24 Feelings Are the Single Most Inconvenient Disease a Person Can Catch #2
“Oh, my. Your Highness, I’m honored,” Artemis said, this time so deadpan that Spie wasn’t the only one to let a burst of laughter escape them.
A vein turned purple in Blessing Stone’s forehead.
“Get out. Disrespecting my show is disrespecting the empire. It’s disrespecting two hundred years of tradition.
I know for a fact you weren’t the best your planet had to offer.
” She turned to Nicky, who looked slightly green in the face.
“Your Highness, my apologies, but I cannot work with her. I will not. I’ve tried to be patient, but I’m done.
Showing up here with raccoon eyes? Does she even know how to wash her face?
She had all morning to get herself over to Manny’s team, and she slept in like she doesn’t care to be here.
She’s a disgrace to the name of diplomacy. ”
There were indrawn breaths around the table, including from various crew members milling about, most of whom stopped to stare at the unfolding scene.
Trash Girl’s producer stepped between her boss and her contestant. “Bless—Bless, who you’re really mad at is me. Like you said, it’s my fault for not being up her ass this morning. Let me just coach her a minute and we’ll redo the scene.”
“Director, a word,” Nicky said a breath later, then pushed away from the table and led a fuming Blessing Stone to the side of the ballroom, out of earshot.
“I didn’t mean, I— Fuck.” Trash Girl scooted her chair back and stood but not before snagging a respectable third croissant.
“I suppose I probably won’t see any of you ever again.
” As she made to leave, she tripped over her own chair.
The consistency of her clumsiness was rather impressive. And rather cute.
Her attempt to flee was cut off by her producer. “Sit back down. Blessing Stone doesn’t have the power to kick anyone off the show. Let’s practice some enthusiasm, yeah? Repeat after me...”
Sitting at a diagonal from Spie, Cailin muttered, “I for one think the showrunner has a point. What’s Nix doing, picking her first?”
“You have a problem with my brother’s decisions?” Spie asked pointedly.
Cailin didn’t even have the courtesy to look embarrassed. “I have a lot of problems with how this season is being handled.”
“You’re welcome to see yourself out,” Spie said icily, then tapped her CB to send a quick bridge.
Spie: BS takes her job too seriously. I’ve got you.
Those warm brown eyes glanced up, meeting Spie’s gaze.
Spie couldn’t help the surge of protectiveness that welled in her.
She’d look out for Artemis Ialan. And not because of some misguided germinating feelings.
Ew, gross. Feelings were probably the single most inconvenient disease a person could catch.
No, she’d look out for Artemis because Nicky would want her to. Because it was the right thing to do.
· · ·
Spie’s date with Iasha was an excruciatingly lengthy and expensive affair.
A Cavaller whisked them to a landing pad in Elsidor, where they climbed aboard an intra-planetary rocket for an orbital ride to the Prop’s southern hemisphere.
The city Deuteron, to be specific, a popular tourist destination best known for its majestic desert landscapes.
There, another car, this one of a make and model unfamiliar to Spie, flew them to the base of the Rangeon Mountains, an infamous range used as the backdrop in many a high-budget film.
If Spie let herself think about the resources being expended just so she could go on a silly date.
..well, it was almost infuriating. There were a million hikes they could’ve gone on within a short drive of the manor.
( See, she thought, to the specter of her ex-girlfriend in her mind, I’m thinking of more than just myself .
As though the thought alone could absolve her of the guilt inside.)
The production crew got busy setting up cameras and drones while Spie’s security detail combed the mountain path for any hikers or potential threats, and her makeup team freshened up her hair and face.
Kalvin had stayed behind to produce Nicky’s date—it was an unspoken understanding between the three of them that Spie needed less direction when it came to on-screen media. She did, however, miss Kal’s steadying voice in her ear. Without it, she was left too alone with her own, miserable thoughts.
The sun beat mercilessly upon them as they began their hike up the red dirt trail.
