by Amira Rain
After a short while of listening to very distant sounds of traffic coming from the busy city streets far below, I finally spoke. “So... So, you still want me to make a choice about staying here or going to a parallel Detroit? Me telling you the real reason I volunteered to be frozen didn’t change that at all?”
Jackson turned his gaze from the sky to my face, stern expression softening. “No, it didn’t at all. And yes. I still want you to make a choice about staying or going back. Take your three days to think it over. But same as I told you yesterday, I want you to make that choice based on whatever you think will make you happiest. I wasn’t kidding when I said that my desire to have an heir had taken a backseat to your happiness; it truly has. I’d love to have an heir, yes, and specifically with you. But I want you to be content with your life more. Wherever that life is.”
I nodded, suddenly a bit misty-eyed for some reason. Turning my head to the side, I tried to swallow a lump in my throat without much success. Vaguely embarrassed by my sudden display of emotion in response to what Jackson had said, I stared at the balcony railing, blinking back the moisture in my eyes. I hadn’t even blinked twice, though, before I felt Jackson’s large hands on my shoulders, gently pulling me toward him. I let myself be pulled, and gladly, wanting him to hold me right then, wanting me to wrap me tightly in his arms, needing it.
He didn’t disappoint. For a few minutes, he just held me to his hard chest, smoothing my hair and rocking me almost imperceptibly, not speaking. With my eyes drying against his shirt, I didn’t speak, either; it seemed neither of us needed to. It seemed like we were communicating something unspoken while we embraced, though I wasn’t even sure what. All I knew was that even in the midst of the anxiety I felt about the choice I had to make, I felt safe, and content, and cared for. And for that moment, that was all I needed. I’d debate the pros and cons of a life in D.C. to one in a parallel Detroit later.
When Jackson’s phone began going off, I stifled a groan. With my face against his chest, allowing me to breathe in his masculine, woodsy scent deeply, I really could have remained in his arms for the next hour. But it was one of his lieutenants calling, and there was a skirmish with some of Drago’s men just to the north of city limits. Jackson had to go. And maybe that was best. Now that I’d given myself a three-day time limit, I knew I had some serious thinking to do, and I knew that in Jackson’s arms was probably not the best place to try to make a clearheaded decision.
After giving me a light kiss on the mouth, he said he’d try to check in with me as soon as he could. “Though if you don’t want me to check in with you over the next few days, I understand that, too. I understand if you think us spending any more time together will only make you feel more conflicted and get in the way of you making the decision that’s right for you.”
Conflicted right then, I took my time in responding. “I-I’m really not sure, I guess. I do want to spend time with you, but...”
But I was afraid of lust clouding my judgment, to be honest.
Jackson gave me another light kiss, letting his lips linger on mine a little longer this time, though. “I understand. But call me if you need me. And maybe I’ll still check in by phone.”
I said okay, and he soon left, leaving me alone out on the balcony.
Because the gardens were sixty-some floors above the ground, a stiff wind was always whipping across the balcony, but despite this, it was still warm on this particular day, and I spent maybe a half-hour sitting out in a lounge chair, just thinking and watching Jackson’s men circle the skies. Eventually, I realized I was relieved. Relieved that Jackson hadn’t seen my actions pre-freezing the same way that I had, and relieved that he still wanted me to make a choice, and presumably, the choice to stay in D.C.
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure about that, though, that he wanted me to make the choice to stay in D.C. Or, I was, at least on a cerebral level. I knew he wanted me to stay in D.C.; he could have encouraged me to go back home in the time machine that very day, no decision needed, if he didn’t. But while I appreciated his consideration of my wants and my happiness, there was a tiny part of me that almost was beginning to feel like he was being too polite about the whole thing, if that was even the right way to describe it. Too something.
It wasn’t as if I wanted him to get on his knees and beg me to stay in D.C. or anything; I didn’t. And I did truly appreciate his encouragement for me to do what I wanted. But I just wanted something else from him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Just, more, maybe. Though more of exactly what, I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe just more of an indication from him that he really wanted me to stay. Though at the same time, I realized that I was glad he wasn’t trying to manipulate me or beg me to stay with him in D.C. either.
