A week later, Charmaine has arranged everything. Today is D-day or maybe it should be called W-day as in wedding, which arrived frighteningly fast. The green card application is more tedious and full of potential pitfalls than the marriage license, but the Intergalactic Dating Agency that Charmaine works for has the process for both down to a science. I don’t ask a lot of questions outside of where do I sign?
I’m really doing this. Ares and I are getting married.
It’s simultaneously anticlimactic and such an earth-shattering thing that I can’t figure out what to wear. When I pictured my wedding day while growing up, there were always hearts and flowers and a man who loved me so much he couldn’t wait to put a ring on my finger.
That is not this day. But what did I expect from a green card marriage, really?
More. It’s not a crime. That’s what I’ve always wanted from a relationship, why I signed up for all of those dating sites that never worked out. I want more from life than being alone. I want companionship, someone to be there for me in the middle of the night when I’m anxious or have a desire to talk about my dreams.
Ares and I had that moment in Switzerland that made me think we could be that for each other, and it seemed like fate. Penelope got more than she bargained for. Why can’t I wish for that? Torvians are totally compatible with humans, which means they have similar emotions and feel pain, pleasure. Have hopes and dreams. Eros wanted kids from the first. Ares hasn’t said either way, but I would love to have that conversation.
So far, we’re not even to the sleeping arrangements conversation and I’m a bit anxious to get on with it, honestly.
I wear a print sundress with spaghetti straps. I will freeze in it, but I don’t care. It’s my favorite dress and I need the confidence boost.
Penelope and Eros come with me to the courthouse. Charmaine and Ares have already arrived and wait for us in the crowded lobby. Hungrily, I let my gaze skitter over this alien I’m supposed to marry today. God, he is something. So physically commanding, with a body that doesn’t quit. It’s super-sized and honed to perfection with broad shoulders atop a chiseled torso. My fingers tingle at the thought of getting under that shirt to trace all those muscles and learn their shape.
His face could have been carved from a hunk of marble, both beautiful and inflexible at the same time. I long to make him smile, to find out what his definition of happy is. We’re going to build a life together and I barely know him.
Panic floods my chest all at once and I can’t breathe.
He acknowledges me with a nod and immediately shifts his attention to Eros. Apparently the two aliens are buddies because the second they see each other, they start rumbling in their native language. Ares laughs at one point and the sound of it digs deep under my skin. I haven’t made him laugh yet. It’s a new goal for sure because I like the way it transforms his face.
“How you holding up?” Penelope pulls me aside to ask because she’s intuitive like that. “It can be a huge culture shock to take on a project the size of a Torvian.”
And I’m breathing again. It’s going to be okay.
I shrug, hoping her phrasing is a double entendre, which I can’t personally attest to yet, dang it. “Ares is a breeze so far. I mean, he’s a lot more… I don’t know, somber or something than Eros, sure. But we can talk to each other and the chemistry is off the charts. I’m looking forward to getting to know him even better.”
I mock fan myself with a grin, but there is literally no chance she didn’t catch my drift.
True to form, Penelope waggles her brows. “You waited for the honeymoon. How old-fashioned of you.”
“His idea,” I admit.
Actually, after that first night, we didn’t really interact at all. Ares stayed out at Charmaine’s, allegedly waiting for all the paperwork to be filed before making it “official.” I tried to call a couple of times but he isn’t a fan of phones, I’m told. I have been at loose ends all week as a result because it feels like the distance has been deliberate.
Ares is giving me space, that’s all, or at least this is what I’ve convinced myself of. Along with that, his culture is probably different than mine and he doesn’t know that human women obsess over each second of silence, replaying whole conversations in their heads in order to pick apart every word for clues as to what might have gone wrong. Probably this lack of contact before the wedding is a time-honored mating ritual on Torvis, so I shouldn’t worry.
I haven’t told Penelope any of this even though I’ve seen her every day since I met Ares. Penelope’s salon is easily the hottest hotbed of gossip in Olympia. The grapevine was invented inside her walls. The less anyone besides her knows about Ares, the better. I have to introduce him around eventually as he’ll be part of my life going forward, but for now, he’s my secret. I haven’t worked out how to explain him yet.
I mean, it’s easy enough to explain him. We met on a dating site and he moved here from Switzerland. End of story. But I know there are going to be probing questions like, how did you know he was the one? And how did he propose? Stuff girls care about. I care about it too and when I contacted Charmaine originally, I had all these fantasies built on one encounter with Ares where we had “A Moment.” And now I’m basing an entire marriage on that.
I might be clinically insane.
I should call this off before it’s too late. We’re not even in love with each other, at least on my side. I assumed he’d carry that part of it, worshipping the ground I walk on until I’m won over sort of thing. In hindsight, that probably isn’t the best foundation for a marriage, but I don’t do so well with human men—I had hoped a Torvian would fill the gaps in my own profile.
But then our names are called, or rather mine and someone named Mark Johnson, which I guess is the human name Ares picked. Eros had a stupid one too that Penelope dispensed with pretty fast. I guess Torvians don’t have last names or they’re too hard to pronounce.