Cacti and desert shrubs and gorgeous orange sandstone formations swept across the mountain.
Cameras, three crew members, and a full security detail followed them up the trail, forcing them to pause their hike every few minutes to get fresh camera angles.
Iasha breathed in the thin air with obvious difficulty but refused to complain.
Spie herself had to request the woman be given oxygen before she passed out in a cloud of red dust. They didn’t need a second contestant sent home for medical reasons.
A hike that should’ve taken forty-five minutes stretched into three hours.
When Spie, Iasha, and their entourage of third wheels finally crested the precipice, Spie was more than a little relieved.
Until she saw the portable hot tub that’d been deposited beneath a sweeping natural arch of red rock.
Hot tubs didn’t belong beneath natural wonders—the approval for this must’ve gone all the up to the imperial office.
While Iasha took an oxygen break, Spie briefly considered taking a flying leap off the mountain and soaring into the desert and shrubland dotting the countryside below. Then running and running and never looking back.
“Is beautiful, no?” Iasha stepped up beside Spie. “My home, no mountains. Mostly ocean.”
“Transition to the hot tub!” shouted the producer in charge.
Spie turned to Iasha. “I think you might enjoy the view even more from there.” She pointed to the hot tub.
One of the assistants procured a strappy two-piece bathing suit for Spie and a more modest one-piece for Iasha.
Someone had erected a portable changing stall, and Spie ducked behind it to shed her athletic clothes.
By the time she emerged, clad in next to nothing, the sun was setting, casting the Deuteron Valley in a soft pink glow.
Spie might’ve enjoyed the scenery in other circumstances.
As it was, Iasha already waited in the hot tub, a wineglass in hand, and Spie wasn’t in the mood to enjoy much of anything.
As she treaded carefully on bare feet to the steaming tub, she fought a chill.
Doing her best to ignore the cameras tracking her, she nimbly swung one leg over the hot tub’s side and splashed into the scalding water.
The heat was admittedly pleasant. As she settled in close to Iasha, a PA thrust a glass of plum wine into her hand.
She took a tiny sip, tilting her gaze upward to the underside of the arch overhead.
An uncomfortable silence ballooned between them.
The producers looked on expectantly. The one in charge waved his hand as though to say Come on .
Spie held in a sigh and turned to Iasha.
She wasn’t in the mood for forced conversation.
“I can only think of one thing that would make this moment more perfect.” She set her drink on a flat piece of rock beside the tub, then reached for Iasha’s drink, carefully removing it from her gorgeously inked hands.
“Yes?” Iasha said softly, hand covering her mouth, long-lashed eyelids lowering demurely.
But Spie wasn’t in the mood for demure. She was in the mood for heat, for forgetting, for mental obliteration through another’s body.
Scooting closer along the tub’s bench, she trailed her fingers up the other woman’s arm and shoulder.
Tried to force her desire to catch flame.
But the ash in her gut smothered it. Because, of course, she couldn’t stop questioning if Iasha even wanted this, if Spie was merely using her.
I am, aren’t I? And because she’s stuck on this farce of a show, she doesn’t have a choice. She can’t say no.
Crew members shuffled less than silently around the tub and whispered commands to angle the cameras just so.
A flash of annoyance twinged in Spie’s skull, but she ignored it.
Did it matter if Iasha wanted this? Did it matter if Spie did?
They were there, now, and this was expected. Spie dipped her mouth to Iasha’s.
The kiss was soft and gentle. Spie tried to deepen it, lengthen it, lose herself in it, but she didn’t have the heart.
She pulled back first. Iasha gave her an odd look.
Spie turned away out of guilt. She found herself wishing it was someone else in the tub with her.
Someone who would never go along with what Spie wanted just because Spie wanted it.
Someone who was probably locking lips with her brother in that exact moment.
That someone’s icon suddenly popped up on Spie’s CB but not as a bridge message. As a virtual call.
“Excuse me,” Spie said, staring at her wrist. “I have to take this.”