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When they were out, Kaia looked for the words to explain how exhausting it got just to be around people so much. She couldn’t think like that, couldn’t wind down. People needed watching, and that needed energy she just rarely had. He seemed to be just fine dictating her every move so far, so she'd expected him to brush her off.
“I just need to…” she began.
“Mentally prepare,” he said before she launched into her arguments. “I get it. I’ll warn you next time.”
That's it? Just like that?
“Thanks,” she sighed, his simple acceptance of the matter deflating her anticipation in a way that was almost disappointing at the end of it all. Almost. “Tell Alina to bring some finger polish.”
She glanced down at her fingers, the old paint all but peeled. It was the one luxury she ever allowed herself on Riker 109, and only because a whore she defended from a client once offered her a cheap supply. Kaia wasn’t much for appearances, but she was not about to show up to dinner with peeling knuckles.
They stopped at the door to her cabin, where Orion threw it a glare. He’d done that when he picked her up earlier that day too, looking at the door like it was his arch nemesis. Kaia knew he didn’t want her there. He wanted her to himself to do with as he pleased, in his own space.
Clearing her throat, she began her retreat before he had time to dwell on it. But Orion grabbed her wrist and his eyes were a cold, stark contrast to his fingers on her skin.
“I’m giving you time. I hope you appreciate my… lenience,” he murmured, glancing at the door behind her again.
The words “fuck off” were already on the tip of her tongue, but she made herself choke on them.
“Sure,” she ground out, fighting the urge to land a nice, satisfying slap to the asshole’s chiseled cheek.
He hesitated, but finally his painful grip eased, allowing her to retreat into the faux-safety of her cabin
CHAPTER25
ORION
They arrived in the commander’s private quarters at twenty hundred on the dot. Orion gave his bride a final onceover.
He wished her assistant had picked out something a little less appropriate. A rigid black corset pushed up the minimal volume of her breasts into something resembling tactful cleavage. Having no tits apparently had its advantages in that she could wear such a contraption and still manage to look presentable for a dinner with the parents. The thick charcoal skirt was cinched right underneath her ribs, interrupting the skin-tight top with a loose, flourishing billow of synthlinen.
It looked all wrong. Her bony shoulders jutted out weirdly from the rigid fabric, and the giant skirt looked like it was going to swallow her up. Besides, he’d have preferred something a little more rebellious. Orion chuckled at the vision of Kaia showing up to Mother’s cabins in her orange flight suit.
“What?” she demanded, smoothing the skirt with hasty hands.
“Nothing.”
She frowned, running a palm along the top of her head in a smoothing motion. Orion wanted to smack her hand away, make her leave the only part of this that worked alone. He could see they’d tried to ruin that too. Her hair had been brushed back along her scalp, but they at least failed to fuck that up. The curls stuck out in burning rebellion, refusing to conform.
She wore no jewelry. The only hint of adornment on Kaia’s body was the fresh coat of silver paint going the full length of each finger to the base knuckle. It looked like war paint on her hands.
Is that what they were doing? Going to war?
If that was the intent, it seemed to quickly turn into a fucking peace deal. Dinner was not going well.
They sat at the ancient Old Earth pine table in his parents’ dining cabin, waiting for the chef to emerge from the kitchen with the first course. As a kid, peering over the edge of that slab of wood growing up, Orion always sniffed the grain. He imagined he could catch a whiff of the sap. Ridiculous, of course—the thing was way too old to maintain any real fragrance.
Mother had arranged for the most uncomfortable seating arrangement possible. Her at the head as usual. Father on her right. On her left she placed Kaia, with Orion stuck off to the side like a loose thorn.
At first, Orion had high hopes. Kaia had no manners and less patience. He couldn’t wait to see her bristle at his mother, who would certainly make it no secret that she despised Kaia's mere existence. Kaia would try to refuse the “flesh” Mare Halena’s chef was sure to serve. Mother hated wasting a meal, so she’d make some condescending comment that would set the girl off. It would all be very entertaining.
“We heard you may not be accustomed to meat or our other normal foods.” Mother turned to Kaia as soon as everyone sat down. Her hair—pitch black and pulled into a neat, tight bun—was thinner than he had remembered it at the temples. Her face was lined and tired. But her eyes, shrewd as ever, quickly disillusioned him of any hope of weakness or senility. “So I arranged a selection of plant-based options. I also had someone from Mission Resources bring up some nutrigel packets in case nothing is to your taste.”
And Kaia immediately fucking perked up.
“She doesn't eat nutrigel anymore, Mother,” Orion said.
“I’d love some actually. I’ve been getting used to the solids, but sometimes it still makes me sh—” Kaia choked down the word, and the blush would have been so adorable if it hadn’t been aimed at his mother. “It makes me a little queasy.” Orion didn’t even know she had it in her to look sheepish like that. The smile Mother returned was fake. It had to be, because Mare Halena hated all shows ofweakness.
