CHAPTER 30

“S o, are you and Mitchell, like, getting married, popping out a few gorgeous superhuman babies, and living happily ever after, or what?”

I drop my spoon. It clatters on the stainless steel tabletop in a splatter of broth. There has been entirely too much talk of marriage in the last twenty-four hours.

Tori’s sitting across the table, in handcuffs, sipping a bowl of soup. No one knows what to do with her. We can’t trust her, but we don’t want to send her to prison or abandon her to Hack Town. She’s just sort of hanging out for now. In chains.

Asking me about marriage and babies.

Tori rolls her eyes. “What? My empathy mods are back online, so don’t bother lying.” She lowers her bowl to the table and tilts her head toward me, eyebrows raised. “It’s obvious you two are a lot more than just friends with benefits. And his dad bought you as his bride, didn’t he? I mean, the whole marriage alliance thing weirds me out, but it’s what you nobles do, right?”

Usually, I appreciate Tori’s honesty. But right now, her questions are a hammer driving the nail of worry straight into my already spinning head. Plus, it’s freaking annoying the way she’s trying to act all buddy-buddy after she betrayed me .

I glare across the table. “First, there have been no benefits so far, besides him saving me from being auctioned to my dad. Second, I’d like to taste my twentieth birthday cake before a slice of my own wedding cake, thank you very much. And as for Mitchell’s dad…” I don’t know what to say about the whole House de la Cruz and House Konstantin thing because the details of the deal are something Mitchell and I still need to discuss.

When we returned to the ship, I had a teary reunion with Sam, in which I cried all over him as if I were the kid who had a gun held to my head, while he stoically patted my back like he was the mature adult between the two of us. As soon as he felt it was polite, he wriggled out of my hug and challenged me to a game of Sliders.

So at least he’s not traumatized.

Then Dr. Reid examined me and Tori with her creepily incredible all-seeing eyes. She confirmed that the kidnappers dealt with our mod sickness, removed our tracking chips, and had my shoulder and Tori’s blaster wound repaired while the surgeons were at it. Later, she’ll perform some surgery of her own to deal with my compulsion implant.

At the moment, Ballga’s putting Sam to bed and Mitchell’s escorting Dr. Reid back to her clinic. Which doesn’t make me jealous at all.

Wait .

I’m not lying to myself anymore. I’m immature as hell and it totally does make me jealous, even though I know there’s nothing going on between them. I can admit my feelings to myself and still behave like a mature adult toward Dr. Reid, who, in actuality, is amazing .

I sigh and glance back at Tori. “I don’t know what’s going on with Mitchell’s dad,” I admit, lifting my dropped spoon and tapping an agitated clink-k-clink rhythm against the rim of the bowl. “The only thing I know is, I’ve got to face this. Whatever this is. I can’t keep running from my problems.”

Tori snorts. “Being stupidly wealthy, insanely powerful, and in love with one of the only decent human beings in the Federation doesn’t seem like that big of a—”

The lounge door hisses behind me. I stop tapping. Tori takes one glance toward the door, shuts her mouth, and grins at me.

So I think I know who just walked in.

The butterflies go crazy in my stomach as my heart revs from walking pace to preparing-for-a-cliff-dive.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” Tori announces, scooting out of her place on the banquette. “Can I leave my dishes for you, Gee?” She raises her hands and jangles the cuffs in explanation, but I know she’s just getting out of the way so Mitchell and I can talk.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’ll deal.”

Tori hurries out of the room in a blur of pink hair and black poly-suit as Mitchell steps past her.

The captain is gorgeous, as always. Tall and broad-shouldered and hazel-eyed. His freshly shaved jaw cuts a tantalizing hard line above his muscular neck. Wet-dark hair that’s been slicked through with a comb has started to dry and stick up in places. As he steps toward me, I get a breath of pine soap.

Only my nerves over what we need to discuss keep me from jumping him. That and my resolution not to use sex to avoid my problems anymore.

“Hey,” I say, forcing my hand not to drum a counter-rhythm to the raging heartbeat that’s pounding through my veins and itching to come out my fingertips.

“Hey.” Mitchell smiles. His eyes flick over me as he comes to stand by the table.

I squirm under his gaze. I’m back in my usual crop top and leggings, but the long hair tickling my midriff is new. I’ve pulled up the sides and left the other half down, like I used to before the Underground. By the way Mitchell’s smile ticks up as he looks at me, I think he likes it.

He clears his throat. “You finished?”

