Rise: Populations Crumble, Book 2 by Gandy, A. (read book .txt) 📕

twisted competition, on top of that. Anger starts to bubble like lava inside of me, but I force the serene smile back into place on my face. I lock eyes with Candy and her smirk nearly pushes me right over the edge.

Patrick must have felt the change in my demeanor, because he gives a barely perceptible squeeze with his arm that’s still wrapped around my shoulders.

“Oh, Candy,” I say, my most charming southern twang underlaid with steely intent. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you on this one. You see, I’m old-fashioned. Whenever our families have such good news, we celebrate with them. Life is not a competition, and the only thing I feel towards my brother is pride and joy. I’m sure you can understand. Now”—I stand gracefully, thankful for my foresight in refusing to wear the awful platform shoes—“if you’ll excuse us, we do have to be going.”

Patrick stands tall at my side, gives Candy a firm nod, and we exit the room hand-in-hand without looking back. The sea of recording personnel parts to allow our escape, a few of them gaping at our unscheduled exit.

Too dang bad, I think angrily, but keep the tepid smile fixed on my face. We reach the stairs, and I fly up them ahead of Patrick, and quickly shove my way into our room, and straight out the glass door onto our balcony. The sounds of the ocean wash over me. Eyes closed, cold wind whipping my carefully-pinned hair. Patrick joins me, but doesn’t say anything, letting me have my moment of solitude. Once my face is numb and my arms are covered in chill bumps, I finally open my eyes. Patrick is observing me intently from the rocking chair.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s unprofessional to leave an interview early, and I'm sure they’re going to have a field day with that answer, but, it’s none of her business, anyone’s business if I’m pregnant or not. Who is she to put that expectation on us? Do people not realize that some women go their entire life and never have a full-term pregnancy?” I start to pace the length of the small balcony. “Patrick, this could all be moot for me. You will be prince, sure. But under the current laws, if I don’t get pregnant in the next three years, I won’t stay the princess, you’ll be married off to the next best genetic match and she’ll be the one by your side through the rest of this . . . whatever happens next.” I gesture vaguely into the distance.

He finally stands, and steps into my path, forcing me to stop and look up at him. “Don’t apologize. I think you were amazing, especially for your first ever interview. And, Sadie, you and I both know that’s not going to happen.” His voice is calm, certain.

“No, we don’t, Patrick. We don’t know anything. We hope it’s not going to happen; we hope things will work between us, but . . . there are no guarantees anymore. The best science we have still isn’t a sure thing.” He rubs his hands up and down my chilled arms for a moment, before he shucks his suit jacket and wraps it around me. The warmth and his familiar masculine scent roll over me in a wave of comfort, and I shudder.  He then cups my cheeks in his warm hands, making me feel sheltered.

“You’re right, Sadie. We don’t know for certain that we’ll be able to have kids. But, can you honestly tell me that you think in three years things will be the same as they are now? That we’ll have to get divorced? Because I don’t. With what we know, what we have to uncover . . .” He pauses, shaking his head. “It’s going to be a different world by then. It has to be.”

At his words, an entirely different responsibility weighs heavily on my shoulders. The worry about being separated from Patrick still dogs my thoughts . . . But he’s right. If it’s not different by then, it means we’ve failed to expose the corruption and lies—and that’s unacceptable.

The Girl Out of the Country

Another day dawns, and I awake warm and snuggled into Patrick’s arms. Every new day waking up in the same way is a kind of torture. In a way, this is our honeymoon, and we’re happy together in our secluded bubble. But the pristine solitude hides a seething underbelly of corruption, and I can’t truly enjoy our luxurious surroundings, knowing what’s hidden in the woods a short distance away.

I sneak to the bathroom to take care of my urgent need to pee, and spot the little stack of urine collection cups that were delivered last night.

Ugh, testing time again already. At least I won’t have to go far to drop it off now that we’re in the guest house.

I grab a cup, collect a urine sample, and wash up before heading out to the bedroom. Patrick is still snuggled up in the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the weak sunlight infiltrating our room. I pause, and take in the picture. It’s rare that I get to see him sleeping because he’s always up before me. He really is handsome—all muscles and lightly bronzed skin. His hair is mussed, making him look younger. The many facets of him boggle my mind, if I try to think about all the individual strands that make him up. Security Guard. Husband. Political Figure. False Identity. Killer. Lover. Protector. Peaceful, sleeping man. Somehow, they all tie together into this one, complicated, perfect package.

Patrick stirs, and his eyes blink open, taking me in as I loiter in the bathroom doorway. “Morning,” he says, voice roughened from sleep.

“Good morning.” I give him a small smile.

“Everything okay? You’re not usually up before me.” He switches straight into overprotective mode, one of the things I’ve come to love about him.

I never have to wonder if he cares.

“Yep, just had to use