Gem lays a spread of buns, cheeses, meats, and sandwich-making vegetables on the table and my stomach gets the better of me. I dive in and fix myself a sandwich.
Zhang leans against the counter. If he thinks I’m following all the marriage rules of the Pleiades, he’s sorely mistaken. If I were, I’d be fixing him a sandwich before I made myself one.
Fuck. I guess it was nice for him to do this even if it’s for his own endgame.
“You hungry, Centaurus?” I ask.
“No. Eat.” He glares at me, waiting.
Fine. That’s what I get for trying to be nice to volatile stone. I’ve got three sandwiches and two cups of coffee stuffed into me before Atlanta shows. Gemini fills with something special. How long has he wanted this? Why hasn’t my brother asked him before?
Atlanta looks fresh. He’s his usual level of rough, rather than whatever the fuck he was this morning. Gemini is up and ready to take his rifle from him, which he carries around like a fucking teddy bear.
“Come, sit. I’ll get you something to eat. Have you eaten? There’s still coffee…”
My brother pulls him around, his hands gripping each of Gem’s thin arms. Gemini is slight. A third of the size of Zhang. His red ponytail sways to a halt when Atlanta holds him in place. He doesn’t say anything, which is very my brother. He doesn’t know how to say the things he feels. I’ve learned how to read him, and I’m sure so has Gem. A lot passes between them.
“A sandwich would be nice,” he says.
“Okay. Sit, if it pleases you.” Gem doesn’t add the Sir, but it’s there, hanging in the air. Every ounce of submission burns brightly in his eyes.
Gods. If Zhang expected that from me, it would have been a total disaster.
“I’ve changed my mind. I want a sandwich,” Zhang says.
“Um…”
“I’ll make you one, Zhang-y,” Gem singsongs.
“No. I’d like Treyu to do it. Extra salami, please. No onions.” He wrinkles his nose.
Even Atlanta looks at Zhang weirdly because he’s being fucking weird. Gem raises his brows.
“Payment,” Zhang provides as the answer to everyone’s blatant confusion. “I should at least get a sandwich out of this deal. How many times have I saved your ass now?”
A lot more than I want to admit. I’ll make him a damn sandwich just so I don’t have to answer that. “S’okay, Gem. I’ll make a sandwich for His Royal Highness.”
Atlanta shrugs and removes his jacket, fine with being served like Pleiadian royalty by Pleiadian royalty. “What did you need me for?”
Gem pauses over the sandwich he’s making as I add tomato to Zhang’s … wait, did he say no tomato or no onion? I wasn’t fucking paying attention. I exclude both just in case.
“One of us needs to marry into the Centaurus family. We think it should be you because the Pleiades star cluster will implode if it’s me and Zhang. What do you say, big brother?”
I watch Atlanta’s reaction carefully. I know he loves Gem with all his heart. I also know he’s terrified of giving his heart away. Add that he can be the equivalent of a human caveman with words and feelings that only burn inside him and it’s hard to know what he’s thinking unless you know him as well as I do.
And probably Gem.
Gem’s gotten too quiet. He’s fixated on his sandwich making, but he’s floated away in his mind—he’s added way too many pickles—and Atlanta has to tug on the waistband of Gem’s fancy white slacks to get his attention.
Spinning Gem around, he carefully takes the plate from him and sets it on the table, then he yanks Gem to him until he’s straddling his lap. “I say that I want to … I want to make little stars with you.”
That’s hands down the most feeling my brother has ever uttered. Gotta be.
Gem glows a million watts, blinding the damn room. I miss glowing. “I want to make little stars with you too.”
They make out. Graphically. I put the finishing touches on my award-winning sandwich for Zhang.
“Perfect,” I say, licking mayonnaise off my fingers. But it’s not perfect. I’ll be losing my brother. It’ll be just me and Uncle Ryan as the Orion permanents on Earth. I’ll miss him like a limb, but I can’t stand in the way of true love.
