11. Genetic Variation #2
The hallways in the biology building were now totally deserted, echoey in the weird way only abandoned academic buildings get.
When I stepped out into the street, the air was sharp and so dry it stung my nose.
The sky was clear and the streetlamps bled orange halos onto the concrete.
At the far curb, a black Mercedes SUV idled, windows tinted to near-opacity.
I squinted at it, wondering if this SUV could be Andreas.
Obviously, I wouldn’t approach without confirmation. Only dumb Marty Sues and Mary Sues walk toward mysterious idling, black Mercedes SUVs.
Instead, I checked my phone. No new messages. Sliding it back into my clutch, I scanned the sidewalk and decided I would text Andreas after five more minutes. To my right, in the shadows cast by the building’s decorative columns, something flickered in the corner of my vision. Movement.
I tensed, scanning the darkness. But then, when I saw nothing, I relaxed. Except, I looked again. And I could’ve sworn I saw a flash of blue. The same blue as the jacket Dr. Nieminen had worn earlier.
I frowned. Why would Nieminen be here? The man was a machine, but even he didn’t keep office hours this late on a Friday, especially not the Friday before Thanksgiving.
Maybe he’d forgotten something and had come back to get it?
Or maybe—my skin crawled—a completely unrelated creep was lurking outside the biology building.
I debated for a full five seconds whether to call over and say, “James, if that’s you, you’re being a weirdo,” but I didn’t want to risk being wrong if it were a lurking stranger.
Instead, I turned away from the column, preparing to text Andreas that I’d arrived, when I heard my name.
“Samantha.”
It was Andreas’s voice, unhurried and flat, but pitched lower than usual.
I looked up. He stood at the rear of the Mercedes I’d noticed earlier. Relieved and grateful that he was already here, I walked toward him.
Andreas watched me approach and, as I drew closer, I saw that his black overcoat was open, revealing a suit.
I suspected it was the exact color of the dress he’d sent me, a dark burgundy, with a black shirt underneath.
Once again, he looked like he’d been peeled off the cover of an Italian fashion magazine.
Maybe that was deliberate, but it still made my brain short-circuit for a second.
There was something almost aggressively attractive about how much he didn’t smile, or blink, or do anything besides track my every movement with his intelligent eyes.
I stopped just short of him. “Uh, nice suit,” I said as neutrally as possible.
His eyes flicked down my body, mostly hidden by my black coat, then back to my face. “Did you get the dress?”
Unbuttoning the front of my jacket, I held open one flap to show him a peek of the sheath dress beneath.
His glanced away, clearing his throat before saying, “A simple yes would have sufficed.”
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because his cheeks were now pink and I didn’t think it was from the cold.
I think he likes me ... Hmm.
No. More accurately, I think he likes the way I look. No worries. Once we moved in together and he was exposed to all my weird, disgusting habits, I felt certain any and all attraction to me would fade.
Buttoning my coat, I drifted closer. “Are we on time?”
He checked his watch. “We have exactly eighteen minutes. Please.” Andreas motioned toward the car with a little wave of his hand, giving the open back door of the Mercedes a wide birth.
I walked forward and let myself in, scooting all the way over to the seat behind the driver. Inside, it was warm, and the faint smell rosemary tickled my nose— Andreas’s shampoo— along with expensive cologne .
Shoving away this recognition—that I now knew what Andreas’s shampoo smelled like—I glanced up and met a pair of pretty eyes in the rearview mirror. The driver was a woman. I blinked.
She had light brown hair and, from what I could see of it, a pleasant, open face. The woman looked to be around my age, maybe a few years younger.
“Hi,” I said, uncertain of the protocol for greeting a driver who wasn’t operating a taxi or a ride-share.
She turned over her shoulder and looked back at me, her eyes crinkled with a smile. “You must be Samantha. I’m Tara.”
I blinked at her again. She ... sorta looked like me. Actually, she looked a lot like me.
“Tara will be your driver,” Andreas said, sliding in behind the passenger seat and shutting the door. He didn’t glance at me as he spoke. “She is also one of your new bodyguards.”
“Nice to meet you, Tara.” I moved to the edge of the seat and offered my hand for a shake.
She took it. “You too.” Tara grinned, then faced forward.
Andreas’s finger hovered over a panel set in the door. “To the restaurant, please.”
Tara nodded, then pulled away from the curb, merging the car into traffic so smoothly I barely felt the movement.
Andreas pressed a button on the panel and a sheet of privacy glass lifted, separating us from Tara. Once it was in place, silence engulfed us for a minute, which was fine by me. I took the time to fish my contract envelope out of my purse, smoothing my hands over the exterior.
