Page 98 of Shadows of Stardust

“Alright,” she whispers back, leaning in close. “But I’ve never been a good liar.”

I follow her up onto the hover. It’s nothing more than a stabilized, oval-shaped platform, with a waist-high railing that closes behind us and encircles the perimeter, giving us something to hold on to as it gently lifts off from the beach.

Ros steps to the front of the craft, and I’m right behind her, crowding in close and resting my hands on the railing on either side of her.

I’m sure the hover’s got plenty of integrated safety features to prevent falls or other accidents, but I’m not taking that chance.

Not with her.

Making myself an anchor, I let out a low, approving hum when she leans back against me, resting her back against my chest and glancing up with one brow arched like she knows exactly how protective I’m feeling right now.

Well, that, or she assumes it’s all part of the act, all for the cameras.

And maybe that’s what it should be as two more cams appear to join the first three, setting up an orchestrated orbit to capture our big romantic evening from every conceivable angle.

My skin prickles, and my muscles ache to wrap even more securely around her, shield her from their view, keep all those prying eyes away.

But that’s not why we’re here.

We’re here to put on a show.

To give all these cameras and all the billions who’ll be watching something to remember.

Only, I’ve got nothing. No pretty words, no grand declarations, nothing to endear us to a universe of viewers.

Sella may as well have asked me to sprout wings and fly.

I’m still wracking my brain for something charming to say as the hover climbs higher, and Roslyn sucks in a soft gasp at the change in view.

With the sun setting over the distant mountains, the lush expanse of Eritin jungle stretching wide before us, the deep blue twilight sea behind, I pull her closer and admire that view right alongside her, all thoughts of strategy forgotten for the moment.

Ros’s eyes are wide as she takes it all in, their emerald wonder even more brilliant than the trees.

As far as Mate Match dates go, I suppose we could have done worse.

With a soft hydraulic whoosh, a compartment on the floor of the hover opens and a small pillar table rises beside us. From it, another hidden door opens and two glasses of the promised sparkling wine rise from inside.

Roslyn huffs a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Fancy.”

I take one and hand it to her before reaching for my own. A soft clink, and we both take a sip, the bright, tart, fizzing taste of it a perfect complement to the splendor of the evening.

A few more minutes pass while we sip and cruise in companionable silence, and I can’t think of a single damn thing to say that would improve that silence at all. As far as I’m concerned, just being here, with her, constitutes everything I could ask for in a date, even while the cameras continue to circle and I can imagine the disappointed look on Sella’s face as we give them absolutely nothing.

That prickling feeling is back, the cloying need to salvage this, and I open my mouth—about to say something inane and idiotic, most likely—when Roslyn speaks.

“Sometimes…” she begins, and I nearly sigh with relief that she has the courage to go first. “Sometimes this place reminds me of Earth.”

“Do you remember it well?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. I left when I was just a kid. But I remember it having a lot of trees.”

Despite my offer of lying our way through this conversation, I somehow know she’s not. And I don’t like it, not one bit.

Not the fact that I suspect she’s telling the truth, but who she’s telling it to.

The memory of that night in the bungalow—the one where she finally told me what brought her here—is a shadow at the edge of my mind. Roslyn’s honesty. Her tears. Her devastation.

She didn’t owe me her vulnerability then, and she doesn’t owe it to the rest of the universe now.

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