by Regine Abel
I wanted to ask him why. Did he want me to leave? Did I owe him the difference for the remaining seven weeks? Did I upset him somehow? But those were not the words that came out of my mouth. My arms dropped from around his neck.
“You don’t want me anymore?” I whispered, my broken voice baring the blistering hurt that was shredding my heart.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Have you met someone else?”
Please, not Sheila!
“No, there’s no one else.”
Then what?
“You want me to leave?”
“No, Grace. I want you to stay,” Anton said. It both soothed my heart while adding to my confusion.
“As your consort?”
“Yes.”
I wrung my hands, trying to understand. My thoughts seemed to drown in a pit of quicksand. “So why release me? Why not keep me?”
Anton cradled my face. “I don’t want to own you anymore.”
What?
“Why not?” I asked, nonplussed, my eyes flicking between his.
“Because I want what we’ve had for the past three months to be real,” Anton said with a vulnerability I had never seen from him before. “I don’t want you merely obeying the clauses of our contract.”
I took a moment to gather my thoughts.
“So… what does that mean, you releasing me? I can leave, debt free?”
He stiffened at my question. His hands dropped from my face. This wasn’t the response he wanted. But I needed to know exactly what I was getting myself into before I committed one way or another. How ironic he taught me so well.
“Yes,” he said, his tone slightly clipped. “The debt is repaid. If you wish to leave, you may go. You can keep all the clothes, jewelry, and accessories I bought you. Romero’s one-year contract is paid in full. Same with your dancers and all other costs related to your debut show.”
That was ridiculously generous. But upon further reflection, it made sense. He introduced me to a whole new world, light-years away from my previous life in the Commons. This debut show and my training with Romero gave me access to a future I couldn’t have achieved before. Losing those tremendous benefits would be reason enough for a woman to stay with him. With this offer, he eliminated that argument.
Being Anton’s consort provided many other privileges. VIP entrance everywhere; people falling all over themselves to please me – well to please Anton by pleasing me; the fabulous penthouse; him splurging money on me for clothes, jewelry, etc. Yeah, it would be hard for him to know if someone stuck around for him or for all those benefits.
That said, Marcus had the twelve million credits Anton had refused to take as repayment of the debt. Marcus told me if things went south with Anton, he would split the amount fifty-fifty with me. So I could leave Anton, keep Romero and my show while enjoying the life of luxury I had grown accustomed to.
The nervous ticking along Anton’s temple revealed his inner turmoil. He could see me analyzing the situation. Was it doubt or fear in his eyes? At that moment, I realized I wielded power over him. His whole life, everyone rejected him. He built his empire to no longer be at the mercy of other people’s whims. Yet, here he was, putting all that power in my hands. If I left, it could crush him. He would keep his head high and proud because that’s who he is. But he would never make himself vulnerable again.
“That is very generous of you,” I said, shifting on his lap. He responded with a stiff nod. “And if I chose to stay, what would it mean?”
He blinked, the flash of hope in his eyes quickly hidden. “Then we continue as we have these past three months, just you and me.”
“No other women?”
“I don’t cheat,” Anton said. “Besides, I don’t want anyone else.”
I silenced the happy warmth spreading through me at his words.
“But what about your Braxian friends? What will happen the next time they visit?”
Anton’s face hardened. “Nothing.”
The question angered him but I could feel his anger wasn’t with me. There couldn’t be any misunderstanding as far as that went.
“What do you mean nothing?”
“They will not touch you,” Anton said. “No other man will ever touch you again. And I will never again ask you to do something you don’t want.”
“Braxian protocols—”
“Fuck Braxian protocols,” he interrupted. I repressed a smile. “We’re not on Braxia. This is our home. They follow our rules.”
Home… our home. I wanted to kiss him, sing, dance, and shout my joy aloud. The way he looked at me, it was clear he was regaining hope that I would stay. There was no question I wanted to. But we still had a big issue to sort out – the deal-breaker.
“I like you a lot, Anton,” I said. “I mean, I’m falling in love with you.”
My voice caught in my throat as a raw emotion crossed his face. His hands tightened around my waist. It suddenly dawned on me that no one ever spoke these words to him. At least, I had Marcus who loved me, though he wasn’t in love with me.
“For months now, I’ve hoped you would want to keep me because I too want to keep you. But you’ve hurt me, Anton. You’ve hurt me badly. That’s not ok. I don’t want to live in fear of the man I care about.”
His face crumpled in shame. He lowered his gaze.
“Yes, Grace, I have,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do or say to apologize enough for it. It will never happen again.”
“How can I be sure?” I asked, voicing the fear that had plagued me since the last time he punished me.
“I haven’t harmed you in over three months, and I won’t.” Anton cradled my face in his hands again. “Remember what I told you back then? I want many things, Grace, but not your pain. I can’t give you any other proof than the past three months.”
“But nothing happened in the past three months to give you grounds to punish me,” I argued. “That night at the opera, when that Sarenian attacked me, I was more terrified imagining what you would do to me than him trying to rape me. What would have happened had you arrived minutes later, after he’d had his way with me?”
He flinched at my words, visibly hurt.
