by Alexa Donne
“I love you.” He turned to me, took both my hands in his. “I nearly lost you tonight, Leo, and it made things crystal clear. Nothing is worth more than you. Miranda can have the business. I don’t care.”
“I love you, too,” I said, my voice watery with the tears threatening up my throat. They were happy tears, at least. “Nothing has to be decided tonight.” I pushed off the wall and stood, offering Elliot my hands and pulling him up as well. “Now, help me out of my ruined dress and lend me one of your shirts to sleep in.”
“Aye, aye, Captain!” He laughed, working deft fingers across my back, unlacing the bodice. Then his fingers stilled against my bare skin. “Leo. Couldn’t you be captain? There’s a power vacuum now, and you could use political power to achieve a lot of the same goals.”
“Uh, no. Klara can have it,” I said. “Or anyone else who wants it, for that matter. This ship needs free elections, no royal titles required. I don’t want to be the best of bad options, or a pawn for ambitious men to marry.”
“Is that what it was with Daniel?”
I whipped around on him. Elliot paused with one button left to go on his shirt.
“No, it wasn’t like that at all. Not completely, at least. He’s really sweet. I consider him a friend.” I chewed my bottom lip. “I’m not looking forward to that conversation tomorrow.”
“Then forget about it, just for tonight.” Elliot sidled close, dropped his shirt to the floor. He kissed me, soft and tentative. We nuzzled noses, then leaned our foreheads together.
“None of this seems real,” I said, closing my eyes with a sigh.
“It is,” he answered. I felt his lips graze my jaw, then my neck, then my exposed shoulder. I took a step back, grabbed his arms, and used them as leverage as I stepped out of my dress.
“Last time I saw you like this, circumstances were very different,” Elliot joked. I flashed back to the night of the dance party, Elliot catching me changing. He’d teased me, and I’d pushed him away.
“I wish I’d told you everything about my feelings back then, but I was convinced you were just toying with me.”
“Both of us were idiots. Too proud to be honest.”
“I was scared,” I said. “And angry. I wanted to punch you, more than once.”
“And now?” Elliot drew close, a mischievous grin playing across his features. He fingered the elaborate boning of my bustier. My breath hitched.
“I don’t want to hit you anymore.”
“Progress.”
He kissed me on the cheek. I grabbed him by the waistband of his shorts, yanking him in close and kissing him properly.
“I was serious about going to bed,” I said. “To sleep. And I still need that shirt.”
“Before or after?” He waggled his eyebrows, like a huge dork.
“Don’t push your luck,” I chided, barely suppressing my grin.
And then there was no before, or after, only now, and then the alluring pull of sleep.
I found comfort in the rhythm of Elliot’s chest, rising and falling against my back, his soft exhales gently jostling the hair at the nape of my neck. I smiled at how he always fell asleep in record time, ages before my mind would let my body settle into slumber. Some things never changed. And I had missed this. I grabbed Elliot’s arm, which was slung over my waist, and curled it under my chest. Three years ago, I’d let him go. Come through a night just like this one—well, okay, not half as dramatic as this one—and I’d let it all fall apart. This time, I wouldn’t let go. This would be the first night of many to come with Elliot steadfast by my side, and I by his. And with that thought, I fell soundly asleep.
Epilogue
The stars sparkled above our heads, sprawling like diamonds against a deep and endless black sky.
“There’s Leo.” Elliot used his hand to guide mine in tracing the rough pattern of a crouching animal. “And Carina.” We traced that, too.
“Those are nowhere near each other in the sky,” I mused, leaning back into Elliot’s chest, enjoying the way it expanded and contracted steadily. His breathing mirrored the gentle whoosh of the waves hitting the simulated beach, in and out.
“I made a special request,” he said.
“Consider it my grand compromise, since you agreed to the beach,” Klara threw in beside us. She was lounging to our right, decked out in a bikini and sunglasses, despite the lack of fake sun. She tilted her head back and relaxed into a sigh. “I love the beach.”
