Page 9
CHAPTER 9
VICKI
T he skyscraper’s glass facade catches the sun, splintering it into a thousand shards of light as we step inside. My fingers lace with Rokkon’s, his hand warm and reassuring. The dress clings to me—black lace and satin that feels both daring and elegant. The semi-transparent sides leave just enough to the imagination, but not so much that people aren’t staring. My cheeks burn under the weight of their gazes.
“Everyone’s staring,” I mutter, tugging at my hair with my free hand.
“With good reason,” Rokkon says without missing a beat. “You’re stunning.”
His voice is low, confident, and it makes me smile despite myself. I glance up at him, his human disguise flawless—red hair, piercing purple eyes, towering over everyone in the room. He moves like he owns the place, and apparently, he does.
The lobby is a cavern of polished marble and steel, with a massive banner hanging from the vaulted ceiling: Global End Hunger Initiative. Staff members dart around, bowing slightly as we pass, their smiles so wide they look painful. One woman practically sprints to hold the elevator door open for us.
“Are they going to offer to chew our food?” I ask under my breath.
Rokkon chuckles, the sound rich and smooth. “They’re just eager to please the boss.”
“You’ve got a way of making people do what you want,” I say, glancing at him sideways.
He hesitates, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. “It’s not about making them do anything. It’s about respect.”
I open my mouth to push further, but before I can, a voice booms across the lobby.
“Rocky! There you are! And who’s this radiant vision beside you?”
Ned Turner strides toward us, his gray mustache twitching with every word. He’s dressed in a tailored suit that probably costs more than my parents’ house, and he’s already talking faster than I can process.
“Ned,” Rokkon says, his tone polite but distant.
“And you must be Victoria,” Ned says, turning to me with a grin that feels like it could power a small city. “I’ve heard so much about you. Rocky here hasn’t stopped talking about you. Well, actually, he doesn’t talk much at all, but when he does, it’s about you. Isn’t that something?”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, managing to get a word in.
“Nice to meet you too, my dear. Now, let me tell you about the agenda for today’s meeting. It’s packed, absolutely packed. We’ve got updates on the Sub-Saharan initiative, the Southeast Asia campaign, and?—”
He keeps talking, barely pausing for breath as he leads us toward the elevator. Rokkon shoots me a look that says, Stay strong, and I bite back a laugh.
The elevator doors slide open, and Ned ushers us inside. He’s still talking, his voice filling the small space like a radio that no one knows how to turn off.
“And then there’s the budget report. Now, I know what you’re thinking, Rocky. It’s a lot of numbers, but trust me, we’ve got it under control. I’ve been crunching the figures, and?—”
Rokkon cuts him off with a sharp nod. “We’ll go over it in the meeting.”
“Right, right, of course,” Ned says, nodding vigorously. “But I just wanted to give you a heads-up. You know how I like to keep things transparent. Transparency is key in these situations. I always say?—”
The elevator dings, and the doors open. Ned steps out, still talking, and I exchange a glance with Rokkon.
“He’s... enthusiastic,” I whisper.
“That’s one way to put it,” Rokkon mutters.
We step into the boardroom, a sleek space with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. The table is long and polished, surrounded by high-backed chairs. Ned immediately starts introducing me to the other board members, his voice carrying like a megaphone.
“Everyone, this is Victoria Sloane. Rocky’s special guest. Isn’t she just a delight?”
I smile awkwardly, my hand still in Rokkon’s. He gives it a reassuring squeeze, and for a moment, I forget about the stares, the fuss, and Ned’s endless chatter. All I feel is the warmth of his skin against mine.
The boardroom is all muted tones and polished surfaces, the kind of place that smells like money and decisions that ripple across continents. I’m sitting next to Rokkon, trying to look like I belong here, but my palms are slick with sweat, and I’m pretty sure everyone can tell I’m out of my depth. Ned’s still going on about something—budgets, maybe—but I’m zoning out, my attention drifting to the view outside the windows. The city sprawls beneath us, a maze of ambition and chaos.
Then, a sharp voice cuts through the hum.
“Ms. Sloane, what do you do for a living?”
I freeze. The question comes from a woman at the end of the table—sleek black hair, pearl earrings, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. My heart stutters. What do I do? I can’t exactly say, “Oh, I pump gas and babysit my drunk parents while being groomed as my billionaire alien soulmate’s jalshagar.” That’s not going to fly.
Rokkon leans forward before I can fumble out a reply. “Ms. Sloane is a literary expert,” he says, his voice steady and commanding. “She’s quite intelligent, constantly surprising me and everyone else.”
The room goes quiet for a moment, and I feel the weight of their stares shifting from curiosity to something softer—respect, maybe. My cheeks warm, but I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. Rokkon’s praise settles over me like a warm blanket, and for the first time since I walked into this room, I feel like I might actually belong here.
