Page 5 of Alien Spare (Cosmic Mates #9)

“How was the honeymoon?” Karma asked her sister.

“Wonderful! It was amazing . Kaldor is beautiful, and Jaryk and I enjoyed our time alone together.”

“Great!” She feigned enthusiasm. “Can I borrow a black dress?”

The wife of the crown prince, Kismet had a wardrobe to match her status. She had more clothes than she could wear in a year. Karma had only the clothing she’d brought from Earth, and as she preferred bright colors, she didn’t have anything suitable for a funeral.

“Sure. For what?”

“I’m getting married tomorrow.”

Kismet blinked. “What?”

“I’m getting married.”

“To who?”

She still hoped this was a nightmare, and she’d wake up in her old life. How could this be happening? “Falkor.”

“You are?” Kismet squealed and hugged her. “How did that happen? Tell me everything! I thought you didn’t like him. I can’t believe it! Wait—why do you want a black dress?”

“For the wedding.”

“You’re going to wear black?” Kismet looked scandalized.

“To symbolize the death of my dreams.”

One year. I can do a year. Breathe , breathe. She’d been on the verge of panic since the edict. The king and queen were forcing her to marry their reprobate son! She wasn’t a Kaldoran citizen! They had no right.

Might trumped right.

“Okay, what happened? I was gone for two weeks!” Kismet ushered her to a sofa. “Sit. Tell me what’s going on.”

She summarized how she got stranded, spent the night in his suite, and the ensuing fallout.

“I’m sorry,” Kismet said. “Would marrying him be so bad?”

She gaped at her twin. “You’re kidding, right? He’s the last man on two planets I’d pick!”

“When you’re not beating each other up—figuratively speaking—you get along well.”

Karma harrumphed. “The one minute when we retreat to our corners in between rounds?”

“You have a lot in common.”

“Mutual dislike.”

“You’re more alike than you’re different.”

“I beg your pardon! He’s a jerk! Are you saying I’m a jerk?”

“More of a free spirit.”

“I can’t believe you think this is a good idea.”

“It’s not a bad one.”

They could debate this forever and ever. “We’re going to have to agree to disagree. Can I borrow a dress or not?”

“Yes, but not black. I’m not letting you wear black to your wedding—I am invited, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. We delayed doomsday so you and Jaryk could attend.”

* * * *

The wedding officiant, a gray-green lizard man with a serious overbite and a noticeable lisp, droned on about the seriousness of marriage. She allowed her attention to wander, pulling it in periodically in case she missed something important—like an escape clause.

The ceremony was being held in one of the smaller public galleries.

Small being relative. Everything in the palace was gigantic and grand.

Holograms of former monarchs and princes and princesses gazed down from pedestals around the room, making it appear as though there were more guests attending the wedding than Kismet, Jaryk, King Rullok, and Queen Myka.

Falkor, damn him, did formal well, handsome and rakish in a dark-blue jacket and pants offset by his spiked hair and devil-may-care light-blue cosmetic stripes across his nose and cheeks.

Although forced to comply with the king’s edict, he hadn’t lost his cheeky attitude, drawing her reluctant admiration.

She also had to admit Kismet had picked the perfect outfit for her.

The flamenco-style pink dress revealed flashes of deep rose when it swished around her calves.

She gave a little twirl now to feel the fabric swing around her legs.

Fun and flamboyant—it matched her style.

Too bad I’m not wearing it to my real wedding.

Falkor caught her eye and winked, like they were conspirators in a grand caper rather than tragic victims of circumstance. Us against the world. What a novel idea. What if, instead of fighting each other, they fought the forces against them?

“Do you, Printh Falkor Rullok-Myka of Kaldor, agree to enter into a legal union with Karma ath your wife for the term of one year, to be extheended indefinitely should you both conthur ?” the officiant lisped.

“I do.” His “conthurance” rang out clear and true, but his mouth twitched with amusement, and she had to bite her lip to keep from breaking out into hysterical giggles.

“Do you, Karma Thelestina Kennedy of Earth agree to enter into a legal union with Printh Falkor ath your huthband for the term of one year, to be extheended indefinitely should you both conthur ?”

“I—do,” she choked, hoping she got through the ceremony without a laughing fit.

“By the powerth invested in me by Cothmic Mates, I pronounce you huthband and wife.”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Kismet chanted in sisterly revenge. When she married Jaryk, a near stranger, Karma had finagled them into kissing at the altar.

It wasn’t so funny now. She scowled. “I don’t think—”

Falkor swept her into his arms, bent her over, and laid on a lip-lock. His tongue tickled the seam of her mouth, shocking her into parting her lips. He pressed his advantage, sweeping inside and crashing her defensive shields with smooth seduction. Good Goddess, the man could kiss!

When he let her up, she swayed on her feet, mind muddled. Why did he kiss me like that?

The king, queen, and Jaryk applauded by whistling, and Kismet tossed confetti she’d pulled from a tiny pouch around her waist.

“ Thine here.” The officiant pressed a tablet into her hands, and she scrawled her name. Falkor signed, and, with that, her fate was sealed.