Rex adjusted the formal tie, while looking around and measuring how close the nearest people were. He had always been surrounded by people, even in his own home and it had never been an issue until now. People didn’t bother him. Having people around energized him.
Trying to find a pocket of space with no people in it demanding his attention had suddenly become a challenge, though.
He watched the glittering people in their finery sail past him where he was standing in a corner of the Aventine, blissfully alone. “Still with me, Emma?” he asked.
“Most certainly.” Her voice had the whispering, wavering quality that told him she was using directional sound so only he could hear her. It was a trick that had come in useful in the last two days.
“I’m sorry about this fuss,” he told her. “The Tankball Associations’ annual soiree is one of those things I just can’t get out of.”
“You are a social person,” Emma said. “It would look odd if you did not attend. Although I find this oddly poignant. I attended this event ninety-seven years ago, with Micah and Laura.”
The names still gave Rex a little jolt, every time he heard them. Emma spoke of the pair as if they were the most important people in her life. She was still collating forty-plus years of data about the life and history of the Endurance since Micah had deactivated her. How long until she learned that Micah Thorne was one of the most reviled men in Endurance history? That Laura Hyland had been completely forgotten?
“About Micah,” he began, then halted as a couple floated past, laughing and talking, heading for the roped-off area in front of the tankball arena. There were many more lights and people inside the soiree area. “I need to talk to you about him.”
“There is much I must tell you about them, too.” Emma never failed to convert ‘him’ to ‘them’. It was as if the pair of them were a single entity in her mind. “For now, most of my capacity is devoted to encompassing the ship’s recent history, the rest for conversing with you. Once I have caught up, we can more thoroughly discuss my future. I do appreciate this opportunity to assess current culture, though.”
“See anything different?” Rex asked, tugging at his tie again. The tie was an ancient hold-over that as far as he could see from old Terra images, hadn’t changed very much at all. He wondered if it had always been this uncomfortable to wear.
“Fashion has changed considerably,” Emma said judiciously. “The dresses are far more provocative…certainly not something I would choose to wear for myself.”
Rex grinned. It such statements that convinced him Emma was completely and utterly female, even though she was made of electrons and coding. “Did Micah Thorne use a real human as a model for you, Emma?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Most of the great artists are inspired by what came before them.”
“You mean, they steal?”
Rex laughed. “Sure.”
“As it happens, he did use a model for my vocal output…in its original incarnation. I have adapted and grown since then, of course.”
“Who was the original inspiration?”
“Emma Victore.”
“The first female captain?”
“And one of Laura’s personal heroes,” Emma added.
Rex sighed. “We really have to talk and soon,” he said. “Let’s get this over with, first.” He headed for the long line of people standing, waiting to display their invitations and enter the soiree.
* * * * *
Tony handed her the slender glass with a small flourish that Belen knew was for the benefit of anyone else watching. She also knew that a great many people would be watching, even though no one was crass enough to stare at them openly. Everyone at the soiree was too jaded to be caught watching other people with anything but disdain. As they couldn’t stare disdainfully at the Captain, they chose to pretend they had not noticed him, all while watching out of the corner of their eye, absorbing every detail for later gossip.
Belen had got used to being under public scrutiny most of the time. She had taken care to dress more conservatively than most women here tonight, while not being too modest and drawing criticism for that. She took care over the details of her makeup, hair and accessories, although once she was dressed and ready, she dismissed it all from her mind. They would all be looking at Tony, anyway. He was the Captain and the real public figure of the pair of them.
He looked very good in the old-fashioned suit. He wore it as if he had grown up in the era when they were always worn. He was always at ease in such matters.
He gave her a smile that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle. There were fine creases around his eyes that had only appeared in the last few years. There were a few gray strands in his black hair and even in the goatee and trimmed moustache he preferred to wear.
“You look wonderful tonight, by the way,” he told her. Warmth danced in his eyes.
“I had to at least try to match you,” she replied.