He pulls out my chair for me as we sit down, a gesture so old-fashioned it makes me laugh inside. The pearl-clad woman raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
The meeting starts up again, and I try to focus. They’re talking about food distribution networks in Sub-Saharan Africa, the logistics of getting supplies to remote villages, the bureaucratic hurdles they have to jump through. It’s fascinating in a way—this is how the world gets changed, after all—but it’s also… dry.
I glance at Rokkon. He’s leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He catches my eye and gives me the slightest nod, as if to say, Hang in there.
“I’m just saying,” Ned cuts in, his voice booming, “we need to think bigger. Why stop at hunger? Let’s tackle literacy, healthcare, the whole nine yards.”
The woman with the pearls rolls her eyes. “Because we’re the Global End Hunger Initiative, Ned, not the Global Fix Everything Initiative.”
“Details,” Ned says, waving a hand.
I stifle a laugh, pressing my lips together to keep it from escaping. Rokkon notices, and I see the corner of his mouth twitch.
The meeting drags on, and I’m fighting to stay awake. My hand brushes against Rokkon’s under the table, and he threads his fingers through mine, his grip firm and reassuring.
“You’re doing well,” he murmurs, so low only I can hear.
“I’m mostly just trying not to fall asleep,” I whisper back.
His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. “You’re doing that too.”
I smile, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease. Whatever happens in this room, I know he’s got my back.
The café is quiet, tucked away from the city’s chaos, with a balcony that spills over the edge of the cliff. The ocean stretches out below, waves rolling in like they’re trying to whisper secrets to the shore. The moon hangs heavy in the sky, its light spilling across the water like liquid silver. It’s the kind of view that makes you think, This is it. This is the moment everyone writes poems about.
But Rokkon’s silence is louder than the waves.
I stir my coffee, the spoon clinking softly against the delicate porcelain cup. He’s been quiet since the meeting ended, his gaze fixed on the horizon like he’s waiting for something to appear. It’s unsettling. The man who’s usually so in control, so commanding, feels distant. Like he’s pulled back into himself, and I’m not sure how to reach him.
“You’ve been quiet,” I say, breaking the silence. “Did I say something wrong earlier? When I mentioned you making people obey you—I didn’t mean it like that.”
He glances at me, his purple eyes shadowed in the moonlight. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”
“Then what is it?”
He sighs, a sound deep enough to rumble through the table. “There’s a gulf between us, Vicki. Centuries of it. You’re young. I’m… not.”
“I know you’re old,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “But you’ve got a killer skincare routine for someone who’s lived through the Renaissance.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but it’s fleeting. “It’s more than age. It’s experience. Life. I’ve lived through things you couldn’t imagine.”
“So tell me,” I say, reaching across the table to take his hand. His skin is warm, rough with scars I’ll probably never know the story of. “I trust you to take care of me, Rokkon. But you need to trust me to take care of you too.”
He tenses, his fingers tightening around mine for a moment before he pulls his hand away. “That’s not how this works.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my job to protect you,” he says, his voice sharp now, the edge of a blade. “Not the other way around.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, standing as he does. He walks to the balcony railing, his back to me, his shoulders stiff. I follow him, the ocean breeze tangling in my hair. “You don’t get to decide that. If we’re partners, if we’re…” I hesitate, the word jalshagar hanging between us like a burning star. “Then we’re supposed to take care of each other.”
“The last time I allowed someone to take care of me, they—” His voice cracks, and he doesn’t finish. He just stares out at the water, his jaw tight.
I swallow the lump in my throat and step closer, slipping my arm through his. “You don’t have to tell me. Not yet. But you don’t get to shut me out either.”
He looks down at me, his eyes softening. For a moment, I think he might say something, might tell me the story lurking behind that pain. Instead, he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head, his lips warm against my skin.
“Let’s go back to the table,” he says quietly. “We’ll enjoy the rest of dinner.”
I nod, letting him lead me back to our seats. The ocean hums below us, a constant reminder of how vast the world is—and how much there is still to learn about the man sitting across from me.
I excuse myself from the table with a polite smile, muttering something about needing to powder my nose. Rokkon nods, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long, but I’m already weaving through the crowded café, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The restroom is tucked away at the end of a narrow hallway, and there’s already a line. Great.
I lean against the wall, pulling my phone out of my clutch and switching it off airplane mode. The second it connects, my screen lights up with a flood of notifications—missed calls, voicemails, and a string of increasingly frantic texts from Chad. My stomach knots as I start reading.
Chad: Vicki, what the hell? What were you thinking?
Chad: Did you really tell your rich boyfriend to buy the house and cut the mortgage?
