by Cara Bristol
“This one is mine.” I strode to the middle of the row and slung my borrowed suitcase onto my bunk. I opened my metal footlocker and pulled out three bulging big paper bags from the men’s store.
“Do you even fit on that bed?” Lexi stood beside me.
“Mostly,” I replied. “My feet only hang over by about this much.” I spread my hands about a shoulder’s width apart.
“That’s what I thought. Let me help you.” She set the carryall bag she was lending me on the bed and removed the items from one sack. “This is a nice suit.” She nodded approvingly as she held up the loose-fitting leggings and an open long-sleeved tunic the color of burnt wood.
“That’s charcoal,” I explained. “Bruce said it would be appropriate for a wedding. I’m supposed to wear it with these.” I held up a white tunic similar to the one I had on and a long green sash. He’d told me the wedding would require me to tie the sash around my neck, so I chose the green one because it reminded me of Lexi’s eyes.
“Bruce?”
“The man at the store who helped me.”
“Ah, the one with the sports team.” She picked up a small card that had fallen out of the bag. “It was a pleasure serving you. If there’s anything at all I can help you with, call me! Bruce.” She grinned. “You have an admirer.”
“Who?”
Her smiled broadened, and she waved the card. “Bruce.”
“I’d prefer you were my admirer.” The admission slipped out before I could consider the prudence of uttering it.
Our gazes locked. Her smile disappeared, but the emotion in her eyes sent my pulse and hopes soaring.
“I-I am,” she said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Ever since Saturday night.”
I reached out and touched her hair, curling a lock around my finger. It was smoother and softer than the silk neck sash I’d bought. Her breathing hitched, and she brushed her cheek against my palm. Caution and good intentions evaporated in the heat coursing through me. I tilted my palm, tipped up her chin, stepped close, and pressed my lips to hers.
Her sweet breath caressed my face as she moaned and wound her arms around my neck. Our lips separated, and then she touched the tip of her tongue to mine. I growled and pulled her closer, instinct and desire driving my actions to know her, to please her, to discover more secret delights.
We drew back, our lips lingered with the merest touch, and then we dove in for another searing kiss.
Finally we parted, and she clutched the lapels of my tunic and rested her forehead against my shoulder. “Wow,” she said in a shaky voice.
I closed my arms around her, breathed in her vanilla scent, and rubbed my cheek against her silky hair. “On my planet, we say, ‘obah.’”
* * * *
I stared in fascination at the white-capped surf rolling and crashing onto the sandy shore, only to be dragged back to the dark-blue sea. People splashed and swam in the ocean while, farther out, others balanced on boards carried by the waves.
“What are the oceans like on Dakon?” Lexi asked, wending the van along the curved highway.
“If we have one, I haven’t seen it. Or it might be frozen.”
“You don’t know if your planet has an ocean?”
“Though our planet is much smaller than Earth, it is still too large for us to travel a great distance on foot or even by snow skimmer. The farthest I have ever been from my camp is maybe four tripta.”
“A tripta is…”
“The distance a man walking at a steady pace can cover in an hour.”
“That’s about three, three and a half miles. So you’ve never been more than twelve to fifteen miles from home? Wow.”
“Until now. I’m millions of tripta from home.” Except, I lived on Earth, I reminded myself. I was home. Once I got acclimated to my new planet, I’d move out of the dorm into my own hut somewhere. Of course, once Lexi accepted me as her mate, we would live together. “Why do you call your planet Earth if so much of it is covered by water?”
“It was named a long time ago when our people, like yours, didn’t travel long distances, so they couldn’t see what was there. Also, water only covers the surface. Underneath is mostly rock. So, it kinda still is earth.”
“Dakon should be called Illuvian Ore, then. Or Ice.”
Along the ocean’s shore, umbrellas and blankets added spots of color to the stretch of sand where people wearing tiny scraps of cloth lay on their backs and stomachs. “Why do they bother with such minuscule clothing?” I asked. “Why not just go naked?”
