Page 8 of Alien Wants A Wife

“Lid-ee-a. Lyd-i-a. Lydia.” I practice. “Har— Har-lee.”

“Yeah,” Lydia agrees. “I see you’re dressed in scales, too.”

“Too?” I glance down at myself. I am not dressed in anything, except for my boots.

There is silence as we all stare at me, then?—

“Cut!” John Smith strides down the stairs, taking them two at a time. “What was that?” he demands of everyone, his two hands on his hips.

“I don’t get it,” Lydia mutters to Harlee. “Why dress in Halloween costumes?”

Harlee makes ashhhsound. Noticing me watching them both, she stretches the corners of her mouth upwards, displaying two single rows of white, blunt teeth.

Again, I copy, opening my mouth so she can see my many rows of very sharp teeth. Will this impress her? Mayhaps Humans find teeth attractive rather than threatening.

Instead of scales, her skin is smooth and incredibly pale, almost comparable to starlight. In comparison, she has dark hairs on her head that fall in a sheet down her back, with a few pieces cut shorter at the front to frame her face. The two rows of hairs on her forehead are also black, as are the small hairs that wreathe each of her eyes.

Her eyes— I lean closer, trying to judge their colour. Her pupils are much rounder than any Ril’os eyes, and they expand further as she stares at me. Her irises are an intense brown, ringed in black and highlighted with specks of… gold?

Yes, gold.

She flinches when I show her my teeth and hastily looks away, avoiding meeting my eyes.

“What a lot of wet blankets you all are,” John Smith scolds, pointing to each of us. “This is the first time you’re meetingHumans,” he tells Killan and I. “And this is your first time meeting?—”

“Aliens?” Harlee finishes for him.

“Yes!” The Drah’os Male practically screams.

“Riiighttt…” Lydia drags the word out, seemingly unbothered by John Smith’s display of temper. “How negotiable is the alien theme?” Lydia presses. “Because I’m not sure sci-fi nerd is the image I was hoping to cultivate here.”

“What is asi-fi ner-d?” I ask, confused by the words that don’t translate. Confused, if I am being honest, by a lot more.

Nobody bothers answering me.

“Non-negotiable!” John Smith barks at Lydia.

This is not how I had imagined the filming of a reality broadcast to proceed—with so much yelling and interruptions by the director. But mayhaps it is only like this at the beginning… Mayhaps when we grow more accustomed to being filmed there will be less and less supervision.

I give an internal nod at this thought. Yes, that must be how things work. All the episodes of the previous seasons of LOVE GALAXY I have watched showed the participants interacting without disruption. They were given the privilege of time together to get to know one another.

“Chloe—” Harlee addresses the commentator as Chloe pokes her head around the bend in the stairs to see what is holding us up.

“You’re doing great.” She gives Harlee a little finger wiggle, followed by a flash of her flat teeth. “Love that dress.” Then Chloe ducks back out of sight.

“It’s not great—” Harlee begins to call after her, but John Smith rests a heavy hand on her shoulder, and she sinks an inch under the weight of his hold.

“I don’t have time for your conniptions,” he scolds. “You were told all about thealien’—he says that word as if it disgustshim—‘theme this morning and had plenty of time to air your grievances then. Now, let’s focus on the filming. I’ve got a lot of work to get through today, and we’re already running late.” To complete his point, he glances at the screen of his datapad, checking the time.

I reach across the table and slide his hand off Harlee’s shoulder. Has he not noticed how uncomfortable she is?

Immediately, Harlee straightens, rubbing at the back of her neck.

Oblivious, John Smith says, “Now, introduce yourselves properly. Flirt, banter, laugh. Hahaha.” And he demonstrates, sounding anything but amused. “Sorin will be down in a moment, if he can manage the stairs without falling over. Then I’ll send down”—he waves a dismissive hand through the air—“whatever her name is.”

“Briar,” Harlee offers, but John Smith is already retreating back up the stairs, eager to continue filming. Before he moves from our sight, he glances over his shoulder “Flirt harder!” Then he is gone, and we are left listening to his retreating footsteps up the final steps.

We return to our seats.

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