“This is only the first step,” Penelope whispers in my ear. Apparently she’s gained some mind reading abilities lately to go along with her pregnancy. “Take it and then work out the next one. It’ll be worth it.”
Sure. Eye on the prize.
I’m doing this for reasons and they haven’t changed: I want a husband and my alien needs me, or he can’t stay here in America. INS doesn’t look as closely at the non-citizen’s country of origin paperwork—forged in Ares’s case—when the application is for a green card due to marriage. The marriage itself is the part they scrutinize.
Ares materializes at my side and takes my hand. I glance up at him, and the world falls away as I drown in his silvery gaze. Oh, yeah, that’s why I’m doing this. We have something, a connection I can’t explain; surely we can find a way to build a home together. I want that and I believe he does too. We’re just taking an unconventional route to get there, that’s all.
“Um, hi,” I say breathlessly, and his fingers tighten around my hand as he treats me to a rare smile that hooks me on the inside.
“Sei bello.” He shuts his eyes for a blink. “Beautiful.”
My heart flips and I’m sure I’m grinning like a madwoman. “Thank you.”
It’s going to be fine. So he didn’t want to hang out over the last week. Maybe he is old-fashioned, or Torvians have a different value system that I didn’t bother to learn. Maybe I was supposed to court him or something and he’s over there thinking I’m a dud as fiancées go. Or his distance over the last week had more to do with his inability to pick a language and he’s embarrassed by it.
Whatever the case, it’s over now. He’s here and we’re getting married. If for some reason things don’t work out, I have a guaranteed exit clause. The Intergalactic Dating Agency rules favor the human women who agree to alien matches, so I can dump him the second I decide it’s not working out. I like exit clauses in the absence of guarantees. I’ve certainly needed my share when it comes to the human men I’ve dated.
The ceremony is short and to the point and before I can fully process it, we’re husband and wife. When the justice of the peace throws out the kiss-the-bride line, Ares takes full advantage of it, turning me into his body like he did the other night, binding me tight with one arm as he tilts up my face.
Oh, yeah, I could get used to being held like this, as if he couldn’t stand to let me go. He pauses right at the last minute, drawing out the anticipation masterfully and then claims my lips in a sizzling kiss. Oh, God, yes. My body remembers his mouth and lights up like a struck match. Everything heats instantly, craving his touch. I can only cling to his waist because that’s as high as I can reach when my bones have melted.
Unfortunately, he keeps it mostly civil—no tongue action this time, which is a crying shame—and then he pulls away. My body weeps at the lack of fulfillment. Next time. Tonight. Honeymoon. I can scarcely breathe through the sudden anticipation that squeezes my lungs.
We wrap up the ceremony and Charmaine transfers what few belongings Ares brought with him to Penelope’s car. Ares rides with me back to my apartment, where he’s going to be living from now on, taking it all in with interested silence as we roll through downtown Olympia. If nothing else, you’d think he’d chatter with Eros, but the other Torvian is in the front seat, his broad palm on Penelope’s thigh, stroking it as she drives. They’re always touching each other like that and frankly, I would not complain if Ares followed suit.
Instead, Ares hasn’t let one millimeter of his large body encroach on my side of the back seat, which is saying something since he easily takes up more than half the room. With almost no fanfare, we arrive at my tiny apartment. Penelope drives off and here we are. At the next step.
I have no idea what I’m doing.
Ares picks up both boxes that he brought with him from Charmaine’s and waits expectantly at the base of the stairs. Duh. He has no idea where to go. I lead him up to the second floor landing and unlock the door. “It’s not much. But it’s home.”
He peers inside and nods. “Fine.”
Well, yeah, what’s he going to do, complain? I’m providing him a place to live free of charge and a green card marriage. It better be fine. I don’t say this, though if he’d been a human guy, I would have.
This isn’t my normal run-of-the-mill relationship, and I’m painfully aware that I’m cutting him a lot of slack. I have to. We’re going to be living together as husband and wife. I’ve never even lived with a guy roommate, and never considered living with a lover. Which Ares and I most certainly will be. It’s one of the perks I fully intend to get out of this marriage deal, along with companionship and you know, someone to do life with me.
My skin tingles as I once again start fantasizing about the wedding night. Penelope has a lot of discretion when it comes to the bedroom gymnastics of her husband but I’ve gotten enough juicy details out of her to know that Eros is hung and a quick study. I have nothing but high expectations for my alien as a result.
The apartment is smaller than I remember. I’ve lived here for a year or so, but when it was just me, I didn’t notice how there’s not a lot of room to maneuver. Now that Ares is in it, the walls are much closer together. My sudden nerves don’t help.
“So, um, the bedroom is that way.” I point. “Bathroom is there too. Everything else you can pretty much see. Kitchen and living room and that’s it.”
Ares parks his boxes behind the couch and settles into one of the cushions cautiously as if he’s afraid it’s going to give out. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he’s broken a few chairs in his day—he has to weigh in at 225 or so and it’s pure muscle. I have a sudden vision of the slats under my mattress splintering into kindling after a particularly vigorous round of sex and now I’m all hot and bothered.
“So,” I squeak. “Here we are.”