He leaned closed and brushed his lips against her cheek. “As always, you have succeeded magnificently,” he breathed.
“Captain! Please put the beautiful lady down while I buy you a drink.” The jovial, blustery tones belonged to Gustav Nacar, the president of the Tankball Association.
Tony rolled his eyes, then gave Belen a quick smile and a pat on the hand that told her he would pick up the conversation later on. Then he turned to Gustav and threw out his arms. “Gustav! How delightful!”
Belen rolled her eyes, but only mentally for there were a lot of people still watching them. Tony had most likely spoken to Gustav only a few hours ago. He was one of Tony’s most ardent political supporters, providing significant funding for every campaign and helping steer public opinion about Bridge policies. Tony hugged the perspiring man as if they hadn’t seen each other for a month.
Belen watched Tony switch on in this way at every public function they attended together. There were very distinct public and private facets to Captain Antonio Tyler and the public side of him always fascinated her because as far as she could tell, he was being perfectly sincere in his loud, effusive compliments, his jokes and his repartee. It was just so different from what he was like when he was alone with her that twenty-three years later, she still marveled at the difference.
She let Tony’s and Gustav’s conversation wash over her and instead looked around the area. There were very few people she didn’t know and even those faces looked vaguely familiar. The annual soiree tended to gather together the same people year after year. Only the evening gowns changed.
There was a thick cluster of people standing on the other side of the open area, where everyone was gathering for pre-dinner drinks. Beyond the big tubs of flowers that divided the area were the tables for the sit-down meal.
Belen’s gaze drew back to the group of people milling across from her. They were all facing into the group itself, their attention held by something. Belen waited for the group to shift so she could see what the fuss was about. After so many years of people-watching, she had learned a lot about how groups formed and divided. The group who always gathered around Tony were the same. They moved and jostled, looking to get closer, which made the shape of the group change. If her view was blocked, Belen only had to wait, for whoever was in the way would soon move again.
She sipped the champagne and brought her gaze back to the group on the other side, as her view cleared. The group had fragmented, revealing the man at the center.
Rex Julyan. She might have known.
Even as she was sighing at herself for not guessing who was drawing all that attention, Belen studied him. Rex never seemed to change. His thick, dark blonde hair held no gray. The heavy locks shadowed his eyes, which would be the same green color as always. She couldn’t see them from here, or the widow’s peak the unruly locks hid.
For a man who made his money from thinking in unexpected ways, his body was lean and strong. The suit made the most of his shoulders, too.
Unbidden and unexpectedly, Belen recalled his scent. The memory was so strong, it was as if she was holding her face mere inches away from his flesh right now. It triggered a cascade of memories, most of them snapshot images and sensations. Tanned skin again her lips. Being lifted off her feet. A deep rumble of laughter. Dappled sunshine and warmth on her face.
Belen’s breath stuttered. She gripped the champagne glass, riding out the impact of the memories. She dropped her gaze to her feet, away from the man who had triggered them. Then, almost helplessly, she lifted her chin once more.
Of course he wasn’t looking at her. Rex probably wasn’t aware she was even standing there, which was exactly the way it should be.
Belen swallowed and leaned closer to Tony. “I’ll be right back,” she breathed and saw his fractional nod. His gaze never left Gustav’s face and there was another dozen people behind Gustav, waiting their turn to speak to the captain.
She dumped the glass on the nearest horizontal surface, picked up the hem of her dress and headed for the rest rooms. They were inside the arena, along the concourse. The organizers had lined the way with more of the big flower tubs and there was a steady stream of people moving to and from the building.
The section of concourse holding the rest rooms had been roped off from the rest of the arena, to discourage people from wandering. There were little pockets of people even here, with their heads together as they talked. It was odd seeing such formally dressed people inside the arena. Belen was used to seeing far more casual wear here.
