2 A Pro at Compartmentalization and Emotional Avoidance
A Pro at Compartmentalization and Emotional Avoidance
S pie kicked her feet up to settle them on the headrest of Nicky’s chair, then tipped her own backward, balancing on two legs.
He shot her a cut-it-out glare over his shoulder.
To which she nudged the back of his head with the toe of her high heel.
Aggravating Nicky was one of her favorite pastimes—maybe her all-time favorite.
After twenty-six years of being tied at the hip, one might think he’d have learned not to rise to her bait. But then he wouldn’t be Nicky.
Their pre-landing briefing was dragging on.
Spie, who wasn’t built for stuffy conference rooms and interminable meetings, was liable to pass out from sheer boredom.
Across the ship’s conference table, Love Galaxy ’s showrunner, a frazzled woman with an impressive love of hats who was literally named Blessing Stone —a name that gave Spie no small amount of joy—was deep in conversation with her and Nicky’s producer, Kalvin Kar-Beidell.
Fifteen other self-important people were arrayed around the mahogany conference table, all with some ostensibly important role in today’s visit. Ostensibly being the key word.
Last year, after Nicky finished his doctorate in how to spend three years with your nose stuck in a book, their mother, Gracelin Expani, otherwise known as the reigning emperor of the Expan Empire, had decided it was time to marry them off.
Reports of growing unrest in the empire’s fringe territories had become more frequent.
Combine that with rumors of a Uiyoni resurgence, and their dear mother was hungry to wield Love Galaxy as a weapon of mass distraction.
Spie, of course, had flat-out refused. Had she always known Love Galaxy was coming?
Yes. She was an Expani, and tradition was tradition.
The last five emperors had found their consorts through the show, as did many prominent members of the imperial court when there wasn’t a distantly related Expani on hand to marry off.
Once, there’d been a time in the naivete of Spie’s romantic youth that she’d looked forward to the day her turn came to find love.
But now? She was a grown-ass woman who knew better.
But saying no wasn’t an option. Gracelin had been adamant that Spie and Nicky star alongside each other this year.
She’d yet to name either of them as her imperial successor in any official capacity and wanted to keep the mystery of who she would choose alive.
Starring Nix and Spie simultaneously kept her from showing public favoritism.
Spie, personally, could not for the life of her understand why it mattered.
She didn’t want to be the heir, had made that brutally apparent for years, and her mother had no intention of choosing her, anyway.
Still, Gracelin had given her two options: knock out the show with Nicky, or spend the rest of her twenties as Expanese liaison to a remote mining colony—which was a diplomatic way of threatening banishment.
Spie’s mother would make good on the threat.
She’d made good on threats before. So, Spie did the only thing could: she lied and said she’d welcome the exile.
They’d made a deal. If Spie suffered through the eight long weeks of filming for Love Galaxy , endured the next year of official dinners and tours, and got a little bit married, then her mother would cut her loose from further imperial obligations.
She’d publicly name Nicky her successor and Spie would be free to live her life however she pleased, away from the imperial court.
Nicky shoved her feet off his chair. Her delicate balance was thrown off, and she rocked back to four legs, then immediately leaned forward to fold her arms over his headrest, settling her chin on her forearms.
“Pay attention,” he hissed. “They’re going over landing protocol.”
“Whoever said I wasn’t?” She wasn’t. Begrudgingly, she focused on the conversation happening around the table.
“. . . planet’s gravity is marginally less than Expan Proper’s,” one of the producers was saying, “so we’ve brought weighted boots for anyone who wants a heavier step.
Won’t replicate the feel of denser gravity or mitigate the physiological effects, but it can help with overall comfort.
And the atmosphere is thinner, so we’ll have the crew bring a couple oxygen tanks in case anyone starts feeling light-headed. ”
“Don’t forget about filters,” said the ship’s medical supervisor, Lin Carter. She was an attractive Outer Expanese woman in her mid-forties with long white-blond hair and deep brown skin. Spie had bet Nix she could get the doc to sleep with her before the tour’s end.
“X72 has a toxicity level of 3.75,” Lin continued. “Breathing the air for short intervals won’t do permanent damage, but the heirs should wear filters whenever they’re off-camera to be safe.”
