CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 1 0

Sticks and Balls

B eautiful beyond measure? Ha. Trixie shook her head as she took in her reflection in her purse’s pocket mirror. Her hair was miraculously almost dry already, but her face was a mess. Yet, she had no regrets about the reason for her runny makeup and wet climber earrings. And she appreciated her alien’s way with words.

Almost as much as his way with mouth and tongue.

Trixie sighed contentedly while fixing her face with the micellar water in her purse, which someone had brought from the landing bay during the hottest shower of her life. Though the ending of that shower had been underwhelming and had left her hurt at first, she had quickly realized where Vrixiel was coming from. Just because she had been able to open up to him from the get-go didn’t mean he could do the same. Her husband-to-be would share his secrets with her in due time. He would let her in his impossibly tight briefs when ready.

Trixie tittered to herself. Her face now makeup-free, she headed for the panel by the bed in search of something to wear. She felt comfortable in the small fluffy towel she was wrapped in, but she couldn’t wait to see and try on what her mate had prepared for her.

“3D-printed Regency dresses, here I come,” she muttered as she tapped at the wall to the left of the bed.

And kept tapping left and right, because there was no visible outline of the panel Vrixiel had mentioned. The silvery wall looked smooth all over. Were nanoparticles at play here as well?

On the sixth try, Trixie heard a slight hiss. The outlines of a large clamshell appeared in the lower half of the wall, then the panel slid to the side. Revealing a long roll of dresses in every color imaginable. She stepped into the hidden closet with her mouth agape.

“Wicked!” If these dresses were as comfortable as they were gorgeous, Trixie might give up on her plans to wear pants.

She ran her fingers across the materials. They felt silky to the touch but like nothing she had ever worked with as a seamstress. Most were with layers upon layers of skirts, puffy enough for her to float away like a balloon in the wind. There were also dresses with only one underskirt, which Trixie would choose for a fancy cocktail party but Gaenthians probably considered everyday wear. What all the dresses had in common was that they included the color red in some form, whether it was a decorative ribbon on the puffy sleeve or a flower over the modest neckline.

Trixie smiled to herself. Vrixiel had basically put the label “mine” on every piece of clothing he had ordered for her. It might be the tradition, but she still felt fuzzy inside. That helped her choose a dress in no time.

Getting it off the high magnetic hanger proved a problem at first, but then she remembered the bench levitating under the illuminator. A few taps, and that bench with a clamshell backrest followed her inside the closet and turned into a step to her goal.

By the time Vrixiel came out of the bathroom, Trixie was already in the surprisingly light dress that fit her like a glove. Apparently, she hadn’t lost or put on weight since her measurements were taken for the Gaenthian matchmaking programme database some two years ago. At least, that was what she supposed her mate relied on when ordering clothes for her.

Vrixiel looked hesitant when he emerged into the bedroom, but when he saw her, that confidence he usually displayed shone through. So did pride. He might be only in a towel around the waist, but he might as well have been wearing all his medals. Mmm . Trixie loved a confident man who had every reason to be self-assured. And this time, she was one of those reasons .

Smiling confidently herself, she twirled for him in the center of the bedroom. The knee-long red dress lifted in the air, the two puffy underskirts a teasing caress along her calves. The embroidery of delicate flower-forming threads shone under the soft bedroom lights. The short puff sleeves added extra elegance to the whole outfit.

“You like?”

Vrixiel did not reply, but he didn’t have to. The look he was giving her spoke volumes. Predatory. Hungry. Like he wanted to eat her up in the best of ways. Again.

Her stomach chose that charged moment to protest loudly. Vrixiel straightened and extended his hand to her. “Come, niela . Let me feed you.”

“Sure thing.” How could she refuse? One stomach rumble, and he looked as if he expected Trixie to die on him unless he got food in her system immediately. “We must not keep the food waiting.”

In one fluid motion, Vrixiel scooped her up in his arms. She relaxed in his secure hold and let herself be carried into what she would call the living room: her in an elegant dress and him, in a towel.

That ordinary-looking piece of white cloth never drooped an inch under the pressure of his powerful thighs moving. Some alien technology had to be keeping it firmly in place around his tapered waist.

“Am I making you uncomfortable? ”

“Hm?” Trixie looked up, only to realize she had been peeking down at that towel as if she could will it to fall.