Chad: Mom and Dad went nuts. They blew everything on booze and gambling.
Chad: Dad’s in the hospital. Alcohol poisoning.
Chad: Mom owes some shady people a ton of money.
Chad: Call me. Now.
I press the phone to my ear before I’ve even fully processed the last message. “Chad, what’s going on? I didn’t tell Rocky to do any of this.”
“Yeah, sure,” he snaps, his voice tinny through the speaker. “Like he just decided to play landlord out of the goodness of his heart.”
“I swear, I had no idea,” I say, my voice rising. A woman in front of me shoots me a dirty look, but I barely notice. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t.”
“Do I?” Chad fires back. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you cut a deal with your sugar daddy and left the rest of us to clean up your mess.”
“That’s not fair,” I snap, my throat tightening. “I’m not the one who got Dad drunk or Mom gambling. I’m not the one who?—”
“Yeah, well, you’re the one who brought Rocky into this,” he interrupts. “And now we’re paying the price. Fix it, Vicki. Fix it like you always do.”
The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, my hands trembling. Fix it. Right. Like that’s not the story of my life. I take a deep breath, shoving my phone back into my clutch, and storm back to the table.
Rokkon’s still sitting there, sipping his wine like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I slam my hands down on the table, rattling the silverware. “What the hell did you do?”
He looks up, his eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. “Excuse me?”
“My parents. My brother. The house. Did you really think you could just waltz in and ‘fix’ everything without talking to me first?”
He sets his glass down slowly, his expression unreadable. “I thought you’d appreciate it. You’ve been carrying that burden for too long.”
“Appreciate it?” My voice shakes with anger. “You made it worse. Dad’s in the hospital, Mom’s in debt to god knows who, and Chad’s convinced I’m some kind of sellout.”
“I didn’t anticipate they’d misuse the opportunity,” he says, his tone calm, infuriatingly calm.
“Of course you didn’t,” I snap. “Because you didn’t ask me . You just decided you knew better.”
“I was trying to help,” he says, his voice rising slightly. “You’ve spent your entire life taking care of them. I thought?—”
“You thought wrong,” I cut in, my hands balling into fists. “You don’t get to make decisions about my family without me. They’re my mess to deal with, not yours.”
“Your mess?” He stands, his chair scraping against the floor. Somewhere, someone lets out a nervous laugh, but the rest of the café has gone quiet, watching us. “They’re your family, Vicki. They’re not your mess. You’re not responsible for their choices.”
“I am,” I say, my voice breaking. “Because no one else will be. That’s how it’s always been.”
He steps closer, his towering frame looming over me, but I don’t back down. His purple eyes bore into mine. I think he’s going to argue, going to tell me I’m wrong. Instead, he sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“You did,” I say, but some of the fight has left me. My hands unclench, and I rub my temples, trying to stave off the headache brewing behind my eyes. “Just… don’t do that again. Talk to me. Please.”
“I will,” he says quietly. He reaches out, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “I’m still learning how to do this.”
“Me too,” I mutter, leaning into his touch, even though I’m still mad. “But we’re in this together, right?”
“Right,” he says, and for the first time, I think he actually means it.
I take a deep, shuddering breath and turn to Rokkon, my eyes brimming with tears. "Rocky, you... you're going to help my family?"
He nods, his expression grave. "Yes, Vicki. I made this mess, and I'm going to help clean it up. We're going to Belleville."
I let out a sob, the tension and worry of the past hours finally catching up to me. Without thinking, I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. His strong arms wrap around me, holding me close.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice muffled against the soft fabric of his shirt. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
He strokes my hair gently, a low rumble of comfort vibrating in his chest. "Shh, it's going to be alright. I'm here now."
I pull back slightly, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "But... what about the GEHI meeting? Aren't you needed there?"
"The meeting can wait," he says firmly. "Your family needs us more right now."
I shake my head in disbelief. "I can't believe you're doing this. No one has ever..." My voice trails off, the words catching in my throat.
Rokkon cups my face in his large hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on my cheeks. "You're not alone anymore, Vicki. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
I lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his skin seep into me. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," he murmurs. "Just let me take care of you. Of all of you."
I nod, unable to form the words that are swirling in my mind. This man, this alien warrior who I barely know, is willing to drop everything to help my broken family. It's more than I ever could have imagined.
Rokkon presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, then steps back, pulling out his phone. "I'll call my pilot and have him ready the jet. We'll be in Belleville before you know it."
As he steps away to make the call, I watch him, a strange mix of awe and disbelief filling my chest. This is all happening so fast. I feel like I might not have to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders alone.
Rokkon returns a few minutes later, a determined glint in his eye. "The jet will be ready in an hour. Are you ready to go home?"
I nod, my lips curving into a tentative smile. "Yes. Let's go."