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I nod, appreciating her honesty. “Understood, I’ll head down and join a team—”

“Go to her first,” Astrid says, cutting me off. A more hierarchical ship might frown on such insubordination, but I hired brilliant people who would always speak their minds when they felt in the right. Still, I did not expect input regarding an ill-advised tryst to come from someone I hired to oversee our nuclear reactors.

“I must attend to other urgent matters,” I say shortly.

“In the ten minutes it will take me to gather crew and assign positions, you can have a moment to speak with that woman,” Astrid responds. “The two of you make up a significant percentage of our new society—best you clear the air quickly and not let feelings fester.”

Her words are the final push I need to justify heading straight for Azalea, as I have wanted to do from the beginning. I move past my surprisingly thoughtful engineer with a grateful nod and out the door to find the woman who is relentlessly capturing my affection.

I suspect Azalea retreated to her quarters, and I feel an urgent need to get to her before she disappears within her shared suite. We have already brazenly crossed a line, but stepping into her and Robert’s room to discuss what we did is a bridge too far. I need to stop her in the hall.

The fourth floor is buzzing with party guests who have no idea what caused the ship to shake. Captain Millard will likely make an announcement once we have things in hand. Some have returned to eating and drinking as though nothing happened, even with chairs overturned and broken glass on the ground. Others are less resilient in the face of a shaking spaceship and are making their way toward the lift and the privacy of their suites.

“Excuse me, apologies,” I say as I cut off a couple about to enter the lift. “Tending to important matters, I trust you understand.”

The man gives me a thumbs-up as the doors close. There are perks to being the recognizable leader of this expedition. No one dares argue with a captain in a crisis.

“Level three,” I say as soon as the doors close. Every second I am not in motion feels like sand lost in the hourglass. If I am unable to reach her in time… a pain clenches my chest. It is the phantom pain of a breaking heart.

The doors open and I round the corner and sprint down the hall, narrowly missing a collision with sweet old Miriam Peterson. “Pardon me, Mrs. Peterson.” If I had a hat to tip, I would tip it to her. She is the sort that inspires such action. Instead, I give a brief nod, make sure she is stable, then speed away.

I turn the corner and call out the moment I see her. “Azalea!”

Her palm rests on the entry reader of her suite, but she pulls it away when she hears me. Her eyes look glossy, holding back emotions she likely does not wish released in the hallway.

I hate that what we shared has led to this pain on her face.

“Azalea, I am deeply sorry,” I say. I do not have a script for what words should come next. I have only a deep desire to make it right with her, if such a thing is possible.

“For what?” she asks. Her voice is soft and hitched, offering proof of the pain my actions have caused.

“That never should have happened,” I say, even though the words feel alien in my mouth. If I had it all to do again, I would only kiss her sooner. Those feelings are the cause of all this strife, so I have to quell them. “I violated your trust. My own rules. The system will work if we allow it to, and my actions tonight undermine everything. So… I am truly sorry.”

Tears fill her beautiful blue eyes until one escapes down her cheek. I want nothing more than to wipe it from her face and taste her lips again, but I remain steadfast in my resolve to right my wrongs.

“I guess I should apologize too,” Azalea says as she dries her face with the back of her hand. “You weren’t the only guilty party.”

I shake my head. “I put you in that position. You have a partner. You two will find your happiness, which is as it should be. I cannot stand in the way of that.”

Azalea opens her mouth to speak but no words come out. Whatever her thoughts about Robert and their relationship, she does not reveal them to me. We stand a foot apart, our bodies close so that no one might overhear our conversation, yet the proximity belies the directive of my argument. I must snuff out this romance, I must move on so I can focus on what needs to be done for our safety and survival; instead, my eyes are traveling over the curves of this goddess, her scent intoxicating me.

If she asked me to come inside her suite right now, I would be powerless to say no.

Which is why I must leave.

“I have to go assess the engines,” I say as clinically as possible, hoping reason can regain its place at the helm of my brain. “Once again, I apologize for overstepping and putting you in this position. And please know that the woman who saw us… she will keep our confidence. You have nothing to worry over in that regard.”

Again her mouth opens, and again she has no words. If only I knew what she was thinking…

But perhaps it is better that I do not have access to the fantasies of her mind. My own fantasies do not need encouragement or company.

I turn and head back to the gravity lift, keeping a steady pace and trying to guide my mind to the very real work that needs to be done. I must not let my feelings for Azalea get in the way.

By the time I reach the cargo level, Astrid has assembled a team of twelve crew members, each inspecting a different engine.

“I trust Metis explained the weight distribution problem,” my engineer says as I approach.

“Yes. Rather, I told Metis.”