by Alexa Donne
“Is that how Evgenia finds herself exquisitely outfitted in vintage? You steal family heirlooms?”
No answer. Only the slightest flicker of something approximating guilt. But it wasn’t enough. I no longer recognized the person standing in front of me. My Elliot was gone.
“How could you? You know what they mean to me.” I marched over to the dresses and took them up in my arms, pressing them to my chest like a shield. At the door, I turned, making sure to meet his eyes with mine. I hoped they burned like fire.
“I don’t know you at all anymore. And I don’t care to.” And with my parting shot, I turned around and left him where he stood before tears spilled down my cheeks.
Twenty
Sleep was fitful, my dreamscape haunted by a series of Elliots. Kind Elliot, Funny Elliot, Secretive Elliot, and finally Hateful Elliot—each version of him was there, smiling, laughing, glaring, yelling at me. Each time I awoke, words like desperate ringing in my ears, I hoped he would leave me, but Elliot always came back. I was reeling from the betrayal, my subconscious attempting to process what my waking mind could not. Elliot was a stranger and a criminal. And I loved him. But it didn’t matter now.
I woke with the artificial echo of dawn, dressing myself in all-black, a shroud to match my mood. I didn’t know what to do next, but I knew I had to do something.
Should I turn Elliot in? Could I even do so without implicating myself, my ship? And what about Evgenia, Max, and Ewan? Would we all go to prison, or worse?
Maybe it was all over already. I reminded myself that Max and Ewan were missing. Now I finally understood the urgency. If they had been caught, it was possible they were being tortured right now to give up the whole operation, to give up Elliot and Evgenia and the Sofi’s part in everything. The thought doubled me over just as I reached the kitchen. I sat on the top step and forced myself to breathe. No, I couldn’t assume the worst. There had to be a logical explanation for where they had gone. And now I was involved, inextricably, and so I had to help Elliot solve it. I’d figure out how to hurt him later.
And there it was: I wanted to hurt him. I hated myself for it. But this was who I was now. This was who he had made me. He’d taken my heart, my ship, my trust.
I made my way up to the bridge, forgoing coffee, because of course the pantry was still locked to me. At least now I knew why. I allowed myself a string of colorful expletives as I sat down in the captain’s chair, all variations on what Elliot could do with his black market and his lies and his stupid, pretty face. And then I quietly piloted us from the Lady Liberty back to the Scandinavian, docking with her before anyone else was even awake.
I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do, but at least I was back where I knew I had somewhere to go. All I had to do was rally Carina and Klara and Nora, and we could escape back to the royal quarters, where I wouldn’t have to see Elliot for a while. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to see him again.
I wandered downstairs to the study to wait for the ship to stir and found it eerily trapped in time. The artificial fireplace still crackled, the music was still looping, and the wine was uncorked and abandoned on the sideboard, slowly turning sour. I thought bitterly how much money had been wasted, everything going on all night, and I resolved to simply charge Elliot double the rent. He could afford it now that he was a criminal.
At long last, I heard the clink of coffee cups and silverware coming from the dining room. I powered down everything in the study and emerged, informing everyone of our return.
“I’ll be having a serious conversation with Elliot about what constitutes a vacation,” Klara grumbled.
Carina’s brows knitted with confusion, but then she scarfed down the last of her toast. “I’ll go pack, Leo. Meet you downstairs?”
I nodded to her, noting that Elliot was not at the table. Hiding from me, I bet. But Evgenia was there. I tried meeting her gaze, but she kept her focus squarely on the center of her coffee cup. She was wearing another fine dress, probably stolen from some other poor sap she’d pretended to be friends with. Heat prickled behind my eyes. I drew deep breaths to stop myself from crying. Elliot’s betrayal was bad, but Evgenia’s was a very close second. I hadn’t ever really had friends before. Apparently I still didn’t.
