12 Something Uncharacteristically Selfless
Something Uncharacteristically Selfless
T rash Girl doubled over, letting loose a few colorful expletives—some of which sounded like they were in a language other than Expanese.
Her vocabulary truly was commendable. Spie smiled to herself and crossed the tennis court.
While sprinting for a far ball, she’d spied the blue-haired woman from the corner of her eye, and, well. ..Spie never made an erroneous hit.
“You stalking me now?” Spie stopped at the edge of the court. “Voyeuristic tendencies didn’t show in your background report, but some people keep their dirty proclivities to themselves.”
Murder flashed across Trash Girl’s face.
It was a nice face, though. Especially since Manny had worked his magic.
Wide, blunt cheekbones, amber-brown eyes too big for her face, and that gods-damned hair .
Spie had to concentrate to keep herself from reaching out and brushing an errant strand from the X-er’s eyes.
She was wearing one of the rompers Spie had picked out for her.
The garment suited her, though if Spie were being entirely honest, she preferred the old jumpsuits.
There was just something about a woman who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.
But it wasn’t her features that intrigued Spie the most—she’d been with her fair share of attractive women.
What intrigued Spie was the fact that Artemis Ialan wore her beauty like it was an undesirable jacket, like it was something she’d prefer to peel off and burn.
“I’m not stalking you.” Trash Girl straightened with a wince, though if it was the result of her embarrassment or a new bruise to her ribs, Spie couldn’t say. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk. Didn’t realize you were down here.”
“You can’t tell me you didn’t like what you found, though.
” Spie spun her racquet in a way that she knew emphasized the well-toned muscles of her arm.
She wanted to test something. And yep, those keen eyes tracked the motion.
Which, honestly, wasn’t surprising. Spie knew she was hot.
But that didn’t make Trash Girl’s attention ideal .
Not when Spie had promised Nicky she’d back off this girl.
And Spie had every intention of honoring her brother’s wishes.
Especially since he’d spent the past fortnight whistling to himself in the lightest mood she’d maybe ever seen him in.
He smiled more, joked more, talked about Temmi all the bloody time.
Apparently, their morning book dates were quite the event.
And, despite Spie’s own few, less-than-ideal encounters with the trash collector, Spie had really thought the X-er was feeling the same way about Nicky.
She flustered easily, sure, but that could’ve been explained away by Spie’s royal station.
It didn’t mean there was any attraction there.
It really sucked to be wrong. Especially when Spie hadn’t even been trying.
Trash Girl’s pale cheeks flushed. But she didn’t back down; Spie couldn’t help but appreciate that about her. “Who fucking cares if I did or didn’t like what I saw? That’s not why I’m here.”
Despite her excellent points, she seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes on Spie’s face. Which would normally delight Spie to no end, but this was the one woman in the entire nebula-cursed universe that Nicky liked. Gods, he sure knew how to pick them.
“ I care,” Spie said. She stepped around the X-er, her bare arm brushing against the other woman’s shoulder. She heard the moment Trash Girl sucked in a breath.
Spie leaned back against the doorjamb and tapped her racquet against her thigh. “The show kicks off tomorrow, and I can’t have you eye-fucking me in range of the cameras. Not when you’re one of Nicky’s girls.”
“Excuse me?! First of all, I’m nobody’s girl . And second, I wasn’t— I— How could you—” She fully spluttered, cheeks and neck flaming a delicious bright red. She closed her pretty eyes, took an adorable breath. Opened them again. “You couldn’t be further from my type.”
“You know what I think?” Spie lowered her voice and leaned in conspiratorially. “I think you protest too much. And normally, I’d be very into this whole bisexual-panic thing you have going on, but I’m doing something uncharacteristically selfless at the moment.”
Trash Girl clamped her mouth shut, nostrils flaring. The red of her cheeks deepened further. Her shoes squeaked on the court’s floor. But when she spoke, her voice didn’t waver. “Does your egotism know no bounds?”
Spie shrugged one shoulder. “Probably not. But I’m not on trial here. You’re the one who needs to learn how to stop looking at me like you can’t decide if you want to murder me or rip my clothes off—”
“I’m not—”
“Yeah, you are. You’re terrible at hiding what you’re feeling.
