to tell me whether she was speaking for them.”
T’mari studied him for several seconds.
“You think they will dismiss her.”
“I think she’ll be gone by morning.”
“That quickly?”
“She made the interview about herself, insulted the people we came here representing, and then gave management a choice between one presenter and every bit of access they might want from us for the foreseeable future.”
Matt shrugged.
“I’ve seen executives make harder decisions.”
T’mari finally smiled.
“I am beginning to understand why Angelina enjoys this.”
“That should worry you.”
“It does.”
The limo slowed beneath the hotel awning.
Warm air rushed in when the door opened, carrying bougainvillea, exhaust, and roasted maize from somewhere down the street.
By the time they reached the suite, T’mari had stopped looking as though she expected someone to grade her performance.
T’monn was waiting.
She stepped from the adjoining room as the door closed behind them, posture formal, expression composed enough that Matt immediately knew something was wrong.
“There are things I do not understand,” she said.
Matt loosened his tie.
“That makes three of us.”
He crossed to the bar.
T’monn watched as he began pouring.
“What are you doing?”
“Improving the conversation.”
He filled three glasses, added ice, and handed one to her.
T’monn examined the pink drink suspiciously before taking a cautious sip.
Her eyes widened.
T’mari stared at the glass.
Then at Matt.
Then at her mother.
A laugh escaped before she could stop it.
“Congratulations, Mom.”
T’monn looked between them.
“You have now had Sex on the Beach with my husband.”
T’monn froze.
Matt took a drink.
Understanding arrived slowly.
Then, to T’mari’s delight, her mother laughed.
It was brief and rare enough that T’mari laughed harder simply from hearing it.
Matt lifted his glass.
“See? Successful diplomacy.”
T’monn gave him a look that suggested diplomacy had very little to do with anything he did.
For a few seconds the room became easy again.
Then T’monn placed her glass on the table.
“L’tani’s pregnancy must be entered into the medical database by midnight.”
The laughter disappeared.
Matt set his own drink down.
T’mari became very still.
T’monn continued.
“The paternal record will be attached.”
Matt exhaled slowly.
There it was.
Not rumor.
Not a presenter fishing for scandal.
Not something they could leave vague while everyone adjusted.
A record.
A name.
A child.
He looked first at T’monn, then at T’mari.
“Then put mine there.”
T’monn watched him carefully.
Matt’s voice hardened with certainty.
“I will acknowledge both children as mine.”
His hand moved almost unconsciously toward T’mari.
“And I will love them equally, because that is what a father does.”
T’mari’s shoulders loosened.
T’monn said nothing.
The problem was not that a man might have children with more than one woman. There was nothing extraordinary about that in V’ren society.
The problem was who these people were.
The High Lord.
Two highborn sisters.
The daughters of W’ren Th’ron.
One already his wife.
And the family structure T’mari had begun considering before either man understood how far ahead she had gone.
T’mari took a breath.
“There is something else.”
Matt looked at her.
She had practiced the sentence several times.
It did not become easier.
“You should marry my mother.”
Silence.
Matt looked at T’mari.
Then at T’monn.
Then back at T’mari.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
He waited for the joke.
There wasn’t one.
“T’mari.”
“I know how it sounds to you.”
“I’m not entirely sure how it sounds to me yet.”
“That is fair.”
T’monn picked up her drink again, apparently deciding she needed it.
Matt noticed.
“That is not reassuring.”
“It was not intended to be,” T’monn said.
T’mari touched her belly.
“You have not read our foundation myths yet.”
“No.”
“You have barely had time to read our parking regulations.”
“I was hoping you didn’t have those.”
“We do.”
“Of course you do.”
T’mari almost smiled, but the seriousness returned.
“Once you understand the old stories, you will understand why I think this may matter.”
“For us?”
“For more than us.”
Matt’s expression changed.
“How much more?”
“Possibly Earth.”
He stared at her.
T’mari held his gaze.
“I already discussed the possibility with W’ren.”
That got his full attention.
“You discussed me marrying your mother with W’ren before discussing it with me?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“How should I say it?”
“I discussed the implications with the Keeper of the Flame.”
“That sounds worse.”
T’monn hid the beginning of a smile behind her glass.