“There’s no water, and I get to be fully clothed, so I’m fine,” I said. It was the magic of the digi-deck. It could be whatever we wanted it to be, in any combination, and my cousin could grant us access whenever we wanted. Sure, Elliot and I had had a more solitary and romantic idea in mind, but this was fine too. It had been two weeks since the Valg Ball with everything both falling spectacularly apart and miraculously coming together, and, dammit, we all deserved an evening out.
“I like that we’re together, Leo,” my sister chimed in. “Even if it’s unnatural. Not like it matters anyway, since we’ll never see a natural sky from Earth. Or visit a natural beach.”
“How surprisingly deep of you, Carina,” I kidded her. Ben was rubbing off on her in a good way. And I was learning to be fine with her and Ben. I’d be a hypocrite otherwise, being with Elliot. There was still the question of him and the black market, tabled for now. Miranda had her hand in it, and we had her protection. We were playing it by ear.
“I don’t want to go back to Earth. It sounds awful,” Asta sniffed. “It’s cold and barren.”
“You are a shame to all Norwegians, and this Russian, with your aversion to the cold. But don’t worry, I’ll warm you up!” Evgenia said, snuggling closer to her on their shared love seat. It wasn’t a real beach, so our furniture was a mixed bag.
Asta and Evgenia were officially an item now, which meant she was part of our group. I’d had to spend more than one evening the past few weeks with Theo tagging along as well. He and Daniel argued a lot, about not only politics but music. Metal verses musicals. Fortunately Theo wasn’t here tonight, so Daniel was his normal, charming self.
Well, nearly normal. Things were still strained between us, and I didn’t blame him one bit for it. The breakup conversation had been painful, and I was undoubtedly the villain for going back on my promise. But he’d stayed, our friendship genuine if in need of mending. I’d tempted him with a political opportunity—he could rebuild the Scandinavian’s fragile governmental ecosystem . . . alongside Klara. They bickered like crazy, but without her mom around and the pressure to marry for power, Klara was slowly mellowing to her old self. Oh, of course, she was still persnickety, often shallow, and infuriatingly snobbish, but she’d ceased being actively mean.
Aunt Freja was in prison awaiting trial. No one particularly cared that she’d been underhanded with my water-filtration system, but murder was frowned upon. Carina had taken the news well enough, but Father was a wreck. He was ridiculous on a good day, but he was my dad, and so I’d taken care to spend extra time with him lately. Double the reason that a night like this was needed. At least he was happy about my engagement this time. He’d always approved of Elliot, he pretended, scrupulously avoiding the topic of Elliot’s newfound wealth as the real reason he found no complaint.
“Refill?” Ben appeared with a pitcher of sangria. I nodded at him to top us up.
The hours passed with more drinks, light conversation, and even karaoke—Daniel’s suggestion, of course. As everyone else launched into a rowdy group number, Elliot and I stole away to take a walk down the “beach.” It was easy to get away to our own relative privacy, since the digi-deck ran the width of the ship.
“I do kind of wish there was actually an ocean,” I mused as we strolled. Klara had brought in sand, which crunched and gave satisfyingly under my feet.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Seems romantic.”
“And terrifying. Oceans are thousands of miles tall and wide and endl
ess fathoms deep. And they can kill you easily. Like space, but wet.”
I snorted. “Space but wet? Really?”
“I’m not articulating myself well.” Elliot bristled, though I knew not seriously. He and I had slowly but surely reestablished some of our old rhythms, particularly the ability to be playful with each other. There were no longer unspoken feelings and misunderstandings keeping us guessing, assuming, and ultimately apart. We had space to breathe and grow. As much as some things were effortlessly easy between us, we had both changed in three years, so there was getting to know each other again too.
“I thought you were the one who plunged into ice-cold water just to make friends,” I teased him. “I’m the scaredy-cat.”
“In your defense, you have a very good reason to dislike swimming.”
“And you, thankfully, have immensely good timing.”
He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back. It was the closest we got to talking about what happened. I was trying my best to forget.
It was really Klara I had to thank for fortuitous timing. As soon as Elliot had told her where I was and why, she’d sounded the alarm. She knew her mother better than I’d thought. And I knew she was wracked with guilt at her worst fears having been confirmed.