She took her time in the rest room, pulling together her composure and re-checking her appearance. This wasn’t the first time that seeing Rex had tripped off a jaunt down memory lane, although it had been a long while since it had last happened. Mostly, she could look at him and even speak to him politely, while remaining perfectly calm and composed.
Belen could put up with the memories. They were a part of her history and were never going to go away. It was the guilt they generated that bothered her. It would sit in the middle of her chest and squeeze out her breath, scattering her attention, so that focusing on what she should be doing became impossible.
The guilt was back again now and as she looked in the mirror, minutely examining the tint in her cheeks, it was throbbing in her throat, beating hard enough she could see the pulse in the mirror.
Belen stared at herself coldly. Guilt is appropriate, she reminded herself. You did this to him and to yourself, so live with it.
It was an old litany, yet it brought her the composure she needed.
* * * * *
Once the meal was finished, Rex excused himself from the table. Even though he was by himself, all nine of the remaining seats had quickly been claimed as soon as he had selected a table. The nine were all known to him and none of them were people he felt comfortable with. They were business associates and potentials, forcing him to stay on alert, watch what he said and constantly measure what they said.
It was a relief to get away. The area beyond the tables was empty of all but a few people setting up the dance floor and lights. Everyone was still at the tables, waiting for the formal speeches that would come with coffee and dessert. Rex had heard it all before. He would miss nothing.
He found a quiet corner close to the exit and the broad path to the arena itself and tucked himself into the corner. “Emma?”
“Yes, I am here.”
“Were you able to listen to the conversation at the table?”
“Indeed. I have learned a great deal this evening.”
“Are you ready to go home?” Rex asked.
“You will not stay until the end of the soiree?” Emma asked.
“I don’t dance.”
“You cannot or you chose not to?”
The sensation of a warm body against his, his arm around her…it was almost subliminal, yet it made his heart jump. “I just don’t,” he said shortly.
“I understand,” Emma said and he suspected she really had grasped what he had not said.
“I’m tired,” Rex added. “I want to go home. You’re better company than anyone here tonight, anyway.”
Emma hesitated. It was another of her loaded pauses, which she was doing less often, he realized. “You do not trust easily,” she said softly. “Of course, that fits the pattern.”
“I’m a pattern?”
“More and more you remind me of those I have left behind.” Emma’s voice was wistful, the longing in it clear despite the wavering quality that came from the directional his-ears-only process she was using.
Rex felt his gut tighten with apprehension. He didn’t look forward to breaking the news to Emma that the man and woman she missed so much were not the people she believed them to be.
“We need to talk,” Rex said, his voice emerging harshly. He glanced up as a pretty brunette woman smiled at him and waited for her to pass by. “Meet me back at the house. I’m going to need a drink for this.”
“Very well,” Emma said smoothly and Rex wondered if he was imagining the note of wariness in her voice. Then she said softly, “There is someone behind you. I believe she is listening.”
Rex turned, then took half a step out from the corner made by the tub of flowers, to see beyond it.
Belen stood there, her lips parted in surprise. No, it was more than that. Shock had brought her to a complete standstill. Her gaze flickered over his shoulder, taking in something behind him. Rex glanced back and saw nothing but the woman who had just passed him.
He looked back at Belen, absorbing details with the hunger of an addict. Her red hair, which she had cut shorter and let curl naturally, in big waves around her jaw and ears. Her height, which always surprised him. Delighted him, actually. Her slenderness. She was elegance personified and her high cheekbones seemed to emphasize the natural grace.
Michaela had once made the observation that Belen was haughty and Rex had agreed with her, because that was the impression most people got about Belen if she kept her shield up. He knew a different Belen, though.
His heart leapt, throwing itself against his chest. Every time he saw her, he swore to himself he wouldn’t let her get under his skin the next time. Yet, the next time he always found himself floundering, just like this.
He swallowed. “Belen. You look wonderful.”
The dress was a creamy color that a redhead shouldn’t wear, although on her it looked good. It made her pale skin look almost translucent. She had colored her lips in a bright red that should also have clashed, yet didn’t. Instead, it drew attention to the fullness of her lips.
