Page 7 of Alien Spare (Cosmic Mates #9)

Married. Karma lay beside her sleeping husband .

After a pleasant afternoon, they’d been invited to a post-wedding late-night dinner with the king and queen.

Invitation being a euphemism for edict. Although she and Falkor had made their peace, she remained a tad resentful over the forced wedding, and tension lingered after they were free to escape to their suite.

Fortunately, they retired to bed shortly thereafter, and Falkor had fallen asleep almost immediately.

Wide awake, her brain continued processing the twist of fate resulting in her marrying an alien prince. A shotgun wedding had never been part of her plan. Of course, she didn’t have a plan other than getting her shit together and figuring out why all her relationships ended in disaster.

The skylight emitted a stream of moonlight highlighting Falkor’s face, relaxed and handsome in repose. The man was drop-dead gorgeous. And when he wasn’t being an ass, he was quite charming. And accomplished. The fact he owned a secret business had impressed the hell out of her.

Which meant she needed to be extra careful to guard her heart.

She could like him, live with him, but she couldn’t love him.

Falling for him would be disastrous. The man had left broken hearts scattered across Kaldor.

Before the shotgun marriage, she’d logged onto the HyperSphere with her multipurpose device and read the celebrity gossip about him.

Prince of Scandal? The Heartbreak Prince would have been an appropriate moniker, too.

No wonder the KCN reporter had assumed she and Falkor were involved.

Probably many reports of his escapades were overblown, but if half of them had some validity, he posed a bad risk. She also had a string of broken relationships in her past, but, more often than not, the men had dumped her. Every woman desired to be with a prince; Karma was the woman men ran from.

Their truce had surprised her, but that’s all it was—a stay of hostility for the sake of peace.

They were making nice with each other . He’s the most sought-after bachelor in all of Kaldor—well, not since the wedding—but he’d never be interested in settling down to an ordinary life.

Princes didn’t settle for anything—certainly not for a slightly weird woman of an alien race.

Kismet and Jaryk were the exceptions proving the rule. Lightning did not strike the same place twice.

Clichéd much?

I’m a walking cliché. Despite her mystical leanings, she desired an ordinary life—marriage to a man who loved her, a couple of children, a home, family, and friends. A dog. She’d seen no dogs on the planet.

The annulment and departure from Kaldor would be heart-wrenching. She would miss her twin, and she had a horrible feeling she would miss Falkor, too. But she couldn’t stay after the marriage ended.

She studied his handsome face. He had the softest lips. She recalled the incredible wedding kiss with a flush of heat and jealousy. Of course, he’s a good kisser; he’s had lots of practice. The ease with which he’d done it showed how little it meant to him. A kiss was just a kiss.

Not to her. A kiss was personal, intimate. She didn’t kiss on the first date. It was old-fashioned, but that was the way she was. Nor did she sleep with a man unless they seemed to be heading toward a long-term relationship. But when she headed toward monogamy, the man headed for the exit.

Just as Falkor would have done if Cosmic Mates hadn’t locked them in for a year.

Well, we will both be exiting this time.

* * * *

Never cheerful in the morning, she awakened grumpy and headachy. She was both relieved and annoyed to see Falkor’s side of the bed vacant. She rolled to her feet and donned the robe she’d draped across the foot of the bed. After using the bathroom, she shuffled into the main room.

Wearing an electric-blue dressing gown, Falkor was reading his tablet. Aromatic steam wafted up from a pot on a rolling tray next to his chair. He looked up. “Good morning!” he said cheerfully.

“It’s morning,” she muttered.

“Ah, you’re one of those.”

“One of those what?”

“People who wake up grumpy.”

“Pointing that out won’t make me any more cheerful.” She wasn’t a morning person under any circumstances, but lingering emotions that had kept her up half the night contributed to her less-than-cheery outlook.

Unoffended, he grinned. She scowled. His smile widened.

“Just give me the antidote and don’t talk to me,” she barked.

“Antidote?”

“The antidote to morning.” She gestured at the steaming pot. “That’s bittersweet, isn’t it?”

“Would you like a pour?”

“Yes—please.”

He filled a cup and handed it to her. Cradling the mug, she sank into a chair and took a long drink. Bittersweet looked like weak tea, but it had a coffee-like flavor. Falkor continued to observe her with a smile.

“Stop it,” she said.

“Stop what?”

“Smiling!”

“Why?”

“It’s too loud.”

Dramatically, he wiped the grin from his face.

“That’s better.” Her lips twitched with reluctant humor. Damn him. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Okay,” he deadpanned.

Why did he have to be so likable? She pulled her legs under her and sipped the coffee substitute.

He focused on his own cup, seeming totally relaxed. Too handsome. His robe gaped a little, revealing a muscularity she hadn’t expected and a dusting of curly blue chest hair. What if he gets tired of me? What if he begins to dislike me like everyone else?

“Would you—” he said.

“Do you—” she started to ask at the same time. “You first.” She gestured.

“I need to meet with my business partner today. Would you like to come along?”

“Yes, I would!” Anything to get out of the palace for a while and away from her brooding thoughts.

“What were you going to say?”

“Can we really get along for a year?”

“If we work with each other instead of against each other, we can.”

She bit her lip. “Are you going to sleep with other women?”

“No! Why would you think that?”

She shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant, although her heart pounded. “This isn’t a real marriage.”

“It’s real until it ends,” he said tersely.

“So, you’re going to remain celibate the whole time?” she scoffed.

“In the eyes of the king and queen and the public, our marriage is real. I would not disrespect the crown by disrespecting my wife. Despite the rumors, I have some honor.” He knocked back the remains of his bittersweet and stood up.

“I’ll go get dressed. I’ll meet you in an hour if you still want to go with me. ” And he stalked out of the room.

* * * *

How could she assume he’d carry on as if he was unmarried?

He’d let his guard down and opened up. He’d thought she’d started to see him.

Instead, she’d bought into the public rumors like everyone else.

There had been lovers—a thirty-one-year-old single man couldn’t be expected to be celibate—but those relationships were over.

He’d promised fidelity, and he never made promises he didn’t keep.

Why do I have to keep proving myself over and over?

Buoyed by the rapport they’d seemed to achieve after the wedding, he’d awakened with optimism for the future. But then he discovered what she really thought of him.

She wasn’t sniping at him like she used to, but her attitude toward him apparently hadn’t changed.

He shed his robe and stepped into the cleansing unit, emerging fresh and dry, and then donned a pair of leggings in a rough fabric, a tunic pullover with pockets, and favorite well-worn boots he refused to part with. After finger-combing his hair, he went to tell Karma she could use the bath.

She sat on the sofa, nursing an empty cup, her expression pensive, almost sad. She looked forlorn and lonely.

None of this is her fault. His powerful parents had forced her into marriage.

He’d grown up snapping to their commands, but she hadn’t.

He had been rude at the start. Could he blame her for reacting?

Of course, she would experience doubts and reservations.

How could he expect her to understand him after a single pleasant afternoon?

She could only observe what he’d shown her.

He’d spent a lifetime masking his feelings, his hopes, his dreams.

I need to be more patient. “Karma?”

A mask of indifference slipped over her pensive expression.

“The bathing chamber is free, if you wish to use it.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. For everything. For the way I acted when we met. For getting you into this mess. I’d undo it if I could.”

“I’m sorry you regret marrying me,” she said.

“I…don’t,” he said truthfully. “I’m sorry it happened the way it did, but I don’t regret it.”

“Really?” Her smile quivered.

“Really.”

“Thank you for that. I’ll go get dressed.” She scrambled to her feet.

“I’ll order us some breakfast.”