Woman King - By Evette Davis Page 0,116

for a few days to visit after the election. I thought maybe we would go together.”

“You want me to meet your mother?” he asked.

“Isn’t that normally what people do before they get married?” I asked, hoping my proposal would make him happy. “But I need some help. What should we tell her? Will she be able to sense you’re a vampire…the way I can?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “We’ll have to see when we get there. I have an apartment in Paris, the one my father bought before the war. It’s near the Canal St. Martin. We can stay there.”

“You still own an apartment in Paris…from the war?” I asked.

William nodded. “After we’re married, I’ll tell you more about our holdings. We’ve been very fortunate over the years.”

“Can we have a ceremony?” I asked.

“If you can live with a judge instead of a priest, then yes,” he said. “We can have a ceremony in Paris if you like, or wait until we’re back home.”

I was already imagining a small café on the Left Bank, or maybe inside the Hôtel de Ville, City Hall. And then by chance I got to the part in my daydream where they say “till death do you part,” and I caught myself wondering what life will be like watching myself grow old, when he would not.

“I can hear your thoughts. Don’t worry about that now. We have many years together before that is an issue. Let’s enjoy our fortune in finding each other. Even human couples have no guarantee that they will grow old together, Olivia.”

“You’re right,” I said, taking his hand in mind. “Let’s take it one day at a time.”

We jogged back through the park and returned home, no ravens in sight. By the time we showered and changed, it was time for me to leave for Palo Alto. William said goodbye, promising to meet me at the campaign offices later in the evening. We would monitor things for a while from there, and then move to a restaurant nearby that Levi had rented for the evening.

After I arrived at the office, I passed the last few hours until the polls closed packing up boxes of confidential documents and organizing the equipment and other supplies we’d rented so they could be returned.

By 7 pm I was ready to check in with the local news outlets and see what they had to say about election results. I managed to stay calm most of the day, reminding myself that our own internal polling had shown Levi ahead in the race by a solid ten points for several weeks. The numbers for undecided voters, however had not moved, making it possible we could still lose the race if those votes went to Lacy.

Levi had texted me earlier, letting me know he would see me at the bistro at 8 pm. I didn’t see any reason for him to arrive sooner. Gabriel was also coming around that time, and I suspected William, Lily and perhaps even Josef would follow. At the last minute, I’d sent Josef a text inviting him to the dinner, figuring I should include my future brother-in-law in our plans.

Just as I turned on the local news a reporter began discussing the station’s process of exit polling. It is possible to predict the outcome of a race using exit polling, although not always. Exit polls, they said, showed Levi Barnes as the winner. I could only hope they were right, I mused, as I tried to stay busy for the final hour of voting.

At 8 pm we all assembled and indulged in a light dinner and plenty of wine as the first results arrived. Each update revealed a slight lead, until finally at 10 pm, with most of the precincts reporting, Levi had jumped twelve points ahead. It was astonishing, a better win than we could have hoped for.

As we were regarding the computer screen, watching the Department of Elections update the results, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to glance at the caller ID, curious since most members of the press and campaign team were already standing within a few feet of me. The number was blocked, but I answered anyway, putting the phone to my ear to say hello.

“Are you going to claim the seat?” said a voice that was familiar for its unique salty brusqueness. Paul Levant, head of the California Democratic Party, went straight to the question, skipping any greeting, as usual.

“I’m thinking about it,” I

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