Page 14 of Double Bind (Cosmic Mates #6)

“I won’t be long,” Amity said as they entered the library. “I’ll just take a quick look-see.”

“No rush,” he said.

“Besides checking on dyes, I’ll see if I have any messages. I doubt I do.”

“We can get messages? Is that allowed? What about security?”

“Generally, it’s not, but Artisan’s Loft residents are given an intranet account for us to contact each other—and receive official information. Refuge will forward external messages from a limited number of preapproved organizations with appropriate security clearance.”

“I didn’t know about that.”

“Darmaine told me. Lucento was supposed to tell us but apparently forgot. We’ll need to remember to tell John and Faith. I doubt they got the info either.”

The library had five terminal cubicles. The middle three were taken. “We’re not going to be able to sit together,” he said.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” she joked.

He pecked her on the lips. “See you soon.” He strode to the terminal at the end of the row.

Amity donned a headset to listen to the audio log-on instructions, which were translated into English. Once logged on, she searched the Refuge intranet for “fabric dyes.” Nothing came up. Paints and pigments proved just as fruitless—and then she happened across a complaint. An alien at another village reported that a certain edible berry had left indelible blue stains on her horniger fur blanket.

“Now we’re on to something,” she murmured, noting the berry genus and the village where it had been found. She craned her neck to check on Marshall. Brow furrowed, he squinted at his computer. He’d told her to take her time, but if he was ready to go, she could come back another day. But since he appeared to be occupied, she returned to her research.

The berry was a start. Possibly there were other fruits or plants…or insects! On Earth, food processing plants extracted carmine from the cochineal insect to color ketchup, strawberry yogurt, gummy candies, hot dogs, ham, and ice cream—just about any red-tinted processed food. Maybe there were insects on Refuge that could produce color?

Before she got sucked into the rabbit hole, she decided to check her “messages.”

To her surprise, there were two of them.

“Welcome to Artisan’s Loft!” said one subject heading.

The other read, “Message X03102125.” That meant nothing to her, so she opened the welcome.

The introductory “form” letter from Lucento listed the rules with emphasis on security, explained the pay credit system, and outlined available services—including terminal access and intranet. “Oh, that’s helpful, Lucento.” She chuckled quietly. One would have to know about the terminal access to find out about terminal access. Thank goodness Darmaine is so helpful.

One of the final paragraphs read, “There are a limited number of organizations with appropriate security clearances and encrypted communication channels. Should you receive a communication from them, it will appear in your intranet listing as the date of contact preceded by an X for external.”

So, the other message had come from off planet. From whom? One way to find out. She opened the communique.

“Congratulations! Cosmic Mates has found you a match. We believe that Vitox from planet Zycot is compatible with your requirements for a husband. He has already accepted you as a suitable wife. You may view his profile and read his personal message to you, by clicking HERE.

“You have three options. You may decline the offer of marriage, accept the offer, or arrange to meet for further consideration.”

What the hell? I’m already married. Happily married! Why are they sending me this? After the disastrous meet-up with the Nagarian and then meeting Marshall, she’d frozen her Cosmic Mates account—

No. No, she hadn’t. I forgot all about it! I never closed my account.

Soon after meeting Marshall, events had moved at warp speed. He had whisked her away to Refuge, and she’d had no way of accessing her account if she had remembered.

But how could Cosmic Mates not be aware she was no longer single? Their rep had performed the ceremony! Unless the wedding hadn’t gotten processed through the system? Or if the match offer was old. It might have come through before she’d gotten married. Given the security protocols, maybe it had taken time to reach her. She peered at the date on the message. Yes, it was nearly two weeks old. It’s probably not valid anymore.

Before she closed out her Cosmic Mates account, she needed to decline the offer. It wouldn’t be right to leave the man hanging. One would assume that if one no longer had an active account, any offers would be rendered null and void, but given the snafu, she didn’t trust that would occur.

