“After you? No, thanks.” His lip curled.
“We’re not in competition.”I am the Prince of Stupid.How could he have had no inkling of Soton’s jealousy and hatred? In a flash, he recalled the most salacious KCN stories had aired after he’d been out carousing with Soton. Hisfriendwas the anonymous source! Soton had been selling him out all along. Probably the only thing that had kept Soton from revealing who owned the business was the NDA and the penalties—and the opportunity to continue to avenge the perceived wrong.
“I elevated Bynti’s career, handfeeding her tips and stories about you—and still, she wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“Maybe she didn’t trust someone who would betray a friend.”
Soton turned purple with rage. “You think you’ve won?” His mouth twisted into a malicious grin. “Your wife is on her way back to Earth.”
He wouldn’t fall for his lies again. “No, she’s not.”
Soton came out from behind the desk and thrust his comm device at Falkor. “See for yourself.”
“What is this?”
“The passenger manifest for the ship bound for Earth. Check the last name.”
He scanned the list. Karma Kennedy.
“The ship launches in ten minutes—if you hurry, you can catch it. Oh, wait. No, you can’t. You’ll never get there on time.” He laughed gleefully.
“You’re full of shit.” He flung the device at Soton. If he and Bynti could manufacture an entire holovid, he could fake a flight manifest. “Get out—oh, wait. Before you go—one more thing.” He drew back and punched Soton in the face. Blood sprayed from his nose, and he went sprawling. “Now, get out!”
Chapter Eighteen
“The flight to planet Earth will be launching soon. Passengers, please strap in,” said a realistic female computer voice.
Click. Click. Click. Click.The passengers attached their harnesses, but Karma didn’t bother. On the flight to Kaldor,she’d been able to walk around the Cosmic Mates vessel freely. How long ago that seemed. She and Kismet had arrived with such high hopes, but love and romance had panned out for only one of them.
“Passenger number seventeen, please fasten your harness.”
Everyone turned to stare at her.
I’m passenger seventeen?Her face flamed with embarrassment.The flight seats must have a sensor in them.She belted herself in before she drew any more censure and held up the flight.
“Thank you, passenger seventeen. Safety is our priority. You will experience G-forces and weightlessness. Be sure to remain in your seats and keep your harnesses on at all times. We will be traveling through an asteroid belt, necessitating sudden maneuvers. But, fear not. You’re in good hands with our AI pilot.
“The flight time is thirty minutes and forty-two seconds.”
Thirty minutes? Was that all? It was scarcely more than the time it had taken for her marriage to fall apart—the length of one fake holovid. After five long days of hoping, she’d accepted the painful truth that as long as she stayed at the palace, Falkor wouldn’t come home.
“The ship operates with the latest faster-than-light technology.”
The twenty-four Kaldorans aboard chattered excitedly, eager to see Earth, but homecoming brought no joy for her. She was grateful the flight would be short. She wanted to crawl into her own bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend none of this had happening.
After another restless night, she’d gotten up, and, still clinging to a gossamer thread of hope, carried her comm device onto the balcony to log on and check for messages. Unfortunately, she’d dropped it. It skittered across smooth balcony floor tiles, slipped through the spindle barrier, fell to the ground, and shattered on the grotto flagstone path.
An omen for her marriage. Unsalvageable. Over. Done. A tick mark in the column of broken relationships.
After five days, even her sister’s optimism had wavered, with Kismet conceding that maybe the marriage had been a mistake.
Jaryk was pissed on her behalf. “My brother has always been irresponsible and unreliable, but this is a new low even for him. The only acceptable excuse is if he’s unconscious in a hospital.”
“Don’t say that!” she’d cried. “I would never wish for him to be hurt.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure he’s all right! There’s not a person on Kaldor who doesn’t know who he is. If he got injured, the palace would have been notified. No news is good news—with respect to his life and well-being, anyway. I’m just sorry he’s such an ass.”
“It’s not your fault.”
