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Xavian clears his throat. “Ladies. Not to derail this very important conversation, but we’re about to land. Margot, if you’d be so kind as to give me and Kallista a moment this evening to go over any … pertinent information … she may have about herself?” When he looks down at me with his piercing blue eyes, I can’t help but squirm.
After we land, Xavian escorts me to the hotel café and picks out a booth near the windows. Then he orders an enormous platter of food stacked high with items I’ve never seen before. A couple gelatinous brown cubes. Some sticks that could be meat, or they could be actual sticks. My stomach growls as the smell of grease hits my nose.
“Dig in,” he says as he takes a buttery, flaky biscuit from the tray.
It’s the one thing I recognize, and I’ve forgotten just how much I love them. Biscuits with jam and butter. My mother used to make them back on Luna, when the monthly shipments of flour would come in. She used to talk a big game about us needing to ration, to be careful with how much we were using because it would be another thirty days before Terra sent anything up. But then she’d be in the kitchen, bustling around as she sang, making biscuits out of that meager bag of flour.
I wipe a tear away from my eyes as Xavian butters both sides. When he sees the look on my face, he freezes mid-buttering and lifts an eyebrow.
“Are you okay? Did I order the wrong thing? I can ask the bot for a salad if that’s what you’d prefer.”
I shake my head and force myself to smile, pushing the bittersweet memories back into the cobweb-filled spaces of my brain where they belong. “I’m good, thanks. I can’t eat any of this, you realize.”
Xavian takes a bite of his biscuit and chews, waiting for me to elaborate.
“My agency. They don’t like it when I eat anything too fatty or carb-laden.”
He coughs on his biscuit and puts it back down on the tray. “Oh. You’re serious.”
My lips pull into a thin line, my fingernails digging into my bare legs. “Yes. Margot will kill me if she smells any bacon on my lips.”
He digs into the strips of fatty bacon, then waves one in the air at me. “First of all, that’s ridiculous. Second, this isn’t bacon. This is actually fruit.”
My eyes widen as I stare at the streaky piece of should-be-meat. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
The edges of his eyes crinkle, and he chokes back a laugh.
I roll my eyes. “You are! You’re fucking with me. Come on, Xav. What is it? I know it can’t be pork.”
His smile is endearing, the way it makes his eyes light up. It’s like someone just pulled back the curtain in a dark room. Xavian’s a handsome man. I bet he has a girlfriend. Or a wife. Or three girlfriends and a wife. Or maybe he has a boyfriend. Why wouldn’t he?
“What are you thinking about?” he asks before taking another bite of his maybe-bacon.
I shrug. “Nothing much.”
Just, you know, about his love life. Nothing big. Nothing personal.
“That sounds like a lie,” he says, then sets his fork down. “So, something about me you should know right away is that I’m observant. My last job took me to all sorts of far-flung places, most of them bad. I’ve learned to notice tells. Little things that give a person away.”
I arch an eyebrow and scoff. “Really? So you can always tell when someone is lying to you, then?”
“Yes.”
I roll my eyes. “Bullshit. What’s my tell, then?”
“You blush. Every. Single. Time. Your eyes also dart to the sides when you’re fibbing.”
I lift my glass of sparkling water to my lips and take a sip. I hate that he’s right. This is so embarrassing, being flayed open like this.
“Okay, you got me there,” I say, crossing my legs, trying my best to look as unfazed as possible. I know I’m probably failing miserably, but I hate being at a disadvantage like this. “So? Maybe what I’m thinking is too personal for you to know about.”
He leans back in his seat and grins, stretching his arms behind his head. “That’s fair. Just say that, then. You don’t have to lie to me. I want us to be honest with each other, Kallista.”
I wince. Yeah, no. Honesty is vulnerability, and that’s absolutely off the table. I’ve had enough vulnerability to last a lifetime.
Sensing my discomfort, he says, “I don’t mean tell me your life’s story. I’m just asking you to tell me when we might be in a situation together where you don’t feel safe. Like at the party.”
“I felt safe at the party,” I lie. My throat bobs as I realize I’ve done it again.