“You’re in a home dress, and I haven’t even bothered to cover my belly button. Forgive me.”

Trixie’s eyes rounded and she took in her stunning cocktail dress. “You mean to say this is Gaenthian loungewear? Wow.”

Vrixiel gave her an amused look. “Help yourself to the food under the non-transparent dome, my bean. I will go change into my home attire.”

Before he could set her on her feet, Trixie laced her fingers behind his neck. “Nonsense. I don’t want to have my first Gaenthian dinner in our new home by myself. If you want to change because you’re feeling uncomfortable with your, um, belly button showing, please go and I’ll wait.” She gave him the same appreciative look-over he had gifted her with in the bedroom earlier. “But don’t change on my account.”

He kissed her forearm, never breaking eye contact. “As my lady wishes.”

Oh, did she wish. Trixie bit her tongue to rein herself in. She hadn’t been this horny even as a teenager. How did the FMCs in her favorite romance novels stay out of their fated mates’ bed until after the 50% mark of the book? If someone ever wrote a book telling her love story with Vrixiel, it would be a novella with spice from the 5% mark. Jeez.

“I don’t want you to do as I wish all the time, you know,” Trixie told him as he carried her to the pink couch. “Your wishes should be of equal importance. ”

Her words elicited a pleased rumble from him as he sat down carefully, mindful of his wings. And positioned her on his lap.

Trixie quirked a brow at him.

He raised one back.

She grinned and stayed where he wanted her. She hated being treated by others like a child, but in Vrixiel’s arms she felt feminine and capable of ruling the world. His lap sure was like a throne, high and precious, albeit slightly poke-y.

Trixie snuggled comfortably against his chest and breathed in his freshly bathed skin. He smelled yummy.

Her stomach growled.

“You must eat, niela .” With one arm around her waist and one wing at her back, Vrixiel pulled the table closer to them and lowered it for easy access for both of them.

He lifted one glass dome after another, revealing strangely colored dishes that would be considered poisonous on Earth. There was a plate with bright-yellow twigs she was sure would glow in the dark and only excite a pigeon looking to nest. Piled up in another plate were dark-blue spheres the size of tennis balls; their transparent exterior revealed an explosion of sparkles inside. There were also purple leaves on a stick and what looked like an avocado having dived head-first into a bowl of whiskey. Trixie was hesitant to see what awaited her under the single metal dome on the table, only to discover it hid a bowl of edamame beans .

Phew. She wanted to adapt to the local cuisine, but spending her first night here by the toilet was not how she imagined things.

Her throne shook slightly, and she tore her eyes from the bizarre buffet to meet Vrixiel’s gaze.

He was barely keeping his laughter in.

Trixie narrowed her eyes at him. “This is a prank, isn’t it? You’ve 3D-printed twigs, leaves, and mini versions of Sauron’s Palantir to see if I’d believe them edible.”

Vrixiel shook his head, mirth dancing in his green eyes. “Everything you see is traditional and completely edible.”

“Oopsie.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth.

He kissed the corner of her mouth as he laughed. “Do not be embarrassed, my special bean. I chose the most shocking dishes Gaenthia – and the mess hall’s food replicators – can offer to an offworlder. Most Gaenthians do not eat them, though they date back centuries.”

Trixie poked him in the abs. “You wanted to tease me.” She then rubbed the same spot above his towel soothingly and let a happy smile curl her lips. “I like it. A lot.”

His smile matched her own. “You’ll try them all, then? Not just the beans from Terra?”

“You should know, Vrixiel of the Pointed Horn Clan,” she declared, chin raised high, lips pursed, “that I do not back away from a challenge. Your lady shall taste each and every one of these masterpieces of the culinary art… tomorrow.” She then added through a grin, “Now gimme the beans. ”

Vrixiel guffawed. “Do not worry, niela . The food domes and the table will keep everything fresh for you. Not a single bite of the twigs will go to waste.”

“Tease.” She shook her head. “You’ll never let me forget this comment, will you?”

He didn’t reply.

It was official: Vrixiel would tease her endlessly about this until they were old and gray. Trixie really liked that, both his sense of humor and the thought of having someone to grow old with.

He picked up the glass bowl and handed her a spoon. “Ready for your beans, bean?”