After a few blocks, Andreas glanced over briefly, the lines of his profile perfect enough to be an ancient Roman statue. He reached into his coat and produced a single folded sheet of paper.
“Answers to your conditions.” He held it out.
I took it, instantly noting the neat, precise block handwriting. I scanned down the list, seeing my own words summarized, followed by his responses, each numbered and concise.
1) & 2) Giving notice to roommates and finding replacement: Do whatever is necessary. But you need to move into my apartment within the next three days.
3) Rent and expenses: Already resolved. I pay unless you successfully inherit. In which case, you reimburse.
4) PDA rules: To be discussed.
5) Concerns regarding my public persona: Since what we are doing is not illegal, it will not impact my career in any substantive or adverse way.
6) Threats: I will cover any loss of employment or related expenses due to my family’s behavior, including previous financial commitments, i.e., tuition, etc.
7) Apartment boundaries/ rules: Full use of all shared living spaces. Guest policy will be determined together. Cleaning and chores: Not required. I have a service.
8) Living with me: I don’t know. I’ve never lived with anyone before. Quiet hours to be discussed.
9) No physical contact unless necessary for public display: Acceptable.
Beneath this numbered list of my conditions, Andreas had written his three conditions from last night along with one new one: Our engagement must be public and take place ASAP .
I looked at him, holding the paper in both hands.
“This all looks more or less fine. We can negotiate the guest policy and quiet hours, I have no problem with that. And I can move into your place within three days, maybe even this weekend. That shouldn’t be an issue since Thanksgiving is next week and it’s a slow time of year.
But while ‘no touching when we’re alone’ is here and you’ve agreed it’s acceptable, you wrote ‘to be discussed’ next to the public displays of affection stipulation.
What—specifically—needs to be discussed? ”
He turned toward me fully, the movement casual but focused. “I fully agree with the sentiment, but we need to discuss the details of our public displays of affection.”
“What—what does that mean? You agree with the ‘sentiment’?”
“I agree, a strategy for public affection, discussed and defined prior to planned public excursions, seems most efficient. In order to avoid”—his eyes flicked over me—“surprises. If you agree, I will run my suggestions by you for this evening before we arrive.”
I blinked. “You already have a list of suggestions for tonight?”
One corner of his mouth curved upward. “You underestimate how often people photograph me in public. It would be suspicious if we never touched, but it would also be suspicious if we went overboard. We must strike the correct balance.”
I stared at him, impressed and maybe a little annoyed that he’d already thought all of this through.
“Okay.” I refolded the paper. “What are your suggestions for tonight?”
“First, in general, for all outings, I suggest frequent hand holding. At any public dinner for example, I may put my hand over yours and vice versa. If we walk in or out of a venue, I will offer my arm or place a hand on your back. That is it.”
My eyes widened. “Wait. That’s it?” Why was my stomach sinking?
“Yes. I will never initiate any additional public displays of affection without your advance agreement, and I ask the same of you. If you wish to initiate without prior agreement, I give you permission to do so at your discretion, but please give me a signal first so I am prepared.”
I stared at him, nonplussed. “You’ve seriously thought about all this.” For some reason, in addition to my sinking stomach, my neck felt hot. Like I was embarrassed. But I wasn’t embarrassed. In fact, I didn’t know what I was.
“I have,” he said evenly. “I do not want either of us to be uncomfortable. If we are not at ease, our act will not be convincing.”
There was a pause. The car slowed as Tara navigated a turn, then merged back into traffic.
I needed to say something, so I asked half jokingly, “Are you always this thorough?”
He tilted his head. “Always.”
“Mmm. That’s, uh, good. That’s good to know.” I glanced out the window, watching the city lights streak by while I wrestled with a wave of emotion I didn’t understand.
Why did I feel like I’d just been rejected? Truly, my brain made no sense. I’d been the one who wanted to define acceptable PDA. I should be relieved.
“Does that sound acceptable?” Andreas asked after a time. “Any concerns?”
I shook my head, glancing at him then back out the window. “Nope. That sounds good. Good talk.”
My reflection in the glass looked weirdly alien, the makeup and my earlier confidence all floating above my own skin like an overlay.
I wondered if that’s how he saw me, too.
Something constructed, but also functional.
A girl-shaped object. I was tempted to ask him, but the words stuck in my throat.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then, out of nowhere, he said, “There is one more thing to discuss.”
I turned forward, bracing myself to face him again. “What’s that?”
“We should decide on the appropriate PDA for tonight, as it is a special circumstance.”
“Is it?” I gathered a deep breath, then met his gorgeous, half-lidded eyes.
“Yes.” He nodded once. “I am going to propose to you tonight.”