“Every time we go out, I dread something will trigger your anger. I can’t live like that.”
The pain in his eyes as his hope faded clawed at my heart.
“What are you saying?” Anton whispered.
“That I refuse to be hurt, physically or mentally by my partner, beaten, brutalized or caged because I did something to offend him. Under the contract, I had no choice but to accept whatever you did. Without it, I can choose. I want to be with you, Anton. You’ve made me happy these past few months. But if you ever hurt me again, whatever the reason, as much as it would break my heart, I will walk away.”
“On my honor, my life, I swear to you, I will never hurt you again. I’ll sign a contract if you wish.”
I finally allowed my happy smile to shine through. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me, Mr. Myers.”
The same raw emotion crossed his face. “So, you choose me, Grace? You want to stay with me?” His voice faltered on the last words.
“Yes, Anton. I choose you.”
His kiss felt gentle, careful, like the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. “Grace… My Grace,” he whispered against my lips. “My beautiful Grace. You’re my everything.”
CHAPTER 20
Grace
Once again, I was a free woman, no longer bound to a contract that put me at the mercy of another’s whim.
Anton changed me. It wasn’t just in the way I dressed, but the way I perceived myself. People could never stare enough at me. However, before, I would settle for any attention, even the demeaning, disrespectful kind. Not anymore. Today, I wanted respect. I deserved respect.
Since Anton released me from our contract two weeks ago, things changed in subtle, yet wonderful ways. Anton made even more time for me, involving me in his business. It made me feel v
alued. He openly displayed his affection, whether in public or private. Although he hadn’t said he loved me, I knew Anton felt deeply for me. Words weren’t all that important to me – actions were. That he’d defy Braxian protocols for me said it all.
Anton offered to deposit a spending allowance in my account to do with as I pleased until I started making my own money. I declined. I wanted him to know we were together because my feelings for him were genuine. Also, there was never any real reasons for me to spend. Anytime we went out, the venue would put it on Anton’s tab. He opened an unlimited line of credit for me in every clothing, jewelry, shoe and accessory store on Venus Hive. Ok, those I didn’t decline. However, I didn’t abuse his generosity.
Really? How about all those shoes?
Alright, I did tend to go overboard on shoes, but as an artist, I’d get plenty of opportunities to wear them all at least once. And we cut short our rehearsal because of that shoe obsession. We now rehearsed in full costumes. My heels were so high, I might as well be a ballerina walking on pointe. I was the queen of ‘fuck-me’ shoes. However, it was one thing to strut around in them, quite another to perform a perfectly timed choreography. Result? Twisted ankle.
A healing cream would fix it in no time, but Romero was being extra cautious. I couldn’t blame him. Anton would lose it if Romero allowed anything bad to happen to me during rehearsal. So here I sat in Dr. Farland’s office, getting the usual third degree about my health, habits, addictions or lack thereof. Why they kept asking those stupid questions was a mystery since the routine blood analysis provided all the answers.
Farland pricked my finger with a stylus before sticking it in the analyzer, then reclined in his metal chair while he waited for the results. Seeing how bony Farland was, that chair had to be painful to sit in. But then everything about that man and his office felt hard, cold, and clinical. The room’s whiteness blinded me. The sparse furniture consisted of a metal desk, an examination table, and a metal shelf with various scanners and devices. Aside from a large vidscreen, the walls were completely barren.
While he waited for the results, he continued to question me. What the fuck did my temperature, lack of dizzy spells or absence of nausea have to do with a twisted ankle?
“Why are you asking me this, Doctor?” I asked, confused. “Is something wrong with the vaccines you gave me? I mean, I’m just here to check on my ankle before my show.”
He cast a glance at the analyzer. “Your blood test indicates that you’re pregnant.”
I gripped the armrests of my chair, feeling as if my world tilted. Although he was a brilliant physician, Dr. Farland’s reputation of being a jerk with terrible bedside manners finally proved accurate. This was not how you told someone they were pregnant.
I shook my head. “That’s impossible. I have a three-year contraceptive implant with a little over one year left. There’s no way I can be pregnant.”
Farland rolled his eyes. “What is it with human women? Did you all skip your sex education classes? Do your teachers not warn you that human contraceptives may not work with an alien partner? Do they not tell you to consult a physician and see if your contraceptive needs adjusting?”
I gaped at him. I hadn’t attended any sex education classes. My ‘education’ had been hands on by Mr. Carston, the orphanage’s caretaker, who felt I was old enough at twelve to learn how to please a man. Marcus had taught him better – permanently.
“But Anton is half-human…”
Farland looked at me like I was stupid.
Apparently, half alien is all it takes. But how?
“My implant prevents me from ovulating. I haven’t had periods in years. How can I possibly get pregnant?”
“A Braxian’s seminal plasma – the fluid his seed swims in,” Farland said, miming semen swimming, “is made not only to protect the sperm from getting destroyed or damaged by a woman’s natural spermicide, but it also helps regulate the progesterone level of the woman to increase the chances of implantation. The more you’re exposed to his semen, including orally,” he added with a meaningful look, “the more it overrides the effects of your contraceptive. So unless you were using condoms, it was only a matter of time.”