Lexi grinned. “We have designated nude beaches, but everywhere else, you have to wear at least a bathing suit. You didn’t bring swimming trunks, did you? I don’t remember seeing any when we packed your stuff.”
“No.”
“My parents’ estate has a pool, but I don’t expect there will be much time for swimming, anyway. The schedule is booked—” She jerked her head around and looked at me. “You had socks, but I don’t recall seeing underwear.”
“That’s because I don’t have any.”
“None? You’re not wearing underwear? No boxers, jockey shorts, T-shirt?”
I shrugged. “When I was buying clothing, Bruce asked if I wanted some, but I told him I didn’t need it.
“But you don’t have any,” she said slowly.
“Because I don’t need any.” I shrugged.
She trained her eyes on the winding road. “Commando. I should have guessed.”
We had been driving for more than a couple hours when we left the beach highway and veered up a winding mountain road. “It won’t be long now,” Lexi said, gripping the steering apparatus with white knuckles. Her breath whooshed as she exhaled.
The forest became more orderly, less wild, and I spied a rock barrier, half-hidden by trees, running parallel to the road. Arriving at a metal gate, Lexi pulled up to a stone post, rolled down the window, and pressed a button.
“Yes?” came a male voice.
“It’s Lexi—Alexandra,” she said.
The gate swung open, and she sped along a road to a massive stone-and-glass house towered against a craggy mountain range. The home had to be at least three houses high, with arched windows stretching from the ground to the eaves of the pitched roof.
Lexi steered the van onto another road circling in front of the dwelling.
“You wanted to honk, remember?” I said.
“Thanks for reminding me.” She palmed the steering wheel center, and the van tooted.
She’d no sooner stopped in front of the entrance than an older man bounded down the steps. He sprinted to Lexi’s side. “Welcome home, Miss Alexandra. It’s been a long time. It’s good to see you again.”
“Thank you, Giles.”
I started to push my door open, and Giles hurried around to my side.
“This is Darak. He’s accompanying me this weekend,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” he said.
“Nice to meet you,” I replied.
“Go on inside.” Giles motioned to Lexi. “I’ll get your luggage and garage your van.”
“We got the suitcases,” Lexi said.
“I wouldn’t hear of it. And neither would Mrs. Sutterman.”
“Right.” Her smiles with Giles had been warm, but at the mention of her mother’s name, her expression closed up.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she muttered as we climbed the steps to the huge wood-and-glass double door decorated with scrolling metalwork. “We can turn around and pretend we never came. Giles won’t tell.”
“Are you joking? This is your sister’s mating ceremony. You should be here, and I would like to be with you.”
“Then, brace yourself.” She pushed open the door.
Chapter Five
Lexi
Darak’s eyes widened as we stepped onto white Carrara marble in a soaring foyer larger than many people’s living rooms. A chandelier dangling from the third-story ceiling dripped hundreds of Baccarat c
rystals in a dazzling display to highlight an alabaster water nymph—in case you happened to miss the double-life-sized sculpture situated smack in the middle of the entry. Beyond the fountain, a snow-white sofa with carved rosewood arms and legs anchored a seating area of several high-backed white silk jacquard chairs and an assortment of antique occasional tables. The foyer always reminded me of the formal sitting rooms of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries where visitors cooled their heels while the butler checked to see if the master or mistress of the house would receive them.
Except I doubted anyone had sat in the foyer of Chez Gates. Just because the water nymph was naked didn’t mean you dared to plant your ass on my mother’s white sofa.
On the vestibule’s left wall, A Girl with a Pearl Earring by Vermeer stared at Monet’s Water Lilies splashing color on the Venetian plaster on the opposite side. There were other paintings by living up-and-comers whom my art patroness mother chose to favor.