I nod, too nervous to say more.

Mitchell swipes my dishes, piles them atop Tori’s with a clink, then carries the stacked bowls to the sink .

I watch his back as he dumps the leftovers into the ship’s composting unit and turns on the faucet. The hair he shaved when we got to Hack Town hasn’t yet grown over the triple plugs at the base of his skull. I resist the urge to go to him and run my fingers through the short fuzz at his nape and up over the rounded ridges of those plugs. If I get too close, I’m going to chicken out on this discussion and break my no-sex-before-talking resolution less than twenty-four hours after making it.

Mitchell’s shoulders are stiff under a clean cotton T-shirt. He doesn’t talk as water hisses into the sink, nor as the dispenser spits soap onto his sponge. When he’s placed the last of the dishes in the drying rack, taking more care than necessary to arrange the bowls in perfect order, he still doesn’t turn to face me, just sighs and stands there, looking at the empty sink.

Maybe he’s as nervous as I am.

He’s been so brave for me. I can force myself to be the brave one on this. My heartbeat kicks up another notch as I take a deep breath.

“So, are we going to talk?”

Mitchell grabs a dishcloth and wipes his hands as he finally turns to meet my gaze. “Yeah.” He sighs. “I wish you could rest first, but we’ve got decisions to make before the delegation arrives.”

Decisions .

Delegation .

I thought my heart was already racing at top speed, but no. Those two words drive it into a thundering gallop. Decision and delegation sound like responsible-grown-up-Heir-of-House-de-la-Cruz words.

But I promised myself I wouldn’t be a coward this time around.

Instead of sliding into the seat Tori vacated, Mitchell kneels on the floor in front of me, resting one arm on the table and one hand on a muscular thigh.

“Gemma, you know I’m not going to turn you over to them, right?”

I sigh. I know he’s expecting us to run together, after the kiss and the talk of a relationship. And the thought of running again, but not alone, of playing family with Mitchell and Sam and Granny Cat on the ship that’s come to feel like home… it makes me ache with the longing to defy my resolution. But this is bigger than me and what I want.

“My brother and an entourage of Konstantin delegates are to rendezvous with a de la Cruz diplomatic vessel tonight and escort them to Hack Town. They’ll be here in less than twenty-four hours. Time is going to be tight, but we’ll get you out of here before they arrive. We just need to—”

“Mitchell—”

The captain is so focused on explaining his plan that he keeps going. “We just need to get that compulsion implant out of you. Agatha’s preparing the operating room right now. She says—”

“Mitchell—”

“She says it’ll be a delicate job. But if she can’t fully remove it, she can at least deactivate the thing. After that, we’ll get you safe passage.” He rakes a hand through his damp hair. “Alpha Quadrant’s about as far as we can get you in human-controlled space, but I think the safest place would be Beta. I’ve got contacts there. People we can trust. Or there’s—”

“Hey! Captain Commando!” I press my hand on his, raising my voice to snap him out of his monologue. “This isn’t a one man show, here.”

“Sorry.” He looks chagrined. “I just want to make sure you’re safe. Of course it’s your choice. Where did you want to go, after Oralia? What did you want to do?”

I breathe deep. I have to tell him. But the knowledge that I’m about to destroy my chance at happiness makes it hurt to speak every syllable I force out. “It’s not me who needs to get out of here before the delegation arrives, Mitchell. It’s…” I swallow. Take another breath. “It’s you. You, Ballga, Sam. And if you’d be willing to take her, then Tori, too. I—”

“Wait. Gemma. What? What about—?” Mitchell’s brow furrows deep as he cocks his head at me in confusion. The angle emphasizes the drying tufts of hair sticking up in awkward places around his head, and it’s so endearing that I almost can’t bear to force out my next words.

“I’ve… I’ve never wanted anything more than to go with you. Try this whole… relationship thing.” I brace for the pain that’s about to stab my heart. The hurt that’s going to appear on Mitchell’s face. “But I can’t.”

“I know.” Mitchell’s not as shocked as I expected. He looks sad, but like he was anticipating this. He draws in a breath at the same time as I do.

“I have to go back to my House.” Mitchell and I speak the same words at the same time, in a weird kind of echoing stereo.

Then we stare at each other, both of us with our mouths agape.

It takes me a full second to process what’s going on here, despite my now-fully-functional mods. I replay all the things he’s been saying while I’ve been trying to interrupt. “We’ll get you safe passage… as far as we can get you in human controlled space…”

I guess he’s not the only one who wasn’t fully listening. The “we,” combined with my assumptions, had me thinking he meant both of us. But now it’s clear.

