Diamond Fire (Hidden Legacy #3.5)- Ilona Andrews Page 0,3

tall ceilings. The floor was travertine, laid in large slabs rather than typical tiles. The furniture had the same timeless quality as the pieces in Rogan’s house, but where his furnishings were solid and almost plain, with a lot of square angles, the couches and chairs here were more ornate. There was something undeniably feminine about it.

Nobody came to greet us. Odd. Was this a power play of some kind? Was she putting me in my place by making me wait? All my nervousness came right back.

Rogan strode to the kitchen and opened the huge fridge. I almost called to him to stop but caught myself. To me it was a mansion. To him it was his mother’s house, and like any kid returning home, he made a beeline for the fridge. I did the same thing when I walked through the door into the warehouse this morning.

“Would you like a drink?”

“What are my choices?”

“Sparkling water, iced tea, juice . . .”

“Tea. Thank you.”

The kitchen was vast, with dark brown cabinets and beautiful granite countertops. State-of-the-art appliances waited to be used. The cooktop looked like something out of a kitchen competition show.

Rogan poured us two tall glasses of tea. I slid my butt onto a stool at the other end of the island and he pushed one glass toward me. I picked it up and drank.

Eight bedrooms’ worth of grandchildren. Right.

I always wondered why Rogan was the only child. Primes warred with each other like medieval city states, and most Prime families took pains to ensure an heir and a spare. There was no spare. There was only Rogan. I’ve been meaning to ask him why but kept forgetting, and right now didn’t seem to be the best time.

A mechanical whisper made me turn. A woman in a motorized wheelchair rolled into the kitchen. She was middle-aged and beautiful, with dark hair touched by grey, bottomless dark eyes, and bronze skin.

Oh.

Rogan walked over to her, leaned, and kissed her on the cheek. “Hi, Mom.”

She smiled at him. They looked so alike.

“There is smoked brisket in the fridge,” she said.

“I saw.”

Arrosa turned to me. “Hello, dear.”

“Hi.” I remembered to get off the chair, took a few steps forward, and stopped, not sure what to do with myself.

“She’s nervous, because you’re scary,” Rogan told her.

You traitor. I would remember this.

My future mother-in-law leaned her head back and laughed.

We sat under the roof of a balcony on the second floor. Rogan had gone inside to make tea for his mother. The rain finally came, and the air felt crisp and cold.

“He didn’t tell you about the chair, did he?” Arrosa asked.

“No.”

She smiled. “Silly boy. It happened when he was three years old. His father was a target of an assassination. He was supposed to have been alone in a hotel room in New York, but I went with him. I’d had a bad feeling about that trip. He and I survived, which was all that mattered.”

She got hurt trying to protect her husband. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m used to it. And my magic makes matters a lot easier. Are you cold?”

“I’m okay.”

“You look cold. Here.”

The big wooden chest on the side of the outdoor sofa opened and a blanket floated to me. Like Connor, Arrosa was a Prime Telekinetic.

“Thank you.” I tucked the blanket around myself.

“Most men in Will’s position would have divorced me. Connor was our only child. It was a risk to rely on only one heir to carry the line forward. But Will loved me very much and here we are.”

“Rogan said that yours was an arranged marriage.” I probably shouldn’t have said that.

Arrosa’s eyes sparkled. “He did, did he? Connor is very angry at my father. Yes, it started out that way. My family isn’t a House. The bloodline frequently produces magic users of Significant and Average caliber, but my grandfather was a Prime. The family always hoped that another would be born and when I tested as a Prime, my relatives threw the biggest party. Hundreds of people were invited. My father, Rogan’s grandfather, had great hopes for me. I was not to be married off; I would remain with the family; my spouse would join the family and take my name; and the two of us would be expected to have as many children as possible in hopes that we produced more Primes.”

Made sense. I had looked up the Ramírez family. To be considered a House, they had to produce two Prime magic users in three generations. Arrosa’s