“Can’t damage the royal lungs,” Spie whispered in her brother’s ear. “Mother would have a fit.”
Though his demeanor didn’t change, she could tell he was suppressing a grin.
No one knew Nix as well as Spie. He was surly and serious only because he had the weight of the universe on his shoulders.
A universe Spie herself had placed there.
Guilt flickered in her stomach; she pointedly ignored the sensation.
“Oh,” he said quietly, glancing back at her. “I nearly forgot to tell you, but the approval came in when we locked orbit—Mother’s agreed to cast Arbora as the contestant from the Prop Moons. You’re welcome.”
“Why would I—wait, Arbora Arbora?”
Collectively, the whole of the conference room glanced in Spie’s direction. Whoops, too loud.
“Your Highness,” said Blessing Stone coolly (really, what kind of name was Blessing Stone?
And could Spie legally change her own to something like Tidal Wave ?
No, Throat Punch was better. Princess Throat Punch Expani.
Okay, she was being culturally insensitive and should really stop), “did you have a comment?”
Spie made a show of gracefully pulling herself to her feet. She tossed her long hair behind one shoulder, smiled her most winsome smile, and said, “Only that Her Excellency would be pleased to know the work being done here is meticulous and professional.”
Before sitting, she made a point of catching the medical supervisor’s gaze and quirking her left eyebrow ever so slightly upward. Lin coughed and averted her gaze but seemed unable to keep from smiling. Spie had been laying the appropriate groundwork for weeks—this bet was so in the bag.
Blessing Stone cleared her throat. “Yes, thank you, Your Highness. Now, to address the question of local media on site...”
Spie leaned forward and flicked her brother’s earlobe. “What do you mean, Arbora ?”
“Later,” he hissed.
Spie sat back, then immediately scooted forward again. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tapped the commbridge on her wrist. The device was programmed to show messages and images to her unique retina alone. She manually bridged her brother.
Spie: What do you mean, Arbora???
She nudged him for good measure.
He bent over his own wrist, where his CB was laced around his signature elbow-length black leather gloves.
Nicky: Later.
An unacceptable response.
Spie: You’re not actually telling me that Arbora VinVanxin is about to be announced as the rep from the Moons? Without even talking to me about it first?? NICKY. What did she SAY? I don’t want to know. I do want to know. Arbora? You’re serious??
He didn’t respond. Spie tapped her CB to idle it.
Drummed her foot impatiently on the carpeted floor.
Nicky couldn’t drop a bomb on her like this and expect her to sit primly and wait for a more convenient time.
There was never a more convenient time. Their lives were scheduled down to when they could take a piss.
And, besides, Spie hadn’t sat primly for anything in her life.
The projected image of a distinguished-looking man with waxen skin and greying blue hair appeared above a holo at the table’s rear.
X72-1’s governor, according to Kalvin’s introduction.
The governor had a clear vitamin D deficiency; though with how distant this planet was from its solar system’s star, that wasn’t surprising.
He launched into a canned speech about the honor of having the imperial heirs grace his planet.
Spie hadn’t seen Arbora in...what had it been now?
Seven years? Eight ? Had Arbora really agreed to star on Love Galaxy ?
That meant she’d be throwing her hat in the ring to win Spie’s hand in marriage.
Was that what Arbora wanted? They’d fancied themselves in love once.
But they’d been na?ve kids. And when Spie’s mother had found out about them, she’d sent Arbora away.
Flings were allowed, sleeping around was allowed, but falling in love?
Falling in love was like exposing your soft middle to an assassin’s blade.
Future emperors couldn’t afford weaknesses. And that’s all love was.
Spie and Arbora hadn’t spoken since.
How in all the dying stars had Nix managed to convince their mother to cast Arbora on the show?
Spie studied the back of her brother’s head.
His cropped hair, matte black and thick, the same shade as her own, curled just slightly past his ears, in need of a trim.
He never let anyone but Spie herself cut it.
Arbora . Nix had found her. Of course he had. He was Mother’s favorite, always had been. What Nicky wanted, Nicky was given. While Spie was...Spie was a black hole of disappointment.