I followed my sister downstairs to help with the luggage. It didn’t take very long to pack. The most challenging thing was finding room for my mother’s dresses in my much-too-small suitcase.
“Why are you taking those?” Carina asked.
“Just want to keep them safe for the Valg Ball,” I said.
“Do you think I could invite Ben?”
I didn’t miss the real question my sister was asking, and it broke my heart. Even twelve hours ago, I would have said yes. Would have borne whatever marriage I had to to save our family so Carina could marry for love, not status. I still wanted that for her. But Ben was involved with Elliot now, and there was just no way. But I wasn’t ready to break that awful news.
“We’ll see,” I hedged, finally giving up and resolving to carry the last two dresses slung over my arm.
As I was doing one last check of the room to be sure we hadn’t missed anything, my eyes caught on something lying on top of my pillow. I leaned close. It was an envelope with my name written on it in careful script. Elliot’s handwriting. Surely a letter begging my forgiveness, making excuses. Or lobbing more insults. I tasted something sour in my mouth. Screw him, with his antiquated stationery, showing off his new, incredible wealth, and whatever pitiful words he’d put to paper.
I left it behind, and I didn’t look back.
* * *
My father’s first words upon my return were “You forgot the beer.” Always good to know that I was missed. And then he hit me with his second punch.
“We need to talk about the Valg Ball.”
Carina smartly scurried off into the bedroom, leaving Father and me to stand off in the living room. An argument was the last thing I needed after everything that had happened with Elliot. I was afraid I might snap, so I tried begging off.
“This really isn’t a good time; I didn’t sleep well, and I need a nap—”
“Sit down, Leonie,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. Apologetic. He took a seat himself in his preferred armchair, leaving me the couch. Warily, I sat.
“The Valg Ball is in two and a half weeks, as you know. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but you still don’t have any real prospects.”
Instinct told me to protest, tell him off for selling me off like chattel, but instead I squirmed under his sad gaze. “There’s just Lukas so far, but I loathe him,” I said. “I’m trying to find another way to save the Sofi, I swear to you.”
As I said it, a lead weight dropped in my stomach. That had been true twelve hours ago. Now it wasn’t. My connection to Ben and thus to Miranda was gone. It made what my father said next drop the anchor straight down to my toes.
He shook his head sadly. “It’s not enough. This is your last good Season. Who knows where we’ll be in five years? And you’ll be twenty-four.”
“I won’t be dead, Dad,” I quipped. He shot me a Look.
“We’re still a good bargain for someone. We have a ship, a royal title. They just have to have money. Two and a half weeks, Leo. Please tell me you’ll try. For us.”
“I will, I promise.” I couldn’t say anything else, not with him looking at me like he needed me. Not needed me to do something for him. That he needed me. It was the closest I had felt in years to a genuine connection between us.
“Here, there’s an event tomorrow night at the arboretum.” He handed me my tab unit, the Valg app calendar winking up at me. “See who you meet.”
I nodded along, despite my misgivings. I dreaded going to an event by myself for the first time. Surely everyone had paired off by now. Who showed up to a picnic by herself?
It gave me one day to process everything that had happened with Elliot. To wallow in my own misery and make a decision. Would I turn Elli
ot in? A sinking stone in my gut told me the answer was no. I couldn’t turn him in without implicating my family. Perhaps that had been his plan all along, to make me complicit, just in case I found out. Elliot’s revenge for a heart broken, pride crushed, all those years ago.
A surge of anger, of my own pride, filled me. I was going to go to that stupid picnic the next day, looking damn good while I was at it, and I was going to make a connection with someone. Elliot was my past. Someone else was going to be my future.
Twenty-One
Something I vastly underestimated about an evening spent inside the arboretum was how strongly the smell of pungent, mossy earth would bring to mind Elliot’s new scent. And how that subconscious reminder would have me fighting a persistent scowl. There were, indeed, a handful of single men at the picnic, but none of them dared approach me. I caught myself every ten minutes or so with a jaw so tight that my temples started to throb, and, with a hiss under my breath to get control of myself, I would once again have to reset my face and try to appear approachable, pleasant.
