29 Drama Dump
Drama Dump
S pie had a hard time focusing during the following evening’s cocktail ceremony, held in the Goldsand Beach pier pavilion.
She and Nicky had awarded extra face time to the six winners of the previous day’s diplomacy date: Cailin, Arbora, Jasmine, Milea, Qurain, and Rosaria.
But Spie’s thoughts kept drifting back to the woods, to Artemis.
To the feel of the X-er’s waist beneath her hands. To what had nearly passed between them.
What is wrong with me?
Next to Spie, Jasmine Gross was talking about how much she missed her three-legged rescue dog named Finley.
Spie tried to pay attention, tried to lose herself in Jasmine’s brown eyes.
There was nothing exactly objectionable about Jasmine Gross.
She was passionate about animals, came from a prominent Old Terran family, and ran the foreign branch of her family’s business, Gross Industries, a massive weapons manufacturer that directly supplied the Fleet.
Her mother had recently been elected the Old Terran Senator for the Galactic Senate.
Jasmine’s manners were polite, her modest sweater and slacks were polite, her neatly done brunette hair was polite.
She was objectively pretty in a polite way.
Every word out of her mouth was carefully considered and delivered in a polite accent.
But Spie wasn’t interested in objectively pretty or polite. She was interested in difficult-to-tame blue hair and lips raw from being chewed between nervous teeth, and a mouth with no filter, and brown eyes that looked amber with green spots in just the right lighting.
When Jasmine made a polite bid for a kiss, Spie played it off with disinterest. Which was very unlike her.
Dark waves lapped against the pier. Soft fairy lights hovered throughout the pavilion, giving off a blushed color.
Lit braziers combatted the worst of the ocean’s chill.
At the pavilion’s opposite end, Nicky sat with Rosaria Yune, surrounded by his own crew of cameras and producers.
Rosaria kept sidling closer and closer to him; he appeared to be trying to dodge her advances.
Too bad. She was gorgeous, outgoing, fun.
Spie suddenly, desperately, wanted her brother to fall for Rosaria—or anyone who wasn’t the girl she was paying to fall in love with him. Which was unfair.
While Spie watched, idly listening to Jasmine, Cailin Frederik approached Nicky. She handed Rosaria a full glass of champagne before running her off. A moment later, Arbora came to interrupt Spie’s mini-date. Jasmine politely took her leave.
Arbora slid onto the bench beside Spie. She looked beautiful tonight, her dark eyes accentuated by shimmering gold liner. “Hey, princess,” she said.
Spie no longer knew what to think of Arbora. No longer knew how to talk with her; act around her. Was terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing. She didn’t know how to move forward. Or if she even wanted to.
“Hi,” Spie said.
“I feel like you’ve been avoiding me,” Arbora said. “You barely talked to me during the last two group dates. Didn’t even look at me at last week’s ball. You falling for someone else already? Are you not going to give me a second chance?”
Kal’s voice slid abruptly into Spie’s ear: “Blessing Stone wants you to talk about your breakup—viewers are curious about what happened between you two; they want the drama dump. You don’t have to be honest. Make something up if you need to.”
Drama dump . Spie would’ve laughed if the prospect of publicly discussing their breakup didn’t sound like drinking poison. What had happened between them? Apparently, I was the worst girlfriend of all time.
Ah, well, might as well rip off the band-aid. Spie had never been one to drag out a miserable task.
“You ignored me,” she said, “after you left for your father’s home on Irma. I bridged you—a lot. You never bridged back.”
Arbora’s throat bobbed. A camera drone hovered close to them.
“I needed our break to be clean. I knew if I bridged you back, I’d never be free, would stay wrapped up in you forever—even so, I’m not sure I ever really got free.
If I had, I wouldn’t be back here eight years later, would I?
You’re like a break that never set right. ”
Spie had no idea how to take Arbora’s words.
Were they true? Were they for the cameras?
Did it matter? How could Spie marry Arbora, considering the history between them?
How could she ever feel confident in their relationship, moving forward?
Maybe this was a sign she needed to send Arbora home.