“Seen enough yet?” I whispered to Darak. “There’s still time to sneak out.” I’d grown up in this house—and others like it—and it still floored me when I came “home.”
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to see the rest.”
Darn. I was afraid of that. “Well, let’s go say hi to Mom. Let her know we’re here.”
I forced myself to walk normally and not tiptoe as we crossed the marble and turned left down the corridor to arrive at command central. Thick walls and a mahogany door provided natural soundproofing to mute voices to an indistinct hum. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the wood.
“Enter!” Mother’s voice filtered through.
I poked my head inside.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said from her desk. Sunlight beamed through wide windows spying over the front drive to cast a deceptive angelic halo around her coiffed burnished head.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” I replied.
“Well, of course, it’s good to see you, Alexandra. I thought you were Lola coming to tell me the pool has been fixed.”
Lola was the house manager. When you lived in a sixty-five thousand square foot mansion on thirty acres of manicured grounds, you needed housekeepers, chefs, gardeners, pool boys, and personnel with other related duties to maintain it all, plus an intermediary to manage them. Lola Gregorian, god help her, was that person.
“What’s wrong with the pool?”
“An electrical issue. The pump, filtration system, heater—they all stopped working. After the wedding, we’re going to convert from electricity to illuvian ore, but for now, we have to get it operational.”
“Are you expecting wedding guests to swim?”
“That’s not the point.” Her sharp tone hinted she might be frowning, but her Botoxed forehead didn’t allow it. “Why are you still hovering in the hall? Come in.” She motioned impatiently and rose to her feet, revealing her rail-thin figure attired in a white, crease-free linen sheath. On most people, linen wrinkled if they thought about sitting down. However, even Caroline Gates Sutterman’s clothing toed the line. Or maybe the dress, like my mother, had had plastic surgery. It was accessorized with a silver statement necklace twisted into an artful knot. The good jewelry, the platinum and precious stones, didn’t make an appearance until the cocktail hour. Surprisingly, my mother liked her martinis dirty.
I hadn’t realized I was still hiding behind the door. Or maybe I was waiting for my knees to stop shaking. Darak stood out of sight next to me. Back when I got the half-baked brainstorm to bring an alien home to meet Mom, I had envisioned the big reveal being a lot more fun.
“Actually, I’m not alone. I brought someone I’d like you to meet.” I glanced at Darak then pushed the door wide, and we stepped inside. “Mother, I’d like you to meet Darak, my…date for the weekend.”
In the process of coming to greet me, my mother faltered mid-step, her gaze going straight to his horns. A myriad of emotions flitted across her face—shock, dismay, anger—before a bland equanimity superimposed itself.
“Your plus-one. Antoinette mentioned you might be bringing someone. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Darak.” She slid into a handshake as if the glitch had never occurred. My mother belonged to the high society frenemy set that air-kissed so they could assess the best place to plant the knife.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Darak replied.
“Really, Alexandra.” False laughter tinkled. “You do love your little surprises.” She strolled back to her desk and accessed the communication system. “Lola?”
“Maintenance is still working on it, Mrs. Sutterman. They got the lights to work, but they’re still figuring out the rest.”
“That’s not why I’m calling. Please have housekeeping prepare a room for Alexandra’s guest. The green one, I think.”
It was a nice space, inconveniently located at the opposite end of the house from my bedroom. Good play, Mother. Or it would have been if Darak and I had had that kind of relationship. Then again…I recalled with a flutter of my stomach the sizzling kisses we’d shared in the barracks.
“Of course,” Lola replied. “Will Giles be bringing up the luggage?”
My mother glanced at me, and I nodded.
“Yes.”
“I’ll tell him where to put them.”
“Excellent. Thank you. Keep me posted on the pool situation.” The call disconnected.
She eyed Darak’s horns before adopting another fake smile. “Please make yourself at home during your stay.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Are Toni and Phillip here yet?” I asked.
