“You didn’t!” Amber gasped, a wide smile on her lips.
“I did,” Morgan replied dryly. “I thought he’d get up, scream at me, say something horrible, hate me forever, but instead he held out his hand to me and said, ‘You going to be a lady and help me up?’”
I laughed around a mouthful of tomatoes. That sounded like Owen. Good-natured ribbing that helped to defuse difficult or awkward interactions was his specialty. Or it had been, at least. After his brother died, he’d been so different… but even now, I could see peeks of the Owen we knew coming back once in a while, and I knew he was healing, if slowly.
“After that I guess I was curious. I’d never been around anybody who could defuse a situation like that. My family, we’re—well, I just told you. Everybody turns small problems, these simple little things, into gigantic arguments with pitfalls that are, by design, meant to make you angry and shoot off at the mouth. Then they’d turn all that around and hold it over you, bear slow-burning grudges, before bringing it up in some new argument weeks, even months, later, to repeat the damn cycle all over again. I’d never been just forgiven like that before.”
Her expression turned deeply inward as she talked, and I could only imagine how much something like that had meant to her. I’d grown up with a lot of the same kinds of expectations, actually—but Morgan’s had been multiplied by her unusual family situation and her sisters’ enhancements. Morgan’s face turned rueful.
“At first I couldn’t understand it. I thought he must be a huge airhead who had never had any real problems. But I asked around, and when I found out about his brother… I don’t know, I just thought about how brave he was to still find a reason to laugh, after such tragedy and heartache.”
I looked around at the rest of the table and realized we were all hanging on her words, hoping there would be more to the story. “Oh my God, Morgan,” Amber said after a moment, her eyes sparkling. “That’s the sweetest story ever. Makes Owen seem, well, almost attractive. Which is gross.” Amber shuddered theatrically, and managed to bring a smile to the other girl’s face. “So, yeah,” she added, her voice thick with dry sarcasm. “Thanks for sharing. I’ll be having nightmares all week.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I could just… admit it to him, y’know?” Morgan said ruefully, her smile at Amber’s quip dimming slightly as she ran a hand through her hair. “But it’s not a good time.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Amber said, the sparkle in her eyes going introspective. “But don’t give up. There will be a good time. Owen just needs a while to deal with everything.”
“I thought you were mad at him,” I said around another mouthful of tomato, swallowing it and then taking a sip of the apple cider. That was exquisite as well, and I felt my hunger double as I eyed Amber’s plate.
She laughed and pushed it over to me, and Tim and I fell on the food like ravenous wolves, using our fingers to grab vegetables and shove them in our mouths. Nothing was as fresh as the tomatoes, and I couldn’t help but cram them into my mouth with wild abandon while she continued the discussion as though my brother and I weren’t behaving like starved animals.
“Yes, I was mad at him. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t understand.”
“Nobody’s mad at him anymore,” Ms. Dale said softly, reaching over to grab the last tomato off Amber’s plate and popping it in her mouth before I could growl in warning. She gave me a smug smile and half-salute with her mug before leaning back in the chair. “He messed up, made a bad judgment call, but he’s doing everything he can to make up for it. Everyone can see that.”
Morgan cleared her throat and set her own cup down, arching an eyebrow at us. “Everyone might know that or believe that, but when was the last time any of you told Owen that?”
I swallowed my mouthful of canned asparagus, the slight recrimination in her voice causing me to lose all interest in food. “Morgan, I do tell him that. I tell him that all the time.” Morgan stared at me for a moment, and then stood up, brushing crumbs off of her pants.
“You’re different, Violet. And it hurts him more than you think to know you still have faith in him and consider him a friend. Because he doesn’t feel he deserves it, and the more you do it, the more twisted into knots he feels. Not that I’m saying that you shouldn’t tell him that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he just disappeared after this conflict was done, if only so he could try to sort through what he’s going through emotionally.”
Amber leaned back in her chair, tilting it back on two legs and giving Morgan a shrewd look. “You really do care about him, don’t you?”