T’mari sighed.
“He agrees that there is something you need to understand.”
“And neither of you is going to tell me.”
“It is W’ren’s duty.”
Matt looked toward T’monn.
She shook her head.
“Do not involve me in this attempt.”
“You’re the woman she just proposed I marry.”
“I noticed.”
“Surely that gives you standing.”
“It gives me a reason to want W’ren to explain himself very carefully.”
Matt rubbed both hands over his face.
T’mari watched him sympathetically for nearly three seconds.
“He will be with us again in Hiroshima.”
“Hiroshima.”
“Yes.”
“So I am supposed to spend the intervening time wondering why marrying my pregnant wife’s mother might help protect Earth.”
“And possibly L’tani.”
Matt lowered his hands.
T’mari tilted her head.
“You were already going to wonder about her.”
“Fair.”
She touched her stomach again.
“Now can we eat?”
Matt stared.
“I just found out one woman is carrying my child and my wife wants me to marry her mother.”
“Yes.”
“You want dinner.”
“I am pregnant.”
T’monn nodded solemnly.
“She has a strong argument.”
Matt looked from one woman to the other.
“This family is going to kill me.”
“No,” T’mari said. “We have very good doctors.”
T’monn picked up her cocktail.
Matt pointed at her.
“You are enjoying this now.”
“A little.”
He surrendered.
“Fine. Food.”
T’mari brightened immediately.
“You promised.”
“I remember.”
As Matt reached for the room controls, T’monn stopped beside him.
“Matthew.”
He looked at her.
She had lost the amusement.
“I believe I know where T’mari is going with this.”
“And?”
“And it is quite possible she is right.”
Matt waited.
T’monn shook her head.
“But I will not usurp W’ren’s responsibility as Keeper of the Flame.”
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
“Then perhaps you should listen.”
“I am listening.”
“Be patient.”
Matt looked toward T’mari.
She was already examining the hotel menu.
“Apparently patience comes with room service.”
“Order enough,” T’mari said without looking up.
“There it is.”
Much later, after food, after T’monn had returned to her room, after the messages from the studio had slowed from a flood to a manageable stream, Matt and T’mari stood on the balcony.
Mérida stretched beneath them in warm pools of light.
Music drifted from somewhere below, guitar and laughter mixing with traffic and the restless sound of a city that had no reason to care that three people several floors above it had just discussed something that might eventually alter two civilizations.
Matt stood behind T’mari with his arms around her.
For a while neither spoke.
Then he rested his chin against her hair.
“I’m sad.”
T’mari turned slightly within his arms.
“Why?”
He took his time answering.
“Because I can’t give you all of me.”
She faced him fully.
Matt looked toward the lights instead.
“I know all the practical arguments. I know the succession problem. I know L’tani. I know whatever you and W’ren are apparently plotting with your mother is bigger than whether I am comfortable.”
His mouth tightened.
“But there is still a part of me that thinks being your husband means I should be yours.”
“You are.”
“Not only yours.”
“No.”
He finally looked at her.
T’mari reached up and laid her hand against his cheek.
“Love is like a candle.”
Matt smiled faintly.
“That sounds suspiciously like something you prepared.”
“I have been thinking.”
“That is usually dangerous.”
She ignored him.
“One candle can light another without becoming darker.”
Her thumb moved gently across his cheek.
“The more it is shared, the brighter the room becomes.”
Matt closed his eyes for a moment.
“I don’t want you accepting less because you think your people need it.”
“I am not.”
“T’mari.”
“I would give up every hour with you if it meant our people thrived.”
He started to object.
She pressed her fingers lightly against his lips.
“That does not mean I want fewer hours.”
His eyes opened.
“I want all of them.”
That finally made him laugh.
“But if sharing some of them gives L’tani a husband who loves her, our children a stable family, my mother something our people may need from her, and Earth something W’ren believes matters, then I do not become poorer because I love you.”
She lowered her hand.
“I become responsible for more.”
Matt looked at her for a long time.
“That sounds disturbingly like something I would say.”
“I have had a bad influence.”
“The worst.”
She tucked herself back against him.
Below them, someone laughed in the street.
Matt tightened his arms around her.
For tonight, that was enough.
Hiroshima could explain the rest.
