Birthright

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Alex spent the night at General Vargas's sweeping villa and was summoned early the following morning for breakfast. The floor-to-ceiling windows allowed sunlight to fill the dining room. The long burnished table was covered with long-stemmed flowers in white vases, place settings, and centerpieces. The chairs were elegantly carved and upholstered with rich velvet. And yet there was something simple about this room and the rest of Vargas's home. The utensils weren't gold-plated, the walls weren't lined with rare and prized paintings, and the house didn't overflow with stiff-uniformed servants waiting to rush to do her every bidding.

In fact, the Sanser servants here seemed more relaxed to Alex. They went so far as to engage her in conversation, and Alex had even spotted one of the maids carrying her baby as she scurried to another part of the home. In comparison, General Hanson would have fired half of these servants simply for placing the fork on the wrong side of the plate.

"How are you, Alexandra?" the woman asked as she took the seat across from Alex instead of sitting at the head of the table, as her father would have done. She wore a buttoned white blouse and dark slacks, looking too informal for a general, but there was no mistaking her for a commoner in a crowd. Her regal bearing was something inbred, indispensable.

"I'm doing well, sir."

Vargas waved a hand dismissively. "Enough with the formality. You are in my home now, not standing in front of a half a dozen intimidating generals like you did last night. You handled yourself beautifully, by the way. Your father must very proud of you."

Yeah, right, Alex thought.

"I didn't see much of your mother last night."

"She was busy." At Vargas's blank expression, Alex felt compelled to elaborate, "She was looking after my brother, Michael."

Alex almost fidgeted at the intense way Vargas was studying her. The woman finally broke eye contact to spear an acai fruit with her fork. "I assume that you and your brother don't have an easy relationship."

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't recall seeing you at his side at any point during the gala."

Alex bit into her soft cheese roll and took her time chewing it. She curled one foot behind the other, pressing hard, harder, as she fought the emotions that threatened to spill across her features. "My family isn't any of your business, General Vargas."

She expected to be reprimanded, at least for her cutting tone. To her surprise, Vargas looked away, at the view of the thick and wild jungle below them. Something almost . . . sad passed across her features. "I suppose you are right about that."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you."

Vargas didn't answer. The silence between them grew more strained, until Alex felt compelled to fill it with something. No, not just something. She wanted to tell her the truth. "My brother and I . . . we don't get along. We used to. When I was a kid and he was getting himself ready for this amazing career as a Meta Enforcer. But then he got sick, and I took his place. I took everything from him, and he hates me for it."

"It's not your fault that he fell ill. We do everything we can to screen our cadets for physical and mental deficits, but even with all of those considerations, sometimes things go wrong. Your brother is lucky to be alive."

Alex laughed at that. "There's nothing lucky about spending your life stuck in a hospital, living for the sake of breathing from one moment to the next. Being in constant pain. Not to mention that half the people that know about you are pitying you and the other half make up all kinds of rumors about you to stave off their boredom. And on top of all of that, imagine having your father not even look at you. My brother isn't lucky. He's in hell."