Once back up in my apartment to eat lunch, my thoughts turned toward my mom, and other people I’d loved back in Detroit. I’d recalled that I’d had many family members and friends who were all very special to me, and I contemplated how wonderful it would be to see these people again, and see my home again, and to see it the way it had been before the nuclear explosion. The way it would stay if I went back through a parallel that would make it so.
It was tempting. It was unbelievably tempting. It actually gave me butterflies just to think about returning back home to the place and time I remembered, the place and time where my mom hadn’t been killed in a nuclear blast, and a place and time where Drago Stone didn’t even exist, by any name.
Though at the same time, even as my butterflies whirled, it made me feel somehow sick to think about how if I chose this option, I’d never see Jackson again. It made me feel nauseated to think about how entering the parallel would even erase all memories of him from my mind. I’d continue on with my life in “normal” Detroit, where a nuclear blast would never happen, not ever remembering that I’d once been frozen, had been thawed, and had developed feelings for a man who was a dragon shifter. Not to mention that I’d never remember the night of passion we’d shared, or the near-soul-shattering heights of ecstasy that dragon shifter had brought me to.
I wasn’t sure how I was ever going to make a decision. My feelings of being conflicted were amplified further still when I realized, while eating lunch, that if I did choose to remain in D.C., eventually I would be pressured to produce an heir for Jackson. And maybe not even pressured by him, directly, so much as pressured by his people, the nation as a whole. They wanted an heir for their commander-in-chief, and sooner or later, I’d be questioned as to why I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, deliver. Maybe I’d even be disliked, maybe even hated.
But I knew myself well enough by now to know that I’d never have a child with someone I wasn’t in a committed relationship with, someone I didn’t have a future with as a couple. Despite the praise from the citizens of the UFS that bearing an heir would surely bring me, it would never be enough for me to just be the frozen woman who’d become impregnated by Commander Wallace. I could imagine it even hurting me, probably even deeply, to be just that to him.
Celeste had pointed out that a child could bring two people together, and I knew she was right, of course. I knew it was possible that bearing Jackson’s heir might lead to a long-term romantic relationship between us. But I just couldn’t be sure. And the prospect of finding out and having that not be the case, scared me. I couldn’t imagine having a child with him, possibly developing even stronger feelings for him during the process, and then having to deal with him possibly having romantic relationships with other women. Even if none of them could ever give him a child like I could, I knew it would still cut me to the quick to think about Jackson in bed with anyone but me. It was causing a little ache in my chest just to think about it at present, and he and I had only slept together once.
I wanted to talk to someone, specifically a female someone. But Irene, although I appreciated her friendship, just didn’t seem like quite right to spill my angst to her. And Celeste was still recovering and experiencing her own emotional turmoil about what had ha
ppened on the balcony, I was sure. And other than them, I really hadn’t had the chance to make any other female friends. So, since a heart-to-heart with anyone wouldn’t be happening, and since I didn’t want to mope around in my apartment all day, I decided to go shopping at the many stores and boutiques in the lower levels of The Arch. Though once I made my way down in the elevator, shopping wasn’t exactly what happened.
CHAPTER 12
Once I stepped out the elevator doors and onto the twentieth floor, I knew something was up. The twentieth floor of the northern side of The Arch was like a shopping mall within The Arch, with a wide corridor bisecting all the stores and an elevator bay on one end. Immediately upon my arrival, a group of about a dozen women waiting in the bay made some sort of a collective gasp. Then collectively fell silent, and began speaking in hushed, yet excited, tones. Strolling by them on my way to the shopping corridor, trying to act casual, even though I felt a bit self-conscious, I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but I did make out one word said repeatedly: her. And then, just after I’d entered the corridor with the group of women behind me, I was able to clearly hear one of them hissing in a stage whisper.
