“That’s me—ever the friend,” she said sharply.
“I meant it in a positive way.” Why would she take offense? He didn’t understand women.
“Of course. Everyone means it that way.” She sighed. “We should be friends. I would hate to spend our fake marriage fighting.”
Fake? He’d never considered their marriage fake, just temporary, expedient. “No, I don’t want to fight,” he said.
She yawned. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“That it has. Try to get some sleep,” he said.
“Good night, Marshall.”
“Good night, Amity.”Fake marriage?He rolled over and stared into the darkness.
Chapter Five
“You must be Amity! I’mDarmaine. Greetings! I’d heard we had a new arrival,” said the alien in a singsong voice. The woman—Amity pegged her as female from the vocal pitch until it struck her it washumancentricto assume female voices were high and male ones were low—had a head shaped like an hourglass. Her broad forehead narrowed to nostrils in the middle of her orhisface then widened to a boxy jaw. Arms and legs were segmented by multiple joints like a marionette.
Butherwide smile—Amity opted for female—eased her nervousness at starting a brand-new job in an unfamiliar occupation on a strange planet. She didn’t know how to weave! She had no idea why Lucento had assigned her to the weaving studio. Why not put her with Faith at the pottery shop? She’d never thrown pottery either, but at least she was familiar with the process.
“Yes, I am,” she replied. “We arrived yesterday.”
“And Lucento wasted no time putting you to work!” Darmaine shook her head. “That husband of mine! I keep telling him to give new arrivals more time to adjust, but does he listen to me? No.” The antennae atop her head quivered and hummed like tuning forks.
“Lucento is your husband!”
“Yep, he belongs to me. I do my best to keep him out of trouble, but I don’t always succeed.” She laughed. “He told me you’re a newlywed.”
“One whole day married.” It still didn’t seem real. She didn’t feel married at all.
“Happy anniversary!” Darmaine’s antennae quivered.
“Thank you.” She couldn’t call their one-day anniversary happy, but at least hostilities had ceased. Having let go of the anger and resentment, the future seemed less bleak. Life was too short to carry a grudge. He’d lied to her and pretended to like her—but then he saved her life. So, that kind of zeroed out the scale. After learning about his experience in Dark Ops and being a clone, she understood him better, even sympathized. A little.
He wants to be friends.
Déjà vu. The story of my life.She’d been relegated to the friend zone—or outright dumped—more times than she cared to remember.When your very own husband says he wants to be just friends, girl, you’ve got a problem.
She recognized her feelings were irrational and unrealistic. Virtual strangers, they’d married for expediency—so she’d have sanctuary—not love. Their marriage was as fake as their date, albeit more honest. But she secretly hoped they could continue where they’d left off. That maybe there had been a little bit of magic in that evening. That the attraction hadn’t been one-sided.
“Are you all right?” Darmaine was staring at her.
“Oh, yeah, fine!” She forced a smile and surveyed the studio, noting two huge looms, some smaller ones, three spinning wheels, and multiple bins of gray wool, which probably accounted for why the shop smelled like wet dog. She’d never seen such a setup outside of a museum before! “I have to confess, I’ve never done any weaving.”
“No worries! I hadn’t either until I came here. I’ll teach you. I’ll have you spinning and weaving within a week—and you might even make some fabric.” She laughed at her own joke.
Amity chuckled politely.
“Where does the wool come from?” She eyed the huge bins. Did they have sheeplike animals here? Llamas?
“It’s horniger fur. Feel.” Darmaine handed her a tuft.
“It’s very soft and silky.” She smoothed the clump of fur between her fingers.
“Yes, very nice—a contrast to their nasty dispositions. I’m glad I’m not the one shearing them.”
Amity tossed the fur into the bin.