We walked a few more minutes, until we nearly reached the edge of the illusion. There were carefully hidden laser lights that sparked into view when we stepped too close.
“Let’s not go back yet,” Elliot said, orienting us parallel to the water so we could watch the waves roll in but never reach us. I hummed my assent, liking the way his fingers threaded through mine, our joined hands keeping me comfortably weighted in the moment. I tipped my head back to once again peer at the stars. I would never get enough of them from this Earth-bound angle, false though it was.
“Leo, will you marry me?”
My head snapped back down. “What? Wasn’t that already agreed upon?”
“‘Agreed upon,’” he repeated. “So romantic.” He bumped my shoulder playfully.
“I don’t require any sweeping gestures, El.”
“Well, too bad.” He raised our joined hands up to the sky, guiding them as he traced more stars. “Will. You. Marry. Me. Leo?” The last word was the actual constellation. The rest was bullshit. But it was beautiful bullshit. My cheeks started to hurt from smiling so wide.
“Fine, you huge sap. Yes.” I hauled him in by the lapels and kissed him soundly and surely, as I fully intended to kiss him every day for the rest of my life. Elliot was my choice. And no one would ever persuade me otherwise.
Acknowledgments
They say second books are the most difficult to write, and I am no exception. But here we are! I owe massive debt of gratitude to the entire team at HMH for working me from concept to final copies.
To Emilia Rhodes, my fearsome editor, who has the patience of a saint, and who delivers edit letters like warm hugs. I learned so much from this process and I hope I’ve come out the other end a better craftsman. To Cat Onder, my publisher, who championed this book from its inception, and leads the best publishing team a girl could ask for.
To Tara Shanahan, rockstar publicist, for juggling a million things and doing them all brilliantly—I know I will always be well taken care of. To Tara Sonin, wizard of social media and mastermind behind Jane Austen meets The Bachelor. To everyone in marketing, publicity, sales, and editorial: Amanda Acevedo, Veronica Wasserman, Lisa DiSarro, Alia Almeida, Emma Gordon, Elizabeth Agyemang. To Colin Mercer for a stunning cover that took my breath away and inspired a gorgeous dress. To Alix Redmond, who makes copy edits a delight.
Elana Roth Parker, my agent and favorite human, I grow more and more thankful for your business partnership and guidance daily. You never fail to say precisely the right thing, and to fight for me, no matter what.
There are so many people without whom I could not have survived the process of writing, editing, and promoting this book, but in particular, I must thank: Rosiee Thor for appearing like magic to be the friend I didn’t know I needed, and for always grumbling with me over stars titles. Emily Wibberley and Austin Siegemund-Broka for writing dates at Tiago (and other places with excellent cold brew), and for all the rides (and being awesome humans, generally). Emily Duncan for reading the messiest draft zero and capslocking at me that it gave you FEELS. Deeba Zargarpur, born editor, for reading multiple drafts and offering incisive commentary at every turn—I could not have finished this book without you. Natalie Simpson, still my fasted alpha reader, and a better friend than I deserve.
Emma Theriault, you were the one that got away (that sounds creepy but you know it’s not), and I am so delighted that we are friends now. Your writing is goals and you are awesome. Heather Kaczynski and Elly Blake, still thrilled to be on this publishing journey with you, and know you are always there for me when I need you. You remain some of the best people and writers that I know.
The Cobbler Club, who supports me whenever I need (especially with writing dates and dinner at the Cheesecake Factory) and forgives me when I disappear for weeks (months?) at a time: Jessica Cluess, Gretchen Schreiber, Alyssa Colman, and Emily Skrutskie. Kat O’Keeffe and Lainey Kress—thank you for not being weird about it when I basically announced we were going to be friends. I am so glad we are now.
Every amazing human who read drafts of The Stars We Steal, or let me brainstorm at them, or who exchanged eyes emojis with me: Emmy Neal, Mary Elizabeth Summer, Emily Lloyd Jones, Rory Power, Christine Lynn Herman, June Tan, Victoria Lee, and so many more! My AMM Fam, especially Rosiee Thor (again!), Kevin Van Whye, Liz Parker, and Rebecca Barrow.
