But underneath the fear, a colder part of Neve’s mind was already working.
This was exactly the kind of man she needed.
Soft men didn’t last in the apocalypse.
Kind men, gentle men, men who hesitated had all died first in her last life.
They were torn apart in the streets or betrayed by the people they trusted.
The ones who survived were the ones with teeth.
Only a man like Ninth would do well in the world that was coming.
And, well…
She let her eyes move over him again, just for a moment.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his features were so sharp they looked cut from stone.
Standing among his brothers, all of whom were handsome, he was still the one the eye kept returning to.
Fine, she admitted privately.
He’s the best-looking one in the room.
And he’d said he had no money.
Even better.
A man with nothing of his own had no reason to refuse marrying into the Sinclairs.
Nana had wanted that for as long as Neve could remember, to have a husband come into their family instead of Neve being carried off into someone else’s.
It would keep her home.
It would keep the Sinclair name alive.
Neve kept her expression pleasant and waited.
Beside her, Arthur set his teacup down very carefully and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
His brows had drawn together into one thick gray line.
Marry into her family?
He had more grandsons than he could count on a quick glance, but not one of them was going to be handed over like that.
Margaret had already asked that one of the future children carry the Sinclair name, and he’d agreed to that much.
It was reasonable.
The Sinclairs had only the one girl left.
But a Leighton grandson moving into the Sinclair house as a live-in husband?
Giving up his own family to join hers?
Absolutely not.
Zane caught the tightening in his grandfather’s face.
It was small, but he caught it.
“Whether I marry into your family or not doesn’t matter to me,” he said evenly.
“You’ll have to ask my grandfather whether he agrees.”
He meant it.
He genuinely did not care.
As far as Zane was concerned, the Leighton name was optional.
He had built his life without it, far from here, under a name most people in this room had never heard.
The only reason he still showed his grandfather any respect at all was that, when he was a small boy, if it hadn’t been for this old man, he would have died.
He owed Arthur his life.
That was the only debt he acknowledged.
Margaret brightened immediately.
“Arthur, your grandson doesn’t object.
Why don’t you give your blessing as well?” She leaned forward, her voice warm.
“If you agree, I’ll give you a very generous gift in return.
You won’t be disappointed, I promise you.”
“Absolutely not.”
Arthur’s answer came out like a slammed door.
“You promised me your granddaughter would marry into my family.
That’s the only reason I dragged all these useless boys over here.” He jabbed his cane toward her.
“What’s this now, you old fox?
Trying to go back on your word?”
And as for her gift, he didn’t care about it in the slightest.
The Leightons had more money than they could spend in three lifetimes.
What kind of man would sell his own grandson for a present?
He had no way of knowing that the gift Margaret had in mind was a small carved leather pouch that could hold an entire house.
Much later, when he found out, he would regret this moment so badly he’d want to bang his head against a wall.
“Well…
all right,” Margaret said.
She let it go.
There was no point in pushing.
She had known Arthur Leighton for fifty years, and he was as stubborn as an old mule.
Once his mind was made up, not even a bulldozer could shift it.
The room settled into an uneasy quiet.
Arthur cleared his throat and turned back to Neve, his voice softening at once.
“Little girl, are you sure it’s this one you want?
Ninth?”
Neve didn’t answer him right away.
Instead, she looked directly at Zane.
“Are you willing to marry me?”
He regarded her for a moment with those cold, unreadable eyes.
“Whatever.”
For one wild second, Neve thought she might actually choke.
Whatever?
That was his answer?
To a marriage proposal?
She had imagined a great many things about this afternoon, but none of them had involved being brushed off like a waiter offering more bread.
Was she seriously about to choose this man?
Then she thought about the gray-black rain.
She thought about the rooftop, and the knife, and Silas and Declan dying in front of her while she could do nothing.
She kept her face perfectly smooth.
“All right,” she said, as if he’d given her a perfectly reasonable answer.
“Then one more question.”
She folded her hands in her lap.
“How many women have you been with?”
For a heartbeat, there was total silence.
Neve let it sit for a moment.
Then she tilted her head slightly, as if she’d realized how that must have sounded.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she added, perfectly even.
“I’m not asking out of jealousy.
I want to know how many women are going to want me dead once we’re married.” She paused.
“Infatuated women are dangerous.”
Then the whole room burst out laughing.
The Leighton grandsons howled.
Fourth doubled over.
Jonah had to grab the back of a chair to stay upright.
Tenth didn’t seem to fully understand the question, but he laughed along with his brothers anyway, delighted.
Even Arthur’s shoulders were shaking, and Margaret had pressed her knuckles to her mouth to hide her smile.
Neve didn’t smile.
She had meant every word.
In her last life, she had learned exactly how far a woman would go when her heart was involved.
Sylvie had smiled at her for years, right up until the knife went in.
Zane didn’t laugh either.
Nor did he answer.
It was a pointless question, and he clearly didn’t intend to dignify it.
He simply turned his head and gave her one flat, cold look.
But Neve was watching closely.
And she saw the tips of his ears turn pink.
It was faint, but it was unmistakable.
The pink was creeping slowly outward along the edges, as if he’d been caught out in the sun.
Neve’s eyes widened a fraction.
Oh.
So that’s how it is.
The most dangerous man in the room, the one who had frozen her blood with a single look, had absolutely no idea what to do with a woman.
She filed that away carefully for later.
“Neve.” Margaret leaned toward her, her voice low and serious now.
“Are you sure?
Is he really the one?”
Even she wasn’t certain this was wise.
She knew next to nothing about the Leighton grandsons who’d been raised overseas.
Ninth was a stranger.
For all she knew, he really was a penniless drifter, or something much worse.
“Mm,” Neve said calmly.
“I’m sure.”
She rose to her feet, smoothed her skirt, and gave Arthur and her grandmother a small, graceful nod.
“Nana, Grandpa Leighton, please stay and enjoy yourselves.
I’m going to head back upstairs.”
She walked out of the garden room at an unhurried pace, her back straight and her chin level, and didn’t look back once.
She made it all the way up the stairs and into her bedroom before she shut the door, leaned against it, and pressed both hands over her burning face.
Twenty-odd men had just watched her ask a stranger about his love life.
And then she had chosen him.
She was brave.
She knew she was brave.
She had fought zombies with her bare hands.
But she was still twenty years old, and that had been mortifying.
Downstairs, Arthur clapped his hands together so loudly that half his grandsons jumped.
“Good!
Then it’s settled!”
He didn’t even glance at Zane to ask whether he agreed.
“Margaret, pick a date with the children as soon as you can.
The moment I get home, I’ll start the preparations.”
“Yes.
The sooner the better.” Margaret nodded, and the smile faded from her face.
“I’m worried the Ashfords will make their move.”
She knew what was coming.
Once she started selling off the company and stockpiling supplies, Richard Ashford would stop treating his daughter’s wild story as a fantasy.
He would start to believe it.
And once he believed it, he would come for Neve.
But there was no time left to be careful.
She had to prepare anyway.
If the apocalypse caught them unready, the Sinclairs would be even more helpless than they were now.