Thus far, I was fifty pages into my new book and partway through the second course. Because naturally on the Scandinavian, “picnic” took on a liberal meaning, and our meal did not skimp on the pomp and circumstance, or finery. Bitterly, I reflected that maybe Elliot was right about us.
“Is there room for one more?”
A voice from high above my head startled me so badly that I spilled champagne onto my tab screen.
“Shoot!” I exclaimed, making a mad dash to balance my glass on the uneven ground while grasping for a napkin to quickly wipe the screen dry.
“The hazards of drinking and reading.” Now the voice was lower, level to my face, and he was laughing at me. I looked up, finally, and blinked at a handsome, smiling face. Daniel, from speed dating.
“I’m the professional showoff from the Empire,” he supplied cheerfully.
“Yes, I remember. Nice to meet you again,” I stammered out, feeling my cheeks heat. I noticed he had sat down, despite my never actually responding to his inquiry about space. Guess it was rhetorical.
“Are you sure you mean to sit with me?” I asked. “There are plenty of other available ladies, or gentlemen.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Princess Leonie. I’ve heard great tales of your social graces and sparkling wit. And experienced it once or twice, too.”
“Don’t call me that,” I groaned.
He squinted at me, cocked his head confusedly. “You are Princess Leonie? I know there’s a sister, but she’s . . .”
“Thinner,” I supplied. Instead of being rightly cowed, he laughed.
“There’s that wit.”
“I don’t like the royal-title nonsense,” I said finally.
“Good, good.” He nodded enthusiastically, and then helped himself to one of my raspberries. I watched, both confused and enthralled by the way he first sucked on it, then chewed, moaning like it was the most fantastic thing. “Your cousin doesn’t feel that way at all. We used to visit here when I was a kid—I played with you and your cousin, though I don’t think you remember. Anyway, I once called her Klare-Bear, and she punched me in the face.”
“She did not!” I exclaimed, pretending to be scandalized. “At best, she punched you on the shoulder.”
“Perhaps I’m remembering it wrong,” he allowed. “And your cousin has nothing on you. You right punched me in the gut, voting me no at speed dating.”
“Don’t take it personally,” I tried to explain. “I said no to everyone. I was still in my protest stage.”
“But you’re not anymore. You switched me to a yes four days ago.”
“My father has implored me to take it more seriously,” I said, not even covering the half of it. “And so here I am,” I finished with a flourish.
“So that’s why I haven’t seen you at any events in the past week!”
I raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re keeping a record?”
“Not in a creepy way. I promise.” He coughed and averted his gaze, with comic effect. “But I did notice you stopped attending things.”
“That’s not entirely accurate,” I said. “I was at the wine-and-painting event just a few days ago.” It was true; that had been only seventy-two hours ago, but with everything that had happened on the trip to the Lady Liberty with Elliot, it felt an age ago.
“I missed that one for a political luncheon. It was very dry, but the food was good.”
“Oh, my aunt invited you to that?”
He nodded. “I took it as a message to marry a nice Scandinavian girl. Half suspected my mother had arranged it. She’s lobbying hard for a fellow Norwegian.”
I relaxed back into my drink, setting my tab back inside my bag. I suspected I wouldn’t be returning to my book again this evening. A waiter passed with a tray of champagne, so Daniel was able to avail himself as well.
“And your dad?”
“Doesn’t care as long as she’s titled.”
And there it was. A week ago I would have been insulted, written him off immediately, but things had changed. My repeated efforts to save my family the honest way had come to nothing. Renting our ship to pay for my patent had entangled us with criminals. My stomach lurched at my own generalization. Elliot was the criminal. He’d betrayed me.
And then all the major ships had rejected my proposal. Miranda Fairfax was impossible to reach. Marrying for money was my best option. And my title was my best asset in this economy.