“Toni arrived on Tuesday. Phillip was delayed by work. He’s expected this evening.” My mother slipped behind her desk to rest her hand on the polished surface. Dad was handsome, but short, while Mother was tall. I’d inherited neither her height, nor her model figure or deportment. She’d given all the good genes to my sister.
“Well, great. I’ll show Darak to his room.” I inched toward the door, eager to escape now that I’d fulfilled the obligatory check-in.
“Lola or Giles can take him there.” Her gaze shifted to the hot seats positioned in front of her desk.
Oh, no, no. Time to vamoose. If you were ever invited to sit in one of those stiff-backed wooden guest chairs, trust me, you didn’t want to.
“No need to bother them. They’re very busy with everything else going on. Plus, I should pop in and see Toni. I’ll talk to you later, Mother.” I grabbed Darak’s arm, hustled him from the room, and shut the door. Bypassing the circular staircase winding up to the third floor, I hurried to the getaway elevator.
His eyes widened as it lifted off.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never been in an elevator,” I said.
“I haven’t,” he said.
“Well, if you need to go up or down, you push these buttons.” Remembering he couldn’t read, I pointed to the number two on the panel. “This is the floor we were on.” The elevator stopped and opened. I pointed to number four. “This is the floor where the bedrooms are located. We skipped over the middle floor—I’ll give you a tour later.”
“What’s this floor?” He pointed to number one.
“That’s the underground where the garages are, where the van will be if you need to go to it.” Chez Gates had four levels. During my explanation, the elevator doors had closed. I pressed the outward-pointing arrow button to reopen them. “The elevator opens and closes automatically, but you can use these buttons if you need to.”
We exited onto a wide corridor connecting the north and south wings. “I’ll show you where my bedroom is then I’ll take you to yours,” I explained.
My mother and father’s suite was located at the end of the south wing. Clustered together about midway down the hall were my room, my sister’s, and my brother’s. “This is where I’ll be sleeping.” I pushed the door open to show him.
My suitcase rested beside a four-poster bed covered in a textured, solid ecru duvet. A mountain of coordinating ruffled and lace pillows in t
he same bland tones were artfully arranged against the carved headboard. A rose pattern glistened in the cream-on-cream silk draperies framing the French doors opening to a balcony overlooking the pool. Oriental carpets in subdued tan shades covered the hardwood floor.
“It’s…very…white,” he said.
“Yeah.” Technically, cream and ecru, but that was a quibble. Decorated by a designer per my mother’s instructions, the room oozed luxury, but lacked color—like my life at home had.
I shut the door on old memories and beckoned. “Come on. Your room is better.”
I paused outside my sister’s door. “Let me see if Toni is here. I’ll introduce you.” I knocked, but no one answered, so we moved on. I hadn’t expected her to be there. With the wedding two days away, she was probably pow-wowing with the wedding coordinator over the setup or something.
We crossed the intersecting passage to the north wing. I was grinning by the time we reached the end.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
“You’ll see. Go on in.” I motioned.
He opened his door. “Obah…this is much better!” His expression turned guilty. “I can’t take this. You should have the best room. We should trade.”
“Absolutely, not,” I said, shaking my head. “My mother wanted you to have this.”
He moved around the room, touching the forest-green nubby duvet, the wood-hued velvet draperies corded by heavy ropes, the dark-brown leather sofa with the racing-green arms, the overstuffed chenille easy chairs. Not only the farthest from mine, the bedroom was my mother’s least favorite space among all her homes. Originally, it had been intended as a possible master suite until the designer screwed up.
Darak tested a chair, plopping down and stretching out his feet on the matching ottoman, at home and comfortable. My stomach did its flip-flop thing as I imagined us living together in our own place. Cooking breakfast on Sunday morning, taking long walks, humping like bunnies. Could a relationship between a smoking-hot alien and a plus-sized workaholic Earth girl with mommy issues have a chance?
“Why is everything else so white?” His question yanked me back to reality.
