Chapter Fourteen

As soon as the apartment door shut, Larth shoved the box into a drawer, slammed it, and locked it.

Seething, he stomped around the small apartment. Seeing Sala again had hit him like a punch in the gut, the shock coming less from seeing her than catching Pru watching the hologram. How could she have done that? How? He felt violated, betrayed. She often left her tech-tab lying around, and never once had he snooped or checked to see if she was in communication with William.

A bitter taste bubbled into his throat at the idea she might still have a relationship with her ex. He wouldn't like that at all, but this situation wasn't the same. It's totally different. Sala is dead. Out of the picture. Yet Prudence had seemed to be resentful, almost jealous. Her expression soured whenever he mentioned her.

Fizzak! He jabbed a punch at the air. He strode into the kitchen, which had been raided of its commercial ovens, cooling racks, and most of the appliances. He flung open the chillerator, grabbed the bottle of spirits he'd bought to celebrate the grand opening, and tore off the cap. He poured himself a measure, knocked it back, then poured another. Taking the drink, he stomped into the other room.

His gaze shot to the desk area. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pictured Prudence clutching the disk in her hand. Had she satisfied her curiosity now? With a curse, he retreated to the bedroom and flung himself onto the bed only to discover the sheets smelled like Prudence. Citrusy. I love you, she'd said. Yeah, right. What convenient timing. If she'd hoped to minimize her betrayal with a false declaration of love, it hadn't worked. If she'd been feeling that way, why wait to tell him until he caught her doing something she shouldn't?

Like I waited to tell her how I felt?

Not the same thing. He rolled off the bed. It smelled too much like Prudence. Her essence was all over the apartment. He glowered at the cases still stacked in the corner. If she left for good, she wouldn't have to worry about packing. She'd never bothered to unpack.

I felt things had changed, and you were starting to care for me. I love you .

If she'd believed that, then why hadn't she unpacked? Why live out of travel cases like their marriage was just a layover? The wardrobe had ample space. He popped open the door.

He blinked. The closet was jam-packed, his things claiming a sliver, with Sala's clothing filling the rest of the space. Pru couldn't have fit her stuff inside if she tried.

He sank onto the edge of the bed and stared into the wardrobe. I never made space for her. How could he have failed to do that? When Sala had passed, he'd found it painful to discard her possessions, so he'd put it off. After a while, he'd gotten so used to seeing the clothes, he'd stopped seeing them. He would reach into the closet, grab a pair of work pants and a shirt, and go to work. Then Pru had arrived.

How could he have been so blind? What must she have thought? Had she begun to think there was no room for her in his life the way there was no room in the closet?

She'd been apologetic and remorseful over the disk until he'd referred to Sala as his wife. Current. How many times had he fallen into habit and referred to her that way? Too many .

He'd romanced Pru, flirted with her, took her to bed, while feeling guilty about Sala, having promised her there would never be another. Ever perceptive, Prudence had no doubt picked up on his ambivalence. But at some point, Sala had faded into the past, and Prudence had become his present and his future. Had he ever told her? Had he acted like it?

No, and probably not.

Anger deflating, he realized watching the hologram could have been an accident. The box and disk were unmarked. Maybe she'd thought it contained old financial files.

He needed to fix this, find a way to patch things up.

Maybe start by telling her I love her.

But first, he needed to put the past to bed once and for all. Do what I should have done months ago.

* * * *

As soon as he removed the disk from the box, a beam shot out of the device, and the hologram materialized. With a sinking, guilty heart, he realized that was what must have happened to Pru. She truly hadn't been snooping. She'd opened an unmarked box, touched the unlabeled disk, and the 3-D image had appeared .

Why didn't I listen to her?

"Larth, my love, I am about to enter the stasis pod in an effort to prolong my life in hopes a cure for the nano-virus will be found. If you are watching this, then I did not survive." She looked so very, very ill, her hair patchy and falling out, her skin grayed, the gliteri across her collarbone dull and flaky. But her sickly physical appearance was nothing compared to what the disease had been doing inside her body. Every single bodily system had begun to shut down.

He remembered when they'd decided she'd enter the statis pod. The disease was 100 percent fatal. Their slim hope was that stasis might extend her life long enough for a cure to be developed. But they both were aware she could die, and the day she entered the pod might be the last day they would ever see each other. If she didn't enter stasis, they would have a few more weeks together before she fatally succumbed. They had gambled on the pod.

And lost.

He wondered when she'd recorded the hologram. She'd been so weak she could hardly stand. He'd helped her climb into the pod. In the hologram, she leaned against a rail, gripping it for support .

"I submitted a special request to record a private message for you. I have just left you. They wheeled me away in the pod, but before they induced a coma and activated the life support, they helped me out, and here I am. I would have spoken to you in person, but you are stubborn and afraid, and I knew you wouldn't listen, and you need to hear my words. I hope you are watching this at a time when you will be able to heed them."

He was stubborn, and he had been terrified of losing her. And then the worst had happened.

"I love you to the depths of my being, and I know you love me just as deeply. Had Caradonia not been stricken with a nano-virus, we would have lived a long and happy life together. That I believe."

Tears slipped down his cheeks. He had believed that, too.

"You promised me you would never love another. I am releasing you from the promise I never wanted you to make in the first place. You were not meant to be alone, but to share your life with someone, to live, to laugh, to love, if not with me, then with someone else. If you are watching this, then I am gone. There may not be any women left, but if there are, my deepest wish is for you to meet someone and fall in love again. "

She paused. "Are you protesting, my love?" she asked with a wan smile.

How well she had known him. Had she tried to tell him all this in person, he would have refused to let her speak. Even a short time ago, he would have leaped from his chair and reiterated his promise. But now, he was just stunned. Nothing Sala could say could have mitigated his grief because the heartache and loss had been too great, but if he'd watched this message sooner, he might not have screwed up so badly with Prudence.

"I can foresee you withdrawing, pulling into yourself, shutting others out."

He had done that.

"You always told me you would do anything for me. So, fulfill my wish. Promise me this: if love comes your way, grab it and don't look back. It doesn't mean you love me less. It means you have a big heart that is full of love. You should love, laugh, and live life to the fullest. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me. Promise me you will love again."

"I will. Promise." Tears streamed down his cheeks. This was the final goodbye.

"I love you, Larth." The hologram faded away .

He'd been fortunate to have two wonderful women in his life, both of whom had brought him love and joy, and who were there to pick up the pieces when he needed it, to fix things. He recalled how Prudence had turned the snafu with the android into a positive. She'd done so many things like that. Most important, she'd fixed him . Despite his resistance and ambivalence, Prudence had helped him through the vestiges of grief and had enabled him to love again—until he mucked it up. Now, Sala attempted to fix what he'd screwed up with Prudence. His prescient late wife had foreseen he'd mess things up. She'd known him better than he knew himself.

He dashed away his tears and bolted out of his chair. He had to see Prudence.