“You weren’t planning to run with me at all! You were planning to go back. Hold the delegation off like some one-man-martyr against a whole fucking army of the enemy, weren’t you?”

Mitchell glances away and then back before he nods. “You’ll have a better chance if you have more time. I can throw them off your trail.”

The selfless idiot!

“No!” I shake my head. “I’m going back. You need to run.”

“Wait a minute. Gemma, that makes no sense. Your dad’s not going to sit idly by and watch his empire crumble. You’d be going back to impending war between your father and House de la Cruz. And your family would expect that compulsion abomination to be in your head. We’d have to—” He bites back what he was going to say and shakes his head. “You can’t, Gemma. It’s—”

“Look, I know it’s not going to be easy.” I cut Mitchell off before he can convince me, because the very present part of me that lacks willpower, that caves to what feels good in the moment, urges me to give in and run. Beg Mitchell to come with me. But I can’t. I’m done running.

I sigh. “You’re right. My planet’s on the brink of civil war. That’s one of the reasons I have to go back. I can’t abandon Varus to a war that will be felt hardest by people like Sam. And you’re right that things with my family are going to be complicated. But I have a real opportunity to change things. I can’t run from that.”

Mitchell’s expression has gone from befuddled to soft. He curls the hand I’m lightly touching around mine to grip it, looking in my eyes .

“Gemma, you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. You’re caring. You’re kind. You put others before yourself even when you’re trying your best to act all badass and thick-skinned.” He cracks a half-smile, but it quickly fades. “Those are the things I—I admire most about you. But this? You’d be going back to the exact same situation that drove you to Delirium. You’d be—”

“I know.” He’s hit on the weak spot in my plan. The thing I’m not so sure about. Can I stay clean, going back into the very same circumstances that drove me to drug use? The parties and the gilding and the greed? I don’t know. But I put on a confident facade. “It’s going to be different, this time. This time, I have a purpose.”

“Your purpose could be your music. You could start a new life. Use your talent to help people without putting yourself in danger.”

I shake my head even as my heart swells because I know he believes my music really can help people. It’s not enough. Before I can help others through my music, I need to heal. And I know now I’ll never do that by running. To heal, I need to face my problems. Face my past.

Tears sting my eyes. “Mitchell, I… I’ve been running since the day my grandparents died. I thought I was powerless back then, thought there was nothing I could do to change things. But the auction made me realize I’m never completely powerless. There was something I could do to affect the outcome, even under compulsion. And there’s something I can do now. I’m going home. Taking the first small step toward making things right. And when I get there, I’ll find out what the next step is, no matter how small, and I’ll take that step, too.”

Mitchell’s eyes are as damp as mine, but his lip quirks up. “Once you’ve decided you want something, you really can’t be stopped, can you?” He laughs. “That’s another thing I admire about you. Ever since that fruit.” He lifts my hand and kisses it. “The thing is, Gemma, it’s… it’s complicated. During the auction—” He hesitates, takes in a breath like he’s about to rephrase, then puffs it back out.

He squeezes my hand and then releases it as he rises to his feet. “The thing is…” He starts pacing back and forth in front of the table, rubbing his palms on his thighs, a glimpse of the nerves he’s learned to repress finally showing, for once.

And I think I know exactly what’s making him anxious enough to show his twitchy side when he never has before.

“During the auction—”

He closes his mouth over the words again.

It’s not as much of a shock to me as he apparently thinks it’s going to be. I’ve got to put the poor man out of his misery. But my heartrate kicks up a notch as I watch his nervous movements. I guess we’re both scared to voice the obvious. The thing I’ve been turning over and over, suspecting it since we got back to the ship.

Yet another fear to face.

I drum the surface of the table, fingers matching my heartbeat as I force out the words. “During the auction, you worked a deal.” I tap-tap-tap a finger on the stainless steel tabletop. “Your House gets you.” Tap-tap. “Mine gets me…” Another tap. “That’s not enough to convince two of the most powerful families in the Federation to trust each other.” I force my palms flat on the metal surface so my rhythm comes to a sudden stop with one final smack. I’ve just got to say it. “We’re engaged, aren’t we?”

He stops pacing and looks up, expression stunned, like some kind of big, muscley bird caught in the headlights of a hovercar. Then he recovers and nods. “I never intended to hold you to it. I meant for you to run.”