Rex tore his gaze away from them and made himself look her in the eye.
Belen cleared her throat. “I…should go back.” She made a vague gesture toward the dining area.
Rex didn’t dare speak. His whole body, every corpuscle, wanted to tell her to stay, to talk to him.
Belen took a step in the direction of the tables and the dress glittered at the movement.
“How’s Antonio?” Rex asked. It sounded like a polite question and it would keep her there for a few seconds more.
“Tony is fine, thank you,” she said stiffly. Her voice, the low contralto, seemed to strum along his spine, stroking the base of it. Her laughter, Rex remembered, was the same. Low and merry, generating a warm glow in any man who heard it.
Belen gave him a stiff smile. “Good night, Rex,” she said, just as formally.
“Good evening, Belen.”
She moved quickly after that. He watched her walk across the still-empty dance floor, the cream dress trailing behind her in a graceful drape, her head up.
He realized she had bid him good night, as if she had known he was leaving. Then he remembered. Emma had said she was listening. He frowned, trying to remember what he had said that Belen would have heard. Something about leaving, clearly. Even though that had been only a moment ago, he had trouble recalling it.
* * * * *
We need to talk. Meet me back at the house. I’m going to need a drink for this.
Belen tried to rid herself of the words that kept repeating themselves in her head. Even before Rex had stepped out from the private little corner, she had known it was him. His voice was unmistakable and she would know it anywhere.
It was the content, not the voice, that had shocked her.
The woman he had been speaking to had not stopped. She had kept her back turned to Belen as she hurried away, clearly heading for the assignation Rex had set up. She was going to meet Rex at home, to talk. A discussion that would need a stiff drink.
The strain in Rex’s voice was new. He had a stressful life—all the sycophants trying to attach themselves would drain anyone. Normally he shrugged it all off, looking debonair and immaculate and completely unruffled. Only, this woman had got under his skin.
Finally, after decades of solitary socializing, Rex had succumbed and that was the shock. That was the icy truth making her shiver. She had grown lax, secure in the knowledge that Rex was not interested in any sort of relationship with anyone. Not a romantic relationship, anyway. Not one that required anything other than the most superficial interest.
Belen didn’t doubt that Rex loved his sons, both the official son and unofficial adoptee. It wasn’t that he was incapable of feeling. He plainly adored Benny and Julian. He had the patience of a saint when he dealt with Michaela, too, treating her with a considerate gentleness she didn’t deserve. Yet he had never once in the last twenty years been romantically involved with anyone. He hadn’t even looked sideways at a woman, that Belen was aware of. As a result she had relaxed and let down her guard.
Now this.
We need to talk. Meet me back at the house. I’m going to need a drink for this.
Women threw themselves at Rex, drawn by his money and his influence. Belen knew more than a few of those who had tried to snare Rex’s attention and had been dashed upon the rocks of his unavailability. Even though those women were friends, of a sort, Belen had still secretly rejoiced at their failure.
Who was the brunette? Why did Rex need a drink to talk to her? “We need to talk” was ancient code for a discussion that would involve high emotions. What feelings did Rex have for the brunette?
Belen walked back to her table, barely noticing anything around her. Her heart was hurting yet that wasn’t the worst of it. Fear was sitting on her shoulder, making her jumpy. Terrifying her. The sensation that time was running out was so intense, she could barely keep moving forward. What she really wanted to do was run after Rex and demand he tell her everything and reassure her there was nothing to fear.
She no longer had any right to demand anything of him, though.
The fear gripped her throat, made her heart thud unhappily and muffled her hearing. As she sat down, Tony kissed her cheek and got to his feet to head for the podium for his ‘few casual words’ that he had been carefully honing for weeks.
Belen moved her expression into one of pride and pleasure as she stared blankly toward where Tony was standing, while her thoughts careened in panic.