Page 60 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“I was at war,” I say simply. “There was no time for such observations.”
Her hand finds mine, her fingers intertwining with my larger ones. “And the next time? Seven years from now?”
The question carries weight beyond its surface meaning. Seven years. A commitment. A future extending beyond the present moment.
“I will watch it with you,” I tell her, the words a vow more binding than any formal treaty. “If you wish it.”
“I wish it,” she confirms softly. “I wish for a lot more seven-years-from-nows with you, actually. If that’s not too presumptuous for a crashed courier who turned your whole fortress upside down.”
I turn to face her fully, framed against the cosmic display beyond the viewport. In this light, the gold flecks in her eyes seem to capture the very stars themselves.
“You are no longer a courier who crashed,” I tell her, cupping her face between my palms. “You are Suki of Zater Reach. My diplomatic attaché. My logistics advisor. My...” I pause, searching for the right word in a language not designed for such sentiments.
“Your essential variable?” she suggests, her smile gentle.
“Yes.” I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers in the Zaterran gesture of deepest intimacy. “Mine. As I am yours.”
Her breath catches, and I feel the slight tremor that passes through her body. “That sounds suspiciously like a proposal, First Blade.”
“It is a statement of fact,” I correct her. “But if you require formal recognition of our bond, I am prepared to submit the necessary documentation to the Council of Elders.”
She laughs, the sound muffled against my chest as she wraps her arms around me. “Only you could make ‘I want to marry you’ sound like a military operation.” She looks up, her eyes bright with emotion and mischief. “But yes. Submit away. Make it official. Just don’t expect me to take your name if it involves seventeen syllables and a clicking sound I physically can’t make.”
“D’Vorr has only two syllables,” I inform her with mock severity. “Well within human vocal capabilities.”
“Suki D’Vorr,” she tests the sound, her head tilted consideringly. “It has a certain ring to it. Very intimidating. I could stamp it on all those requisition forms I keep having to approve.”
“You would retain your authority regardless of nomenclature,” I assure her, recognizing her teasing for the deflection it is. Suki often retreats to humor when emotions threaten to overwhelm her—a trait I have come to anticipate and accommodate.
“I know,” she says more seriously. “You’ve never once tried to limit me or change me. Even when I drive you crazy with my ‘chaotic human tendencies,’ as Vex’ra calls them.”
“Those tendencies have proven... valuable,” I admit. “If occasionally disruptive.”
“Disruptive is my middle name,” she declares proudly. “Actually, it’s Elaine, but that’s way less impressive.”
I file this new information away—another small piece of her past she has shared, another fragment of the complex being who has become the center of my existence.
“Suki Elaine D’Vorr,” I say carefully, testing the full name. “It is acceptable.”
“Gee, thanks,” she laughs, but her eyes shine with unshed tears. “Just acceptable?”
“Perfect,” I amend, drawing her closer. “As are you.”
She rises on her toes, and I bend to meet her halfway, our lips meeting in a kiss that feels both familiar and new. After three years, I know the taste of her, the way her body fits against mine, the small sounds she makes when pleasure overtakes her. Yet each time remains a revelation, a moment of connection that transcends the physical.
When we part, she is breathless, her cheeks flushed with color. “You know, for someone who claims to be bad with words, you do okay when it counts.”
“I have had an excellent teacher in emotional expression,” I acknowledge, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Though I doubt I will ever match your eloquence.”
“My eloquence?” She snorts. “You mean my ability to swear in seven different languages when something goes wrong with the hydroponics system?”
“Your ability to speak truth, regardless of convention or consequence,” I correct her. “It is a rare quality, and one I have come to value above all others.”
She studies me for a long moment, her expression softening. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“I do not say what I do not mean,” I remind her. “It would be inefficient.”
“Heaven forbid we be inefficient,” she teases, but her smile is tender. “So, future husband, what happens now? Do we have to perform some kind of ritual? Exchange blood oaths? Defeat a rival in combat?”