Selfless idiot. Of course he did. It takes effort not to roll my eyes.

“If you stay, it gets… it gets complicated.”

Only if he pushes ahead with this idiocy. But there’s no need for him to stay and play martyr now.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated.” I try to sound calm and confident, even though it’s going to rip my heart in half to say goodbye. “Varus is my home world. This isn’t your fight. Your job is to keep Sam safe. Give him the future he deserves. Give yourself the future you deserve. Whatever plan you had for me, whatever contacts you have in Beta Quadrant, use them for yourself. Get out of here before your brother arrives. I’ll meet the delegation. Buy you the head start you need to disappear.”

“But, Gemma. It is my fight.” He straightens like a soldier at attention, about to take the blame for a mission gone wrong. “ You are not responsible for what your family has done. But me? I’m directly responsible for millions of deaths. I’m the one who needs to go back. Back to House Konstantin. To my father. To the military.”

“You said the military was bullshit. You said you hated your father.”

“It is bullshit. And I do hate my father. But it wasn’t either of those things that made me run. It was… it was the guilt.” I don’t think he even realizes that his shoulders have stiffened as he speaks, but I recognize that sense of burden. That weight. “The horror of the part I played. It overwhelmed me. I cracked under that weight, Gemma. But knowing that you could forgive me for what I did, it’s… it’s lightened the burden. I’m finally ready to forgive myself and move on. Do something.”

Okay. I nod as I process.

His words, his sense of burden, are so similar to mine that it doesn’t feel right to argue against his conviction.

It’s kind of funny, in a dark sort of way, how similar our experiences have been. How circumstances have brought me and Mitchell together. How we’re standing here fighting each other for the same damn thing, both too stubborn to be swayed.

But Mitchell’s not convincing me; And I’m not convincing him.

And maybe, just maybe, this is the way it needs to be.

Even if the obvious answer staring us in the face is fucking terrifying.

I need a minute to think, so I stand and pace to the sink, like he did earlier. He’s already cleaned every dish, so I grab a cloth and start rubbing an almost completely dry bowl as if I’m polishing one of those kegs of silver oil in the hold. “I’m not running. You’re not running. We don’t have much time. So, let’s stop trying to convince each other to do the impossible and start figuring out a plan. Like you said, this whole engagement thing makes it… complicated.”

“I won’t hold you to it. I would never do that to you.” He says it vehemently, like some kind of knightly vow, hazel eyes ablaze with promise. And after my recent experience with compulsion, I’m finding this whole noble-and-honourable white knight vibe extremely hot.

The urge to jump Mitchell almost overwhelms me. All I want is his skin and his mouth and his arms around me, but I force my eyes from his and focus on rubbing the cleanest goddamn dish in the universe. Damn bowl is getting more action than I am at this point .

Mitchell’s voice softens. “I’ll… I’ll find you a way out. Make you a way out.”

Stupid, selfless, sexy man. He would probably go as far as to refuse the marriage. Endure his father’s wrath and the wrath of my house to protect me from a political betrothal. Take all the repercussions on himself and endure it alone, no one on his side, but…

But he’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’d let him do that to himself.

He’s not the only stubborn idiot on this ship.

“Actually, I think you will hold me to it.” I say, looking up from my dish.

This could be big. This could be more than just one small step toward change. It could be leaps. Whole racetracks toward change.

I’m destroying the bowl as I study Mitchell’s face for a reaction, polishing it so hard it might crack as terror and excitement fill me with a different kind of nervous energy than I’ve ever felt before. “Look, if you truly won’t run, I have an idea… a sort of… proposal.”

I set the bowl and cloth on the counter and cross the room to Mitchell, taking one of his bigger hands in both my small ones. Mine are shaking, but looking up into his kind, welcoming eyes, I’m not afraid to be vulnerable with him anymore. I trust him .

“Me and you, we want the same thing—change. And how better to get the change we both want to see—for Sam, for all those soldiers, for everyone who doesn’t have even a drop of the power we were born into—than to go back together? As a team?”

Mitchell’s jaw falls open as realization dawns. “Are you… are you proposing… we go through with the marriage ?”

“I’m…” I swallow. I feel as giddy and terrified as if this were a real proposal. What if he says no, and it’s because he’s more scared to be tied to me than he is to be tied to his evil family? I mean, a kiss, the desire to try a relationship is one thing. But to commit to this kind of alliance… it’s a lot. I take a deep breath. “I’m proposing our own counterstrategy. Our own secret alliance within an alliance. If we truly want to take on the machine, we have a better chance of doing it together.”

