“Just a moment.” Marcelo lifts his head like it weighs two thousand tons. “Let me get this straight. Your mother’s network took advantage of a first-born daughter for forced child labor. Then your mother sold the family business out from under the same first-born daughter,” he says, waving to me in all my dressed-up glory. “And now you have to buy everything back?”
“It sounds pretty fucked up when you put it like that. Um, maybe we should cancel this evening? I’m sure I’m no longer a prize to any guy who’s looking for a stable network.”
“We most certainly are not,” he says, standing up and buttoning the top button of his suit jacket. “I have never been angrier in my entire life.”
“Sorry,” I say again.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, softening his tone. “None of this is your fault, except maybe for keeping this from me for so long. You would have taken this to your grave if you hadn’t had to deal with the loss of the ships, right?”
I huff a short laugh. “Fuck yes. It’s been my own private shame. Everyone thinks of me as this bad-ass, take-no-prisoners princess, and I can’t let them think any differently.”
I cross the room to my silver high-heels at the door. “If they knew I let some men push me around, I would never hear the end of it.”
Marcelo comes to me, and his eyes are soft and kind. “You are allowed to be vulnerable, Ms. Skylar. You are allowed to live life on your terms.”
“Ha. What fantasy land do you live in? I want to live there. It sounds awesome.” I get my shoes on and grab my bag. “Honestly, I’ve put a lot of it behind me except for recent events, but it’s kinda fucked me up with men. That’s something I’m truly sorry for, sorry for you. I don’t know if I’ll ever meet the right men who won’t just take advantage of me.”
He places his hand on my upper arm. “The sexbots make more sense now.”
I look away and parlay the motion into fluffing my hair in the mirror. I wish I had never gotten into the habit of visiting the sexbots. I should have stayed celibate and taken up knitting or something.
“So whoever this is you have on deck for tonight, I wish him luck.” I drop my voice to a mumble. “He has his work cut out for him.”
A smile finally breaks Marcelo’s lips.
“I think… I think you’ll be pleased. Let’s go.”
13
The charity event is being held at the swanky Seven Worlds Hotel just down the block from where I’m staying. Instead of taking a car, I insist on walking with Marcelo.
“I need the air and a few moments to pull myself back together,” I say, angling him away from the autocab line.
“Are you sure?” He looks down at my strappy heels. “You’ll probably be on your feet all night.”
“These?” I scoff. “I can run a marathon in these.”
“Ms. Skylar, I have it on good authority that you don’t run anywhere.”
“Very true. I hate running. But while we’re walking, let me tell you about the new engineer I hired.”
I decide to save the story about the weapons for later and tell him about Nisrine over the following three blocks.
“So, I hope she works out because I have no idea who else I could hire.”
My thoughts grind to a stop as we approach the crowd outside of the Seven Worlds. They laid a red carpet out, and couples pose in front of a sponsored back drop. I squint across the expanse of high-end dresses, tailored suits, and paparazzi drones. Tonight’s event is sponsored by Athens Industries’s Aphrodite anti-aging therapies and Adonis, their always-fit nanites. No doubt everyone here with money already uses both of these.
“Looks like quite the turn-out,” I say, straightening my shoulders and pushing them back. I lift my chin and stand a little taller. I’m going to end up in photos tonight, and I should try to look good.
“I think there’ll be plenty here to keep you busy.” Marcelo’s eyes scan the crowd before stopping on the steps leading up to the hotel. “Ah, your date is already here and waiting. Let’s see if you can spot him.”
“Why would I be able to spot him? If this is a blind date, then I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
“I never said it was a blind date.”
My breathing hitches, and my heart trips like a clumsy toddler.
My eyes follow the same path Marcelo’s did, and then they splutter to a stop.
No, it’s not Kalvin like I briefly hoped it was when my heart skipped a beat.
This is the most unexpected date I’ve ever had.
I let go of Marcelo’s arm, lift the hem of my dress a few centimeters, and walk forward, the world humming and blurring around me.