“Yes, it’s really her! That’s Vivian Mason.”
Now I couldn’t help but feel fully ruffled, not knowing exactly why she was of such special significance on this particular day. I’d attracted attention while out and about in The Arch before, sure, but not quite on this level. Though I was soon to find out just exactly why.
Being that it was a Saturday, the mall was packed. It was one of the few places in The Arch that regular, non-UFS-affiliated, non-Arch resident citizens of the city could go, so really, this was as “out in public” as I could ever go without leaving The Arch itself. And after the scene at the elevator bay, it really felt like it. As I darted into a clothing boutique, I wished I’d taken the time to do something with my hair other than just pull it back in a ponytail.
After a few quick minutes spent browsing, during which time a small crowd entered the boutique, seeming to be watching me, I found a pale yellow, cap-sleeved spring top I liked and was reasonably sure would fit me, and I brought it up to the cash register. A smiling older woman with snow-white hair and bright blue eyes rang me up, and it was only then, idiotically, that I reached a hand in my purse and realized that I didn’t have any money. I didn’t even have a wallet.
I looked up at the blue-eyed woman, face flaming. “I’m so sorry. I-I don’t have any money, or credit cards, or anything on me. I guess I-I didn’t think this shopping trip through very well.”
That was for sure. I didn’t even know what kind of currency was even used in the United Free States. I was sure it wasn’t American dollar bills anymore, not that I even had any of those, anyway.
But the smiling, blue-eyed woman just smiled even bigger, handing me my bag. “Your purchase will be billed to Commander Wallace, of course. As I would guess all your purchases will be for the rest of your life.”
I took the bag, cheeks cooling a degree. “Oh.”
Next I ducked into a jewelry and accessories store, with the small crowd of other shoppers still seeming to follow me, though they kept a fair distance away. Feeling funny, and about more than one thing, I perused a few of the different racks and display cases in the store, quickly deciding on a trio of thin, silver-plated bangle bracelets, each of them engraved with a different, intricate design. By the time I brought them up to the two young women at the cash register, some of the people in the crowd milling around the store had gone from casting furtive glances at me to outright staring. Even though loud pop music was playing in the store, I could still pick up a hum of excited conversation from the people who were now staring. My face, which hadn’t really cooled much since I’d left the clothing boutique, was now in full flames again.
Managing a smile, I handed the bracelets to the older of the two young women, who looked to be about twenty, maybe. The younger of the two was really more of a girl than a young woman; she couldn’t have been much older than twelve or thirteen, far too young to be a salesclerk, I would have thought. With a smattering of freckles across her tiny, pert nose, she surveyed me, wide-eyed, while the older clerk rang me up. And after a long moment or two, she spoke.
“It’s true what everyone says. You’re super pretty.”
I gave the young girl a smile, embarrassed, but pleased at the same time. “Well, you’re kind to say that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Hey, what kind of shampoo do you use? And what kind of lip gloss? I like how your lips are so shiny and pink. What exact shade of pink is your lip gloss?”
Pulling a printed receipt out of the cash register, the older salesclerk shot the much younger one a clear warning look, but I didn’t mind answering the question.
“Well, I actually just wear a dab of clear petroleum jelly on my lips most of the time.”
The freckled girl leaned across the counter, chin on fists. “Oh. Well, what shade and brand is your eyeshadow? That’s pretty awesome, too.”
“Well, the brand, I’m not sure, but I think the shade is called ‘toasty taupe.’”
“Sweet. I’m gonna buy some.”
The girl paused, and I thought she was done with her questioning. I thought she was.
“Is it true that you’re pregnant with Commander Wallace’s baby already?”
Shocked into some sort of a choking fit, I coughed into the crook of my arm while the older salesclerk yanked the younger one aside by the arm.
“You. Stockroom. Now. And if you don’t go, I’ll tell Mom and Dad what you asked Miss Mason.”
“But I just—”
“Now. Or else you’ll never be allowed to come with me to work ever again.”
