Andreas squirmed.
“If it’s all the same, I’d prefer not.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re not fond of socialization.”
“Or children.”
“It’s going to last three hours. Dozens of friends and family. You’re a friend. Make an appearance, eat cake. Ana likes you. Good?”
Andreas set down his tablet and let loose a mournful sigh.
“If you deem it an order.”
“I do.”
“Fine, Governor. I’ll pop in, as they say. Ten minutes. That’s all I can guarantee.”
“Ana will love you for it.”
His spirits lifted for a moment. Then Andreas left Trevor alone to his paranoia. The mood turned sour.
“What in hell is happening on my station?”
15
BIRTHDAYS USED TO RUSH BY with barely a notice in the Stallion household. The boys grew up during the Earth Civil War and the Interregnum, eras which dampened Chancellor celebrations. Trevor vowed to make it up to his own children. Each year, he and Effie feted Ana with an unforgettable day. This time, Effie took the party up several notches.
The Stallion-Labroque event took over the main dining room of Hulla, where the political establishment often converged to wine, dine, and reshape the galactic sector. None of that lot were nearby, currently back home to ask for another three years in Congress.
Effie took advantage of the recess and her final weeks as the Governor’s wife to score a “remarkably reasonable deal” from Hulla’s owner. Trevor balked at the price: Nine thousand UCVs all inclusive.
“That’s a deal?” He asked.
“I’d pay twenty. Our daughter is worth it.”
Trevor couldn’t compete with the truth. He put his frugality aside and paid fifty percent.
Effie was right. Ana Marie truly was Princess for a Day.
The girl beamed throughout the meal, gift-giving, and games with her friends. She bounced between tables and hugged everyone – even Effie’s diplomat friends whose names she forgot. Ana screamed and bounced on cue when she opened the pom. Shortly after hugging Trevor and crying in his arms, Ana showed the golden device to her friends, who compared features.
“She’s all grown up now,” Trevor joked from the main table. “She’ll be impossible after today.”
Effie, seated between Reginald Endowi and Imelda Savoy, Ana’s tutor, laughed as she raised a fluted glass.
“She already is. Last night, she asked for a bigger bed.”
“Why?”
“Apparently, there’s this new rage among her friends. Sleepovers.”
Shireena replied from the seat beside Trevor.
“I have fond memories of sleepovers. My family lived in Mumbassa City when I was Ana’s age. Our building was alive with children. We ran in and out of each other’s flats day and night. Best of times.”
Effie’s curt smile reflected her naivete on the subject.
“I was sheltered.” She sipped her wine and watched Ana move between tables with a neverending motor. “The Native children here are so different than what I see on terrestrial missions.”
“In some ways, Effie. In most that matter, they’re the same. They have a language and unstated rules all their own. They form private communities and report to us only when they need help or food.”
“Here, here,” Reginald toasted. “I love Miss Ana, but I do not pretend to understand the ways of young girls. I grew up with six brothers. We beat each other senseless for fun.”
Trevor smirked, remembering the many pointless arguments he allowed Connor to bait him into. How many times did he want to wallop the brat? Then, as they faced imminent death under that bridge, Trevor thought of nothing but how much he loved the little brat.
Yeah, OK. So, Reginald’s not the worst.
He understood what Effie saw in the man. Patient, generous, never raised his voice. And never tried to replace Ana’s father.
The man stole Trevor’s wife but somehow rose above it. Future friends? Not likely. Civil acquaintances, perhaps.
“Why don’t I still hate the sonofabitch?” He asked Shireena the night before the party.
She nudged closer until they shared a pillow. Then she winked.
“You’re growing up, Governor.”
“I am?”