Morgan hesitated, and then flushed, one hand running self-consciously over her forearm. “Well, I think we all do, right?”
“Well, yes, but that—”
“Have I ever told you the best way Elena ever ended conversations?” asked Morgan, interrupting Amber. She and I exchanged looks and then turned back to Morgan, waiting expectantly. Morgan opened her mouth, shut it, and then turned and walked away, her head held high and her shoulders squared.
I watched her go, stunned for a moment, and Ms. Dale chuckled. “Well, that certainly is one way to end an uncomfortable conversation,” she said with a grin.
I almost replied, but at that moment a plate was deposited in front of me, and I craned my neck back to see Viggo standing over me, a wry smile on his face. “I see you already finished one serving,” he said dryly. “And found a new man to replace me. Busy party.”
Tim sat up straight and started to move, but Viggo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as I dug into my plate, scarcely noticing the small conversations going on around me, I was so excited to eat real food.
“Stay there, Tim. I can evict Amber.”
“All right, Croft, I’ll give you my seat. But it’ll cost you.” Amber leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“It’ll cost me?” Viggo asked. “You’re going to deny me the right to sit next to my wife?”
“Well, that’s just supply and demand. Don’t you want to know the price?”
Viggo groaned dramatically, and I could practically feel him rolling his eyes. I shoveled another spoonful of mashed potatoes into my mouth, content to let the butter dissolve on my tongue and watch the show.
“All right, what is it?” my husband asked Amber.
“First, you have to come dance with me.”
“And second?”
“You have to wear these when you do it.” She produced a black eyeglass case and set it on the table, sliding it over. Unable to contain my curiosity, I put my fork down for a second to open it, and saw a pair of empty wire frames sitting inside.
“Viggo?” I asked, looking up, and I saw him fighting back a smile, his cheeks burnishing just slightly.
“Don’t ask,” he growled, snatching up the case and placing the glasses into a pocket in his dress uniform. “And you promised, Amber!”
“Hey, I didn’t say one word, did I?” she exclaimed, her hands going up in the air in surrender. “I just gave you my conditions.”
“Oh my goodness,” Ms. Dale breathed in bemused irritation. “Viggo, give the glasses to Violet and trot Amber out on the dance floor. She really just wants you to dance with her to make Logan jealous. Violet, thank Amber—she just did you a favor.”
I gave my former mentor a bewildered look, but she just smiled, taking another sip of her mug of tea.
“No deal,” Viggo said, clapping his hands together and then pulling my seat out. “My wife gets the first dance. I suffered one of her traditions—now she’ll suffer one of mine.”
I smiled and slipped my hand into his, ignoring the wolf whistle Amber was making behind my back. In truth, my eyes were only for Viggo as he led me to the cleared-out space in the middle of the room that was being used as a dance floor.
As soon as we were in the center, nobody around us, Viggo spun me in a circle under his arm, then pulled me to his chest, one hand firmly on my waist. The confidence with which he pulled off the move, as
smooth as if he’d been practicing for weeks, left me a bit breathless, my heart once again crashing powerfully against my ribcage. He led with slight pressure, and we began to sway to the music. It was slow, the melody old, simple, and elegant. Violins made up the main part of it, but cellos were present. A single flute, loud and clear, wove counter melody to the stringed instruments, weaving a spell of intimacy around us.
I’d never understood the dance scenes in popular graphic novels; I’d never had time to even try dancing, and the whole thing had seemed kind of silly and clunky. I’d assumed I would be bad at it, to be honest. But now, I suddenly found myself realizing exactly why other girls at the orphanage snuck those romance comics to each other, hiding them under pillows until the wardens took them away or all the pages fell out. I understood why there had always been a dancing scene. They were trying to recreate this feeling—and now I knew no novel ever could.