He’s handsomer than I remember him being, but I haven’t seen him in over a decade. I should give him some credit and me some leeway with my memories. Other women stare at him as they walk past, but his eyes are on me, and suddenly, shyness pushes my gaze away from him.
All of my memories come flooding back. We sat on a hilltop on Ossun and stared at the stars together, one of the many nights I spent at far-school wishing I wouldn’t have to go back to those stars. We pulled our legs up and rested our arms over our knees. He pushed his hip against mine and pointed to Rio, his homeworld. Dropping his chin to his arms, he’d said, “I hope I can live up to my sister’s standards, or I’m going to have to move very far away from Rio someday.”
“Saif Bhaat, as I live and breathe,” I say, twisting my lips into a wry smirk.
“Skylar,” he says, and the simple way my name rolls off his tongue reminds me of the enormous crush I had on him. How in love with him I was. How I missed him when we last parted.
He was one of the far-school regulars, always showing up for outdoor classes in the Brazilianos System. As an older son from a well-to-do Rio jewelry family empire, he spent most of his childhood sitting in factories or stores, hearing about the cuts of gems, different filigree styles, and the best mix of metals for sensitive skin. All he ever wanted to do was play outside.
Stepping forward, he rests his hand on my upper arm and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. A blush blooms across my chest, but I ignore it. Just like I ignore the women walking past who scan him from top to toe. He’s not a celebrity or anything, but his older sister is. She’s always in the gossip news wearing the family’s jewelry with another handsome man on her arm.
“You grew out your hair,” I say, tilting my head to assess his wild, thick, and crazy locks. When I last saw him, it was close-cropped.
“It’s the new Bollywood style.” He shrugs. “And I don’t have to go to the barber as often. Win, win. How have you been? It’s been a long time.”
“It has. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch like I thought I would.”
I would have, but every relationship but family fell to the wayside between my first round of flight school and all the familial duties at home. It’s another of my personal shames.
He waves a hand. “I was terrible at calling, too. School, family, life — it was a lot of work.”
His hand catches the light, and my eyes follow the flash. I step forward and grasp his hand in mine. “Oh. You’re still wearing this.” The sight of the infinity ring makes me smile. He’s worn it since he turned thirteen, a gift from his artist father. He would often sit and think and fiddle with it.
He smiles, looking down at our hands. “Well, I’ve had it resized once, but I think I’ll have it for life now.”
I can’t believe the synchronicity here, between me and someone I thought I would never see again. I remember that last far-school trip so well. That night we spent looking at the stars, I rested my head on his shoulder. I opened up to him and let myself be vulnerable, and he never took advantage of it. Then I went home, and my father was so pissed at me because Ana had relapsed while I was gone. “You’re almost seventeen now,” he’d said. “No more far-school for you.”
“Ms. Skylar.” Marcelo’s voice is at my ear, so I pull back and drop Saif’s hand. “I’m going to head out now fo
r my dinner.”
I pull in a quick breath and snap out of my memories. Marcelo leans into my ear.
“You’re softer around him. I see potential here,” he whispers.
I smile at him. “Don’t be too pushy,” I mutter under my breath.
Marcelo leans past me to offer his hand to Saif. “Saif, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”
“Same, Marcelo. Thanks for setting this up.”
Marcelo covers his heart with his hand. “My pleasure, as always. Night, Ms. Skylar.”
I turn and watch Marcelo weave through the crowds and get in a waiting autocab a block away.
“Ms. Skylar,” Saif says, a note of humor in his voice, “shall we go inside?”
“Don’t scoff at Marcelo. He’s a gentleman. He always calls me Ms. Skylar, even when I’m a royal pain the ass.”
“Royal?” he asks, holding out his arm to me. “But I thought you hated the nickname ‘Princess.’”
I groan and deflate. “That damned nickname has followed me everywhere. I can’t get rid of it.” This makes me remember Kalvin, though, and I frown instead of smile.