Frowning, the freckle-nosed girl pulled her arm free from her sister’s, then began backing out of the counter area, toward a room I presumed was the stockroom, giving me a little wave. “Bye. It was nice to meet you, Miss Mason. I’m gonna look for your same kind of cool eyeshadow.”
I’d recovered from my choking fit well enough by this point to give her a little wave in return, saying that it had been nice to meet her, too. I even managed a little smile, still shocked by her intrusive question, but not holding it against her. Whether older preteen or young teen, she was still a child, after all, and I could hardly blame a child for getting a little too carried away and personal with a line of questioning. Her sister, however, could.
After handing me my receipt, saying my purchase would be billed to Commander Wallace, she began apologizing, her creamy ivory skin flushed a fairly bright shade of pink. “Sorry about that. Sorry about her. Her and probably everyone else you’ve come across today. See, it’s just that everyone has been pretty excited about the possibility of Commander Wallace having an heir, and everyone was pretty buzzed up when you survived your thawing, and then everyone heard about how you saved Celeste Williams from being attacked by Drago Stone yesterday, and it just made everyone kind of... crazier about you than everyone even was before, even though not many people have really even met you yet, and so...”
The young woman paused to blow her bangs off her forehead. “I don’t know. It just seems like everyone’s really gotten ‘heir fever’ and ‘Vivian Mason fever’ all of a sudden. I know it must be weird for you, and I’m really sorry if my little sister just made it even weirder. That was so unbelievably rude of her.”
After I’d assured the young woman that I’d surely live, and even found her little sister charming, making her smile, she grabbed a pair of large black sunglasses from a counter-top rack by the cash register and handed them to me. “Here. On the house. Maybe you could try wearing them shopping if you want to try to disguise yourself, because something just tells me you might be getting the ‘rock star’ treatment all day, and probably even forever.”
I smiled, putting the sunglasses on. “Thank you. I think I’ll definitely use these.” I then reached into my shopping bag, pulled out two of the three silver bangle bracelets, and
handed them to her. “One for you, and one for your sister. Tell your sister that this is so she and I can match.”
I soon exited the store wearing my sunglasses, about five dozen people trailing behind me. I didn’t go to any more stores. I boarded an elevator at the mall, then transferred to one of the private, guarded elevators, which took me back up to my apartment. I’d had enough “rock star” treatment for the day, though that wasn’t even the main thing that had made me feel funny. The “rock star” treatment I was sure would fade in time if I continued living in D.C., and if it didn’t, I was sure I’d grow used to it. But the main thing that had made me feel funny during my shopping trip had been the whole charge-it-to-Commander-Wallace’s-account thing.
I wouldn’t have minded it, would have probably even thoroughly appreciated it, if the two of us were married, or engaged, or in a very long-term, committed relationship. But as it was, with us not being in any of those relationships, it had just felt wrong, no other way to put it. I’d almost felt like some kind of a high-priced “kept woman,” although in my case, I was really much more of a “kept womb,” as bizarre as that sounded, even to me as I thought it in my head.
I knew Jackson wouldn’t want me to feel that way, and I knew it wasn’t his intent for me to feel that way, but I couldn’t help it. I still did. I really didn’t know who wouldn’t.
Now, after my experience shopping, I really wanted to talk to Celeste. But when I called Irene at the hospital to ask how she was feeling, and if she’d been discharged yet, Irene said that she just had been, and that she was doing just fine, but that she’d asked to be alone for the rest of the day.
“If I’m reading my granddaughter right, and I think I am, I think she’s just licking a few wounds from almost being killed by that nasty Drago Stone. She’s just upset that she couldn’t fight him off, like one of the men could do. Or, well like you did for that matter! Though I know she’s not upset with you, specifically, for what you did, just grateful. She’s just mad at herself and the world, I think. But don’t worry; we’ll just give her a day or two of alone time, and she’ll come around. I’m sure she’ll be trying to rope you into another crazy scheme of hers in no time.”