Everything seemed to fade away, as if the world had just inhaled, and was waiting to exhale. I swore I could’ve heard a pin drop as Viggo spun me around the dance floor, leading me gently and confidently, so I had no reason to worry about my steps. I gazed up at him, trying to force every bit of what I was feeling into my eyes, certain he could see it there.
“I love you,” he whispered softly, his green eyes warm and bright, brimming with love for me.
“I love you, too,” I smiled. “Oh man… we’re married, Viggo! Can you believe it?!”
His lips pressed against the soft shell of my ear. “Just wait until later tonight, Mrs. Bates.”
I rolled my lips together, trying to soften a smile that was so grand, my cheeks were starting to ache slightly. “Am I detecting trouble in paradise, Mr. Croft?”
“Not at all… just trying it on to see if I can get used to it. I love the idea of you having my name, but it could be fun to be Viggo Bates. Has a nice ring to it.”
I laughed as he spun me out again, then under his arm, turning as he did, so that he could pull me back in against his chest. There was a smattering of applause, and it made me blush, but I ignored it, focused solely on him.
“I like it, but it doesn’t have the ring the ‘Croft’ does.”
“True. But neither does ‘Violet Croft.’”
“Hmm. We could hyphenate. Or come up with some combination name.”
“Oh dear Lord… Crates?”
“Baft.”
Viggo threw back his head and laughed at my joke, and it made me happy, knowing that I had made him happy. He pulled me tightly to him and rested his chin on the top of my head.
“We’ll figure it out. For now, I’m just happy to call you my wife.”
There was a possessiveness in his voice that sent a thrill through me, and all at once I remembered (probably for the thousandth time that day) that we were married, and tonight was our wedding night. Suddenly, I wished we were any place else, so I could finally, finally demonstrate my love to him in the most physical way possible.
Luckily, the song ended before my desire for him could flare too high, and he slowly, reluctantly pulled away from me. Everyone was clapping, looking at us, and I had almost caused a scene right then and there. I flushed, and waved an embarrassed hand through the air as I turned toward the crowd of our family and friends, hoping they chalked my embarrassment up to being the center of attention, and not to the fact that I had almost jumped my husband on the dance floor like a lunatic.
Viggo led me back to the table and sat me down. “Now, Amber… I believe it was your turn? And then my wife. Again.”
“Oh no—all the unmarried gals called dibs,” called Ms. Dale as Viggo held out a hand to Amber, helping her up. He shot her an alarmed look, and she cackled before adding, “And I’m next!”
I laughed, fanning myself with my hand to help cool my heated cheeks, and leaned against Tim. “You are all being really mean to Viggo,” I chided, and Ms. Dale laughed, setting down her mug.
“No, we’re showing him we care in our own perverse ways. Get him to wear the glasses, and thank Amber in the morning.” She winked, and I blushed again, bewildered that I could blush so much in such a short period of time. Ms. Dale stood up and stretched.
“I’m going to go make Henrik dance with me before this song is over,” she said, draining the remains of her mug. “Make sure you get in a dance or two before your Patrian drags you off by your hair.”
I snorted, sipped my cider, and watched her weave confidently through the crowds toward Henrik, who was standing by the food table, chatting with Alejandro. I watched as she approached, and Henrik automatically held out an arm for her, slipping it around her waist and pulling her tight to him. She smiled and cupped his bearded cheek, giving him a kiss on the lips. Then she leaned her head against his shoulder and just listened as he and Alejandro continued whatever conversation they were having, looking perfectly happy and content.
I smiled. It was good that Ms. Dale had found someone, especially somebody as respectful, wise, and capable as Henrik. If anybody deserved her, he did. Then I laughed, and Tim looked up at me, confused.
“I’m sorry,” I said through the laughter. “I just think I might have resigned myself to being that married woman who’s trying to get everyone married now.”
He followed my gaze toward Ms. Dale, and then chortled. “Not possible. Ms. Dale… Henrik… They together because want to be. You did nothing. They get married when they want to. You do nothing.”