Except Blessing Stone wouldn’t want that—not yet.
Not until she’d gotten a decent allotment of drama out of her.
Right now, when Spie erased Artemis from the picture, she was leaning toward Petra Corran, if for no other reason than to piss off her mom by choosing an underdog. Though the thought of having to wed anyone made her nauseous. More so than when she’d started the damn show.
“So, tell me how to set it right,” Spie said, meaning it. Tell me how to not be the person I was when we were together. Tell me what it is you want from me.
Arbora leaned closer. “You can start by kissing me.”
Spie, who never lost her composure, almost did. “I don’t think we should—” She stood abruptly. She couldn’t kiss Arbora—couldn’t touch her. Not even for the cameras. It felt too confusing, too dangerous.
“Spie,” Arbora said, entreating.
But Spie only shook her head, taking a step back. “I don’t understand what we are.”
In her ear, Kalvin’s voice: “Blessing Stone wants you to lean in to what you’re feeling right now, not run away from it. Give us context—an explanation. But also, you can call cut. It’s your show, Your Highness.”
“I need a minute,” Spie said. “Cameras off. Mics off. I’m shutting you off, too, Kal.”
Within five minutes, her side of the pavilion was clear except for her and her ex-girlfriend.
Arbora raised her left eyebrow, the one pierced with her gender rings. “You all right?”
Spie didn’t return to sitting—she felt too antsy. “I can’t tell when you’re acting for the cameras. Did you mean it? About never getting over me?”
Arbora blew out a breath; dropped her gaze to her hands. “Yes. No matter how frustrated I am with myself for not being able to.”
“And that’s why you’re here? Because you couldn’t get over me? That’s all?”
Arbora lifted her gaze up to Spie’s. Something seemed to pass behind her eyes. “No, that’s not all.”
“Okay, and?”
“It’s my sister.” Arbora seemed to deflate, ever so slightly.
She played with the ring on her forefinger.
“Assuming Alanna gets the vote, she’ll be instated as the Moons’ prime minister after our father’s retirement.
When Imperial News announced you and your brother would be the next Love Galaxy headliners, she suggested I audition.
She’s been running her campaign on traditional imperialist values, but she’s far more aligned, personally, with more-progressive sentiments.
I’m not sure how much you know about the recent protests on Irma and Primus, but there’s been a lot of unrest. The economy isn’t doing well—the price of everyday living keeps going up, and we’re being taxed half to death to support gigantic Fleet training schools.
A quarter of the population of Primus is Fleet these days.
Then there was that bill last year that my father supported, the one wanting to instate barcode branding on Moonite citizens.
It passed by imperial order. There’s a two-year countdown for everyone to get branded before being in breach of the law. Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“They instituted barcode branding on the Moons?” Spie asked. “But that’s so close to home.”
Arbora shrugged one shoulder. “If you have the time, I could give you the full download on all the policies your mother has been enacting empire-wide lately. Imperial overreach is at an all-time high. People like her even less than they liked your grandfather.”
“The people and I have something in common.”
A wry smile twisted Arbora’s lips. “My point is, the imperial body has zero checks and balances. It doesn’t matter how democratic the rest of us try to be in our own territories—the emperor can overrule anything she wants.
So, Alanna believes the best way to counteract that is by marrying me off to you.
Not only will she strengthen our ties to the crown, but I’ll be able to try to influence imperial decisions from the inside.
Decisions that might benefit the Moons.”
“That would be strategic, if I was planning on sticking around the imperial court. But I’m not.” Slowly, Spie lowered herself back to sitting. “I’m getting out of here as soon as I’m able. I don’t plan on being anywhere near the seat of power and decision making.”
“That’s...less than ideal.” Arbora frowned. A beat of silence passed, and then, in what sounded like a forcefully light tone, she said, “Regardless, I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t believe that you and I could be something. Not what we were, obviously, but something.”
Spie was wary, but this felt like a potential step in an honest direction. A foundation for something new. “We’ll have to go slow, I think.”
“I’ve never known you to be slow.”
“Maybe you don’t know me like you thought you did.”
“Maybe I don’t.”