Right. With Anton and me fucking like rabbits, it’s almost a miracle it didn’t happen sooner. And that’s not even talking about how many times I swallowed.
Family.
The thought spread a warm feeling in my stomach. I didn’t mind getting pregnant. In truth, I wanted a family – a big one. In my mind’s eye, I pictured tiny hands reaching for Anton’s face, pulling his lips with that crazy strengths babies seem to have.
They would be half-breeds.
Cold coils of fear shattered the pleasant image. Braxians didn’t allow half-breeds to have children. Would Anton follow that rule? Did he even want children? Would his clan come after our baby? After me?
When Anton released me from our contract two weeks ago, he promised not to follow Braxian protocols. Did that include our children? Was I even ready to have children with him? What if he became violent again? Then it wouldn’t be just me being hurt, but my child. My parents hadn’t wanted me, but my children would be loved.
“How far along am I?”
Farland pursed his lips and had another look at the analyzer.
“I’d need a different test to give you a more accurate date, but based on these readings, I would say three months.
THREE MONTHS?
I placed a hand over my flat belly. Three months ago, Anton and I made love in his bed for the first time. Noticing my gesture, Farland smirked, glancing down at my belly meaningfully.
“You’ll be showing soon enough. Thinner women like you often don’t show until the fourth month, so you’ll be ok for your debut performance. But Braxian babies tend to be big. You’ll grow as fat as a whale.”
Could he be more of an ass?
“Alright, thank you, Dr. Farland,” I said, my tone frosty. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, can you patch up my ankle? I want to go home.”
He waved at the examination table, with a mocking expression. I limped over and sat down, my legs resting on the table. Farland began rubbing the healing cream over my ankle. Even though he was a jerk, his ministrations were gentle and efficient.
“Now, in terms of termination options—”
I glared at him. “Excuse me?”
He held my gaze, his stare stern and unwavering. “You’re bearing a mix-breed, fathered by a clanned Braxian half-breed. Their rules are very clear regarding such pregnancies.”
“Fuck their rules. This is my child. Nobody will harm him.”
“Myers needs to know. He will have a say in this,” Farland said.
I pointed a threatening finger at him. “How I handle my pregnancy is my fucking business. You stay the hell out of it.”
“He has the right to know,” Farland insisted. “There will be serious repercussions for him if you keep this a secret.”
I pulled my foot out from his mending hands and slipped my shoe on. “I will handle Anton and my pregnancy. Don’t forget your oath.”
“You’re welcome to sue me if you wish, but you have one week, Ms. Hopper. If you do not inform Mr. Myers by then, I will.”
Without another word, I stormed out of his office.
I roamed aimlessly along the walkway, unable to form anything that even remotely resembled coherent thoughts. Part of me believed Anton would want our child. He often expressed gratitude for his father sparing his life. It would only make sense for him to want to do the same for his own child. But what of his clan?
He swore he would never hurt me again.
Hurting my child would hurt me. However, I couldn’t gamble on my child’s life. I blinked, realizing my steps unconsciously led me to Marcus’ hotel. The lift took me to his suite.
The sound of muted music wafted through his door. Marcus was throwing another ‘party.’ Sure enough, when he opened the door, the smell of sex, drugs, and alcohol greeted me. A towel wr
apped around Marcus’ waist tented in front of him. I averted my eyes, strangely uncomfortable. Sweat glistened on his naked skin and his chest rose and fell from recent exertion.
“Gracie, this is kind of an awkward moment for a visit,” he said with a slightly embarrassed grin.
He knew I didn’t approve of this lifestyle. Marcus was a smart, handsome man with a heart of gold. This was such a waste… But right now, I had bigger issues than Marcus’ philandering.
“I’m pregnant.”
That sobered him.
“Come in,” he said, pulling me inside.
A full-blown orgy raged within the apartment. At least two dozen people rutted all over the living room in every kind of pairing possible. A few of them catcalled as we came in. Marcus waved them off and led me to my former bedroom. I was glad he didn’t allow people in here.
“Give me a minute to go fix myself up and I’ll be right back, ok?”
I nodded. Taking off my shoes, I sat cross-legged on the bed. That didn’t last long. While the cream did wonders, sitting in that position put too much strain on my ankle. Crawling up the bed, I rested my back against the headboard, my legs stretched in front of me.
Marcus returned barefoot, wearing a white t-shirt and light gray slacks. He sat next to me on the edge of the bed. His hair was still damp from the quick shower he had taken. I was grateful for the fresh, clean scent that emanated from him.
“So, you’ve got a little bun in there,” he said, nudging me.
I’m not sure why, but that burst the dam open. With deep, gut-wrenching sobs, I bawled my eyes out. Marcus pulled me into his arms and let me cry onto his chest. He didn’t say a word, just stroked my hair. Eventually, I pulled myself together and wiped my face with the back of my hand.
“Do you want to keep it?” Marcus asked.
I nodded my head, still wiping my tears.
“Does he know?”
I shook my head.
“Are you afraid he’s not going to want it?”
“I–I don’t know,” I said, sniffling. “I’m pretty sure he will want it, but what happens if he doesn’t?”