“Oh, and what happens if I meet a girl I think is perfect for you?” I teased, but Tim seemed to ponder the question for a moment.
“Nothing,” he finally said. “I find own girl. Like you find Viggo.”
I reached out and playfully ruffled his hair, and he ducked back out of reach, smiling. The song ended, and was replaced by a lively jig, and I looked over to see Margot grabbing Viggo for another dance. Cad watched from the sidelines, and then raised his glass from the table he was sitting at toward me, our gazes meeting. I felt confused as to why he was still sitting at his table so far away, until a few people moved and I saw Henry and Sarah both lying on some chairs, fast asleep, mouths ringed with white frosting. It was odd—neither of the two slices of cake in front of them seemed touched, save for a few small bites—but maybe they’d just been too tired to eat. I smiled and he gave me a droll look followed by a shrug.
“Say what you want about him, he’s a good dancer,” Amber exclaimed as she dropped into the seat next to me, her cheeks flushed and her breath coming faster.
“What is the deal with these glasses?” I asked, and Amber flashed me a smile.
“It was part of his disguise when we went into the stadium,” she informed me. “Just trust me—and hope that his vision starts going later in life, because he pulls them off well.”
I snorted. “I feel like I should be uncomfortable with all this.”
“Oh, whatever. We all know that Viggo is eye candy, but he’s eye candy that only has eyes for you. Your babies are going to be gorgeous.”
“Geez, don’t say that. We can’t even contemplate kids right now, not until this whole mess is over.”
“Well, it’ll be over soon enough,” Amber sighed, and I frowned, the reality of the next few days suddenly hitting me, everything in my stomach seeming leaden while my heart began to race. Amber noticed, and grabbed my hand. “Violet, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”
I looked into her earnest eyes and nodded, sucking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out. Amber looked around the room, her scrutiny stopping as she met Logan’s gaze, and then she deliberately turned her back to him and cleared her throat.
“What’s up with that?” I asked after a moment, nodding toward Logan.
Amber sighed and picked at the tablecloth, her mouth turning down. I almost expected her to clam up, like she had many times in the past, but this time, she started to talk.
“I told you the story about the pilot who trained me, right?”
I nodded. “And I know that pilot was Logan. How d
id that even happen? The heir to the Deepvox legacy getting hired on as a heloship pilot? I’m surprised he even had to work.”
“He didn’t,” Amber replied honestly. “He did it because he wanted to. He wanted to build a name for himself outside of his father’s legacy. It’s what made him so attractive to me in the first place. Y’know, a man not letting other men elevate him? Trying to do things on his own, make his own reputation? It was refreshing. And then when I could see he was attracted to me… I sort of played on it to get what I wanted.”
“Amber!” I exclaimed, and she flushed.
“Look, I was sixteen, and I did like him. I mean, honestly, I really wanted to spend time with him, as well as learn how to be a pilot.” She shrugged and took a sip of her cider, her smile catlike for a moment. “I didn’t see the harm in doing both.”
“But…” I trailed off after she fell silent, her gaze fixed on the drink in her hand.
She blinked and then sighed, setting the mug on the table. “But my father”—she grimaced—“found out. He, uh, caught us making out inside the heloship and dragged me to my room. Locked me in. At first I didn’t know what had happened. They sequestered me in my room for three days, only food and drinks and my tutors. Then my father comes in and tells me I’ll be marrying Logan. Just like that. No discussion from him, and no conversation from Logan. I was just expected to shut up and do what I was told. Everything was arranged.”
“But, if you liked him—”
“Yes, exactly! I liked him—I didn’t know if I loved him. I was sixteen, Violet! He was almost nineteen. And all I could think to myself once I found out he had arranged our marriage with my father without even talking to me was that… he was just like every other man in Patrus, and to him I was just like any other woman—marry me and keep me in my place. It could have been anybody and he would have done the same thing; preserve his reputation, get a good, obedient wife at the same time—”
The Gender End Page 19