I can’t brush it off fast enough.
“Yikes. Did I hit a truly unhappy memory?” Saif asks. “The Skylar I remember told people to go fuck themselves if they pissed her off.”
“I am still very much that Skylar.” I shake my head and rid myself of the frown. “Sorry, just remembering the last person who called me ‘Princess.’”
“And he or she is now very much beaten to a pulp?”
I smile sweetly at him. “You do remember me.”
No, I miss stupid Kalvin, and I wish he was here too. Not instead of Saif (though we’ll see how this evening goes because I still remember him as a teenaged nerd), but with us.
I pull in my breath and hold it in my chest while my eyes search for the nearest escape route. This is the first time I have ever wanted more than one man with me, even in a platonic sense. Most of the women here have their relationship networks with them. Other men and some women seem to orbit around the woman center of their lives. I’ve never had that before.
Until this moment, I never thought I would.
“Do you want to head over to the media area for photos?” Saif tries to direct me over to the flashing bulbs, but I shake my head.
“No. Let’s go inside. I’ve had enough of the media to last a lifetime.”
Saif is quiet as he follows me up the stairs and into the hotel. We stroll down the red carpet together, and I wave my wristlet at the host’s datapad, admitting us to this swanky event. Inside the ballroom, the ceiling soars high above. A jazz band plays soft tunes on the other side of the dance floor, and waitstaff wearing white gloves offer appetizers on silver platters.
“Champagne?” Saif asks, watching a waiter walk by with a platter full of glasses.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
He bursts into a chuckle as he leaves me for a moment to grab glasses. It gives me just enough time to sweep my gaze over the surrounding crowd. There’s no one here I know, at least in this vicinity.
“Here you go.” He holds out my glass, and I take it. “To new opportunities,” he says, tipping his glass against mine. He keeps his eyes on mine as he sips, and I practically drown in his dark stare. We both swallow our drinks, pause, and then burst into laughs. A woman walking by steps out of the way.
“Hot damn, Saif. When did you grow into such a Romeo?”
“Me? A Romeo? Does that mean we die at the end of this night by poison?” He looks around and I’m struck with how his profile has lengthened and leaned out over the last decade. “I don’t know about you, but I was hoping the food tonight would be top-notch.” He leans in. “It won’t be my father’s famous chickpea curry, but I do have a feeling it’ll be fancy.”
“Are you still a vegetarian?”
“Born and raised.” He holds out his hand to me, and I pause for a moment before slipping my fingers into his. “I have an idea. Let’s do a quick tour of the ballroom, check out the items that are up for bid in the silent auction, and then we’ll find our table and catch up on the last ten years.”
“Excuse me,” someone at my rear says. “Photos for the news feed?”
I quickly fix my hair before turning around. I lift my chin, and Saif’s hand pulls me close to his side. We pose, and the flash pops, leaving behind a mess of dots in my vision.
“Names?” the photographer asks.
“Saif Bhaat and Skylar Kawabata,” Saif fills in.
The photographer looks at us both twice, noting down the names. “Bhaat Jewelers of Rio? And Kawabata Holdings?” he asks.
Saif nods and pulls me along, dismissing the photographer.
I push the recognition aside. The universe will always associate my last name with the trauma Vivian went through, but I’m proud of all she accomplished. And Saif will always live in the shadow of his older sister, Sejal. I’ve met her twice, and it took all my willpower to not roll my eyes at everything she said.
Saif and I walk hand in hand down the rows of booths along the far edge of the ballroom, taking note of anything we’re interested in bidding on. I don’t have a lot of money for something like this, but Vivian forwarded me a thousand credits this morning to buy something in our company’s name. Her note read, “Make it count.”
So, clothing and accessories and vacations — all out. Saif tilts his head at the gorgeous pair of Rio gemstone earrings and the matching necklace from his family’s business. Several women ooh and ah while leaning forward to get a better look at the sparkling jewels. A bodyguard stands ready to stop anyone trying to steal it, and a man wearing a suit and white gloves holds one earring out for a woman to look closer at.