Mitchell searches my face. I can tell he still wants to resist, but also that he’s starting to consider what I have to say. So I push on.

“I’ve been a pawn my whole life. Letting someone else move me around for their own strategic ends. But what happens when a pawn reaches the other side of the chess board? She’s crowned queen. They’ve moved me into a place of power, Mitchell, and they don’t even realize it. In a few days, I’m going to be Lady de la Cruz. The head of my house.”

Mitchell nods, clearly listening .

“But I’m terrible at politics. Terrible at strategy. My House Council will see me as immature and inexperienced, and, thanks to the compulsion chip, easy to control. They think they’ve purchased a puppet.” I straighten, steeling myself against the sting of what I know my relatives think of me—a vapid socialite. A useless party girl. An undeserving heiress. They’d laugh in my face if they heard me planning to take charge. “But I’ll be right there in the Council meetings. The ones that decide the fate of our planet. I’ll be at the functions where the deals are made. I could use your strategic mind. Your negotiation skills. I… I could use your help.”

As I ask for his help, I go down on one knee, still holding Mitchell’s hand as if I were about to offer him a ring.

The traditional engagement period is a full year.

In a year, with Mitchell’s support, I could set myself atop the Council as the real Head of House, like my father is to House Medici. Like my grandfather was to House de la Cruz. I could own the title of Lady de la Cruz.

After that year, if we’ve risen to control our houses, no one will force us to follow through with the engagement. We’ll have the power to do whatever we want.

And then, together, Mitchell and I can bring the gears of the machine to a grinding halt.

His eyes are alight now, too, as he looks down at me. The possibilities obviously excite the chess player in him, even if the protector doesn’t like the risk. “It would work in my favour as much as it would work in yours,” he concedes. “My dad has wanted an alliance with House de la Cruz for a long time. Returning home with you by my side would put me back in his favour. And in a much better position to affect change.”

He lowers himself to his knees, drawing my hand to his chest as his eyes spark with excitement. “And you’re absolutely right. We could use the engagement period to strengthen each other’s influence within our respective Houses, help each other gain control over our House Councils.”

Mitchell beams at me, shaking his head as if I just managed to pull off a surprise win in an actual game of hex chess.

“You say you’re terrible at strategy, but strategically, this is genius. We give them exactly what they think they want. The engagement. The alliance. Worm our way in, and then take power from the inside.” He squeezes my hand. “But, Gemma, it would make things between me and you… complicated. Really complicated. Are you…” His expression turns serious. He sits back on his heels, lowering himself even farther, so he’s at eye-level with me, and searches my face. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

His voice is rough with emotion as he speaks these last few words .

Of course he’s scared. I’m scared, too. We’ve barely spent a week together, and we’re talking a fake engagement. A galactic-scale alliance.

I look at the captain, kneeling before me, holding my hand in this strange proposal-but-not. I want to jump into his lap and kiss his warm, welcoming mouth, and I want to run away screaming at the same time. I think I’m falling in love with him, but I’ve also never been in a real relationship before, and this… this is huge. And with all the feelings swirling between us, there’s no way emotions are going to stay separated from the strategy and the politics.

But this is bigger than what I want or what he wants. Bigger than us.

I take his other hand in mine, look into those sunburst eyes I’ve come to adore. “This isn’t about you and me, Mitchell. It’s about General Konstantin and Lady de la Cruz. Underneath them, we’re still us.”

He smiles, but there’s hesitation there, too. Worry. “And what if their relationship destroys any chance we have at… at ours?”

Fear of what’s to come and regret at the loss of a much simpler life echo in my heart, too, and it hurts. But even stronger, a wave of determination fills my chest, as if that coal has finally burst fully open, and instead of lava boiling out, there’s passion, hope, and the feeling that together, we might just pull this off. Because I’m not alone. I’m going home with someone I trust; not floating, not fleeing, but hand in hand and feet planted firmly on solid ground.

I don’t lie to Mitchell or to myself, don’t pretend I’m sure we’ll succeed. I just squeeze his hands back and speak the truth. “Then we’d better make it count for everyone who’s counting on us.”

I slip my hands out of his, slide them up his arms and thread them around the back of his neck, feeling the short spiky-softness of his hair and the roundness of those plugs, breathing in the smell of him, and I press my lips to his.

And without hesitation, Captain Perfect kisses me back.