Should I dive right in? Curl up with him on the couch for a make-out session? Maybe we’ll be so hot for each other, we won’t make it to the bed. That would be okay.
Ares nods. “Thank you for agreeing to marry.”
“Sure. I mean, it’s not how I thought I’d wind up married, but it’s a work in progress, right?” He lifts a brow in question so I elaborate. “We have all the time in the world to get to the place where we’re like a married couple. You know. Comfortable. Affectionate. Falling in love. That sort of thing.”
“I do not wish to have that marriage,” he says tersely.
I blink. “What? You mean the affectionate part? I mean, okay. If you’re not a toucher, I’m sure we can come to some kind of—”
“All. I am here to escape only.”
“Hold the phone.” My heart shudders in my chest. “What are you talking about? This is a marriage. Where we’re going to be together. Like Eros and Penelope. Maybe have babies one day. We have to be together in order for that to happen.”
But he’s shaking his head. “I require a place to live only, and citizenship.”
Dumbfounded, I stare at this alien I just married. “And like a physical relationship too, right? Kissing and sex and holding hands. Like we’ve been doing thus far.”
All two times. The lack of contact over the last week rears up and bites me on the butt as he stares back.
“Courtship rituals. Only. A…notwendiges Übel.” His head shake as he searches for his English words isn’t so cute anymore. “Necessary.”
The room’s size ceases to be a factor as I cross the room and crowd into his space with my hands on my hips. “What, like you did whatever you had to in order to cross the finish line with me?”
His expression doesn’t change but I can tell I’ve hit the nail on the head.
I’ve been duped. He doesn’t even have the grace to look chagrined or anything at my accusation, likely because he doesn’t see anything wrong with what he’s confessing. He never promised me a rose garden or even that we’d consummate the relationship. I assumed that all on my own. Because I’m a dummy who falls for slick aliens with secret agendas that don’t include a real marriage or honoring the connection we have.
“That’s crap,” I tell him furiously and check my temper before I slug him. “You said you changed your mind about being matched to a human because I asked for you. What did you think I wanted you for, a wall decoration?”
Ares crosses his arms over his massive chest. “I did not consider your motives. Only my own.”
Well, that’s just like a man now, isn’t it? Apparently I hit the testosterone jackpot and my new husband isn’t even human.
“You’re a smart guy, right? Consider them,” I suggest through bared teeth. And then because that’s a two way street, I take a deep breath and follow my own advice. “What were these all important motives of yours that made you think taking advantage of a girl halfway around the world sounded fun?”
All at once, he unfolds from the couch, standing to tower over me. Maybe he got tired of craning his neck or likes to play psychologic games designed to ensure I’m clear who has the upper hand in this situation. I don’t back down and there’s less than an inch separating us. We’d be nose to nose if he was a head shorter, but since he’s not, I have a great view of the swatch of skin just above the V of his T-shirt. Which is sexy as all get-out and makes me itch to trace the lines of his chest.
No tracing. I’m mad at him.
“Clementine.”
My name sounds far more intriguing in his rumbly accent than I am fully prepared for. My knees turn to Jell-O. But I don’t let on.
“Ares,” I return coolly and yelp as his hand stretches out. But he just slides a strand of my hair through his fingers as he watches me.
“You gave me a place to go,” he tells me. “This is why I came. I could not stay in Geneva or—”
He breaks off and something flits through his gaze that tells me he’s not searching for words, but uncomfortable. Too bad. This is my life he’s screwing with and I deserve to know why he jumped on the chance to get out of Switzerland. Plus, this is the first time we’ve had a genuine conversation—apparently—and I’m not ready for it to be over.
“Or what?” I prompt. “You can’t back off now. We’re married. It’s too late to be telling me you thought I was going to be fine with an in-name-only marriage. I’m not. Start talking.”
Somewhere in the middle of my impassioned speech, my finger lands in the middle of his chest and I’m not ashamed to say it’s partly because I want to touch him. He glances down at my hand and back up at me and suddenly there’s a lot more to deal with between us than a misunderstanding.
The indescribable awareness between us coils around my fingers, making it impossible for me to move them. When we’re connected like this, I no longer have any interest in talking.
I want to spread my fingers out and go exploring, palm down and pressed hard against his delicious contours. I don’t. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.
“Do you know why I came to Earth?” he asks me in the long pause.
“Same as Eros, I guess.” Another assumption. This is a good time to clear that up in case I’m wrong about that too. “You were a soldier, they did a bunch of stuff to your genetics that didn’t work and then dumped you. Yeah?”
“I was bred for war,” he bites out and his voice is as hard as his expression. “On Torvis. I kill. No hesitation. Does this frighten you?”
“Are you serious? Of course not.” I survey him. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have already, but danged if I can figure out this intimidation routine. “You’re not on Torvis and besides, they kicked you out. So you don’t kill anymore. Right?”
Shock filters through the granite of his face and I’ve clearly thrown him for a loop. What, does he want me to be afraid of him? Or is he simply caught off guard that I’ve got his number?
“You should be afraid.” He steps back so that I can’t reach him and my hand falls away. “I am not who you think I am.”