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“Yes. I put them in your mind.”
“You incorporated them,” Paige said, grinning.
“Ah,” Leesa nodded slowly. “I hear that word too. Yes, it makes sense now. I shall use that one in the future. No more impregnating?”
Paige giggled; maybe not in her language lessons, but she would quite like to experience it at some point in her life. Just not yet.
“Let’s try out these.” Leesa refocused Paige back on the writing. There was plenty to learn and Paige wanted to impress Jamen with her vocabulary when she went home.
Home was now upstairs. It was fine, she decided. Living close by was perfect. She would be a hanjin in his office and his home. She knew exactly what the word meant now.
Chapter Ten
The day was long and amazingly productive. The only break came for lunch and they quickly ate it. To her surprise, she was starting to enjoy learning a new language.
Jamen thanked Leesa at the conclusion of the afternoon session. With his own agenda of tasks concluded, he took Paige’s hand and led her to the little elevator. They stood facing each other as well as close enough to hear each other breathe. It was too short a transit for anything other than a quick conversation.
“Are you hungry?” he asked and squeezed her hand, drawing her nearer to his lips.
The words took shape in her mind. He’d spoken in Vendian and she’d understood him.
“Yes,” she replied in the same language.
He smiled. “You have done well. In two weeks, you’ll converse like a native. Your choice of language will be whatever is most convenient.”
The elevator ride ended abruptly and there was no time for that much needed kiss.
He sent her to bathe while he prepared something to eat. The sight of her unpacked case at the foot of the bed reminded her that she’d no storage space for her things. What did he expect her to do—live out of a suitcase for a year?
She stuck her head out of the door. Jamen was lining up two bowls of something on the worktop. She didn’t care what they tasted like—food was food.
“Where do I put my things? Don’t I have a closet?” she asked.
He put down a box and ambled over. He still wore the smart suit of his working day—long-sleeved, dark, and tailored to fit the contours of his body. She backed into the room and pivoted, waving her arms at the empty space.
“You’re standing on it.” He tapped his foot on the tiled floor.
She laughed. “Oh, come on. Don’t play games. Don’t you do furniture?” She rolled her eyes to the white tiles of the ceiling. Everything was tiled.
“Move,” he said. “To the left. Go on.”
She shuffled toward the bed.
“Closet up!” he commanded.
A whirring sound accompanied the vibrations she felt under her feet. From out of the floor rose a smooth block and it continued rising until it nearly reached the ceiling. He tapped the front and the two invisible doors swung open to reveal drawers and hangers. She stared, astounded by the appearance of the wardrobe from nowhere.
“That was in the floor?”
“There is storage between floors. It’s where many things are kept out of the way.”
She traced the tip of her shoe along the line in the floor. “What else is down there? Is there a table or chairs for eating?”
He nodded and gestured over his shoulder. “Out there, yes. In here, you can also call up a console desk, so you can compose a message home.”
“Seriously?” How could a closet be a console, too?