And look, I’m flattered. You’re adorable and, to be frank, very much my type.
I’d love to see you working under the hood of a racer, your little jumpsuit tied at your waist”—the image really was a breathtaking one—“but as flattering as your attention is, you need to squash it real quick. You’re here for Nicky, so be here for Nicky.
Hurt him, break his heart, do anything not in his best interest, and you can kiss your two million credits goodbye. Got it?”
Trash Girl swallowed, throat bobbing. When she spoke, it was through visibly clenched teeth. “Got it.”
“Wonderful.” Spie pushed away from the doorjamb and stepped aside to let her go.
But the X-er didn’t flee. Her attention remained rapt on Spie. “Since we’re making demands, I’ve been away from home for two weeks now. I need to know that my family is still safe. Because if they’re not, there’s no way I can go on the show tomorrow.”
A fair request. Spie bent to set her racquet on the court’s floor before standing and engaging her CB.
She switched the device out of discreet mode and pulled up her conversation with Haz, the off-the-books accountant she was paying to secretly divert funds from her personal ac count and into Apollo Ialan’s.
Haz’s most recent message populated in the air for the trash collector to see.
Haz: Target confirmed receipt of monies. Expense breakdown is as follows:
· Two months’ rent paid upfront, totaling 600 galactic union credits
· In-home caretaker hired, totaling 1,300 galactic union cr edits
· Medical fund dispensed, totaling 2,000 galactic union cr ed its
· Funds for basic necessities, totaling 350 galactic union cr edits
Haz: Should target require further assistance, they know to reach out via established secure line. Will forward any communications deemed necessary.
“Comms in deep space are always spotty, but this came through when we refueled a few days ago at Pikliminia.” Spie tapped her CB to disappear the message. “Your family is safe and well.”
The taut lines of the X-er’s face visibly relaxed. She sucked in a shaky breath and met Spie’s gaze. Her eyes looked suddenly misty. “Thank you. I— Thank you.”
Spie blinked at the sincerity in the trash collector’s words.
She hadn’t been prepared for the sudden shift from defiance to gratitude.
A foreign sensation made Spie’s chest feel suddenly airy.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, a deal’s a deal.
You should go get some sleep. You’ll need it for tomorrow. ”
Trash Girl nodded subtly and backed off the court. When she disappeared around a corner, Spie shook her head and returned to her one-sided game, tapping a button on her CB to restart the ball-throwing robot.
Filming would commence in the morning. The beginning of Spie’s last official service to the empire.
All she had to do was survive the coming months, propose to some unlucky girl, and then trust her mother would hold up her end of their bargain.
No more state appointments. No more appearances.
No more playing the part of an imperial heir.
But whoever Spie chose, she’d have to marry.
And marriage, for a member of the royal family, was akin to a prison sentence.
Divorce was unthinkable. There were always political implications to consider, treaties and trade agreements to uphold, the possibility of pissing off an important ally.
Reality was, no promises from Spie’s mother could stop Spie from being an Expani.
Even far away from imperial politics, she’d have some appearances to maintain.
Which was why she hadn’t asked Nicky to pull Arbora.
Spie and her ex might’ve ended on less-than-ideal terms, but perhaps there’d be something salvageable between them. Something that could make a lifetime of marriage bearable. Maybe they could even find a way to love each other again, terrifying as the notion was.
Of course, it was also just as likely that Arbora hated Spie after all this time.
Or that Spie had outgrown her youthful attraction for Arbora.
What if Spie wasn’t attracted to any of the contestants?
She didn’t need to love someone, but the thought of carving out a life with someone she didn’t even like?
Her mind flashed to an image of Artemis Ialan, brown eyes misting in unexpected gratitude, petulant mouth contorting in something that toed the line between lust and hate. Warmth unspooled in Spie’s chest at the image.
But Trash Girl was off-limits.
Letting loose a loud cry, Spie slammed an incoming tennis ball with the full strength of her growing anxieties.
The ball landed out of bounds.