The Electric 18s, and especially my California Electrics: I am so thankful for your friendship and support, and for all the coffee writing dates and karaoke sessions you let me pull you into. Bree Barton, Britta Lundin, Lisa Super, Maura Milan, Farrah Penn, Marie Miranda Cruz, Dana Davis, Costa Singer, Aminah Mae Safi, Leslie and Ashley Saunders, and Emily & Austin (again!).
To my WriteGirls Taya Kendall, Miranda Rector, and Joy Gursky—thank you for thinking I’m cool (for some reason) and for serving as a constant reminder that teen girls are, indeed, superheroes who will change the world.
Thank you to every librarian, bookseller, teacher, reader, book festival, fan con etc. who graciously treated me like a Real Author, and read my words and had pretty nice things to say about them. Every event I’ve attended is an honor, and every comment, review, recommendation is greatly appreciated. Particularly those Actual Teens who read, thank you!
Jane Austen, for balancing feminism, class, wit, and romantic angst like no other. Especially thank you for writing Persuasion, which I believe reaches each of us precisely when we need it, and accordingly found me at just the right time.
And to my mom, who is always far too gracious and understanding when I disappear into my writing cave, and who forgives me, mostly, for how messy my apartment becomes in the process. You’ve always supported my creative process with tireless enthusiasm and belief, and I carry that with me always.
CHAPTER ONE
The gravity stabilizers were failing again. I glanced up from my sketchpad to see globules of liquid dancing up from my drinking glass. They shimmered red, like droplets of blood, though I knew it was just cherry-flavored nutri-drink. Dammit, that’s my protein ration for the day wasted.
A sigh escaped me, and resignedly I stowed my drawing tablet and stylus in the drawer under my mattress. They would be calling me any minute.
A moment later, right on time: “Stella Ainsley, please report to Area Twelve.” The speaker crackled and popped, as it had done for years. I’d tried to fix it, but on a ship as old as the Stalwart, there was only so much you could do.
I tucked my long hair as best I could into a bun atop my head—harder than one might think with your hair floating in all directions—then I grabbed my toolkit and headed into the corridor, half bouncing, half floating with each step. Orange lights flickered on and off, rendering the hallway dimmer than usua
l, quite the feat, considering Ward Z was generally known as Dark Ward. A few small windows were cut in between brushed-chrome walls that hummed with the shudder of the engines, but starlight was insufficient to light the inside of a ship. Ward Z was the domicile of the Stalwart’s lowliest; why squander precious electricity on waste specialists and mechanics? Most of the ship’s light energy was diverted to the fields. The Stalwart was the single largest provider of food in the fleet. I made a note to fix the light later, nonetheless.
It was a short journey to the supply bay, my quarters being conveniently close; I moved quickly from orange flickering over dull chrome down two levels to the antiseptic white glow of the ship’s belly. The Stalwart was at least clever enough to allocate decent energy reserves to the working parts of the ship; it would do no good to repair essential systems if I couldn’t see.
“There you are,” Jatinder greeted me, wiping a sweat-slicked hand against an equally sweaty forehead. Small droplets floated up from the tips of his fingers. I could barely hear him above the grind of the engines.
“You couldn’t call Karlson?” I asked, bouncing over to the secondary systems panel. “I have to lead class in less than an hour.”
“That’s more than enough time.” Jatinder tsked. “And if it takes longer, Ancient Earth Sciences will wait. I need you and your lovely, tiny hands.”
“My hands are perfectly normal sized,” I mumbled as I set to work on the machine, which alternately whooshed and wheezed. “Did you already try hitting it?” I asked Jatinder, who grunted in the affirmative. Nevertheless, I gave the thing a good smack before resorting to more invasive techniques. But still I floated.
Jatinder attempted small talk as we worked. “You heard about any of your applications?”
“One said no. Two still pending,” I said. “It’s hard to find engineering positions, as you know.” My hand slipped noisily against a pipe.
“Oh, my God,” he said in Hindi, one of the few phrases I’d learned by this point, as he said it so much. “You must think me completely naive.”