I found Daniel studying me, searching my face for a green light. I offered him a firm yellow.
“I can assure you that I am quite wealthy,” he added. “I understand how this works.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, not unkindly. This felt like a business arrangement, and I needed all the cards on the table. “Why choose me? My sister’s out as well, and she has a far more pleasant personality. Klara’s apprenticed to her mom, making it all but certain she’ll be inheriting her political power. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m hardly the most popular girl on board.”
“I remember you from when we were younger. Still devastated to be forgotten, by the way.”
I threw a raspberry at him.
“You’re smart, practical, resourceful . . . and titled. So am I. The first three, not the last one. I’m not looking for a love match, and I don’t think you are either. I sensed a kinship in you, an honesty. That’s what I want. I knew when I came here that none of these other girls could give me what I want.”
“Then what have you been doing at these things for the past week and a half?” I asked.
Daniel grinned. “Waiting for you to pay attention to me.”
* * *
“Shall I walk you back to your quarters?”
Hours passed as if in the blink of an eye. Now Daniel stood over me, offering a hand to help me up, which I took. Slapping my hands against my backside to clear any stray dirt, I surveyed the arboretum, now empty, save for us and a few scurrying wait staff clearing debris. We’d managed to shut the place down, losing ourselves in hours of lively conversation.
“I’ll gladly take the company,” I said, easing into a light stroll beside him. But then I veered right and he veered left.
“I thought you had a ship.” He pointed aft. I shook my head.
“I do, but we’re staying in the Swedish royal quarters. I’m currently renting out my ship.”
Daniel jogged to catch up with me. I’d never stopped moving. We exited the shade of the arboretum out onto the top deck, where even the after-ten-p.m. lighting hurt our eyes a little.
“So why rent your ship?”
“We had a standing invitation to visit my aunt on board the Scandinavian, and with the Season happening, it just made sense to come. And I figured why have our ship go to waste?” I played it all off like a brilliant business idea, half believing myself as I said it. “You know how much they charge for a vacation suite on board. I’m charging a fraction of that, so it’s just a bit of easy money
.”
Daniel was a perfect gentleman, nodding along, though I could sense his skepticism. He was sharper than I gave him credit for.
“So are you playing host to one of the eligible bachelors? Is that where you’ve been disappearing off to?”
Pain shot through me at the thought of Elliot, and for a brief moment, my happy-go-lucky act fell apart. Daniel’s playful expression rapidly shifted to one of concern.
“I’m sorry; I was trying to be funny. But I guess it’s more creepy than anything.”
“Oh, no, it’s not you,” I said. “I’ve been helping my sister to find a match, and she’s met someone, but I’m afraid he’s not suitable? Anyway, that’s where I’ve been, so . . .” I rattled off a half-truth, which Daniel seemed to buy. I forced a lightness back into my expression, banishing Elliot from my thoughts for the rest of the evening. This had gone surprisingly well. I wouldn’t let my past ruin my future.
I pressed my back against the cool wall, smiling at him, half inviting him to kiss me. I had maybe drunk a little bit too much champagne. He didn’t, anyway. Perfect gentleman.
We continued on our stroll toward the forward lift, and I was struck with déjà vu. A few days ago I’d been here with Elliot, and we’d just finished up our space walk, romantic possibilities stretching before us. Now here I was with a new beau, new possibilities.
We rounded the corner smack-dab into another pair.
“Oh, I’m sorry—”
“Pardon us—”
Both parties made rapid excuses, and it wasn’t until I’d taken a step back, and reassured a fussing Daniel that I was fine, that I glanced up at who exactly we’d run aground of. I blinked down, hard, to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
“Max? Ewan? Where have you been? Evgenia and Elliot have been looking for you.”
Not only was it them, but they looked awful. Unkempt and broken down, and I smelled them most acutely. It was as if they’d not showered in days.