She leans back, and I catch my breath.
I knew I had recognized her the other day. She had left Takemo Diaz’s office, and our eyes met. But now… Now, I remember her.
“I thought that was you,” she says, smiling at me and leaving the booth.
“How do you know India Dellis?” Saif whispers.
“It’s a long story.” I turn my smile back on. “India, it’s good to see you again.”
“Skylar,” she says, leaning in to air-kiss. I act like we do this all the time, though I haven’t seen her in a few years. Not like we’re friends or anything. India is high society. She’s wearing a fucking tiara, for goodness’ sake. She runs Patras Agriculture, and she’s also sister to Renata Dellis, the CEO of Athens Industries. But she helped Vivian out of a tight spot, and now we’re… allies? Maybe. Friends? No. Well, at least we’re not enemies. I hope.
Her eyes pop a little brighter when she realizes who I’m with.
“Is this Saif Bhaat?” she asks me, leaning into Saif’s personal space.
“Yes, this is Saif Bhaat.” His name turns heads around us, and the man at the booth nods to Saif as well. “Saif, this is India Dellis.”
I introduce the two, not knowing if they’ve met before or not.
“Charmed,” he says, taking her proffered hand like she’s the queen. He dips his head respectfully. Well, he certainly has learned a lot of manners in the last ten years, I’ll give him that.
“The placard over here says you designed this set.” She waves her hand over her shoulder at the jewelry.
“I did. It’s my tribute to the rings of Rio. I was inspired by them sparkling in the sky night and day.”
I hold my surprise in check. When Saif was younger, he wanted very little to do with the family business. He was artistic, but more like drawing cartoon characters and folding paper. Not designing jewelry.
India’s smile is indulgent. “And will you be designing sets for all the planets of the Duo Systems?”
He squeezes my hand. “We’ll have to see what inspires me. If you’ll excuse us.”
He dips his head again and ushers us away.
“Good to see you, India,” I say over my shoulder. Her eyes lock on our hands, and the stare becomes calculating. That can’t be good
.
I wonder what she’s thinking.
Two booths down, I stop in my tracks.
On offer for the auction, a chance to play in the upcoming All Rio Bridge Tournament with Takemo Diaz.
“Wait,” I say, pulling Saif to a stop.
Takemo’s photo is dazzling, his smile worth a million credits. The photo booth shifts to him playing Bridge at a table with other famous people, his lips stern and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Several people are crowded around the booth, inputting bids. Of course, this one will be popular. This crowd is wealthy, and they play cards, usually Bridge, Baccarat, or Poker. But Bridge is more fun for a charity celebrity event because you play it in pairs as a team. The photo changes again and shows Takemo with stats next to him. I bite the inside of my lip. He’s a systemwide first-class player. Winning this would be a serious honor for any player.
I turn around and look at the crowd. I don’t see Takemo here, but he must be. My scalp prickles with awareness. He’s nearby, I’m sure. He wouldn’t miss the opportunity to see who would bid on his item and become his partner for the game.
Saif leans into my ear. “Do you know Takemo Diaz, too?” he whispers. Chills run down my back.
“Yes,” I say, calculating the wealth of my bank account. It won’t be enough. “Yes, I do.”
14
Saif and I head to our table with drinks, and though I’m charmed to be with him, my mind is elsewhere. I need to get this taken care of so I can concentrate on Saif the rest of the night.
He pulls out my chair for me, and my heart skips a beat as I hand my gin and tonic to him.
“Saif, I’m going to run to the ladies’ room before we sit down. Keep my spot for me while I’m gone?”
“Of course,” he says, setting my drink next to his. “Is everything okay? Something changed while we were looking at the auction items.”
“I’m great,” I say, and my smile comes across as manic because he leans away with his eyes wide. I laugh. “Really. I’m fine. Be right back.”
An Unexpected Debt Page 10