She opened Vitox’s profile. An image of a smiling man with tusks, horns, and bristle-like hair filled the screen.

“Who the hell is that?”

Amity jumped and spun around to find Marshall standing behind her, his face thunderous.

“What’s wrong?”

* * * *

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Betrayal knifed through his heart, leaving him hemorrhaging inside. He’d been planning for a future together, and she’d been planning her exit, window-shopping for her next husband.

“Cosmic Mates matched me—”

This is why she wanted to access the computer terminals. Dyes for horniger fur, my ass! “The husband you have isn’t good enough for you?”

She blinked. “Of course you are. Why are you looking at me like that? What is wrong—” Her mouth formed an O. “You don’t think…no, it’s not what it looks like.”

“What is it, then?”

“I forgot to cancel my Cosmic Mates account.”

“Forgot or chose not to?”

“Forgot!” She leaped to her feet. “You knew I’d signed up for the service. When exactly did I have a chance to cancel it?” she snapped at him. “After you tranqued me, and I woke up on the spaceship?”

“So, this is my fault?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m not interested in anybody else. I swear. I only want you.”

“Yet I find you shopping for a potential husband.”

“I was checking messages! I had one from Cosmic Mates saying I had a match. It’s two weeks old. I clicked on the man’s profile to decline the marriage offer, and then I was going to close my account.”

She had an actual offer? His heart twisted. “Keep it. You’re going to need it,” he fired back.

Her jaw dropped.

The aliens at the other terminals were gawking. They were providing quite a show, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten a couple of sofa design options. Since he didn’t have an MCD, he’d chosen to copy them. On his way to the printer, he found Amity ogling an alien man, her Cosmic Mates match.

“Why are you acting this way? Why won’t you listen to me?” she cried. “I’ve never given you any reason to think I wasn’t happy with you.”

Other than she’d made no bones marrying him had been a last resort. She’d been bitter and resentful—although not lately, probably because she realized she still had options.

Could he blame her? Why would she prefer a destitute claustrophobic carbon-copy human who’d basically kidnapped her and forced her to live on a frigid planet so primitive they had to burn animal shit to stay warm?

Except, he did blame her. She’d allowed him to walk around with his head in the clouds, dreaming of a future in which she loved him.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” If he didn’t leave, he’d lose it.

“Marshall, wait!” She grabbed at his sleeve, but he shook her off and hot-footed it from the library.

He had no destination in mind, only wished to avoid the cabin because she would likely go there. Home was where the heart was, and his heart felt like she’d ripped it out of his chest.

I’ve never given you any reason to think I wasn’t happy with you.

Not recently, he conceded, but he felt cold-cocked. She was making the best of a bad situation.

I’m an idiot. A total idiot. He’d assumed too much, too soon. He’d been dreaming of a future, and she’d been planning one without him. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and walked, replaying the scene over and over.

How could he have read her so wrong? He’d never been married, never been in a long-term relationship or been in love before, but Dark Ops had instilled in him a pretty good fib-o- meter. He could tell when people were blowing smoke up his ass. But his internal lie detector had failed him when he needed it most.

Amity had seemed truthful. Had seemed to care for him. Why had she pretended to care when simple civility would have sufficed?

He recalled the sweater, the birthday party, the myriad of niceties she did for him every day. Weren’t those indications of caring?

What if I overreacted?

What if she’s telling the truth, and the match is a mere oversight?

When he’d met her, she’d just gone on her failed Cosmic Mates meet-up. With a twinge of old guilt, he remembered taking her to dinner to pump her for information. The next day, they’d fled Terra Nova. A week later, they were married.

It could have happened like she said. Exactly when could she have canceled her Cosmic Mates account? She’d had no access to a communication device since leaving Terra Nova until she’d learned about the library terminals. Or had she known about them all along and been checking them?

Could he ever be sure of her feelings? And, if not, could he stand to live with the uncertainty?

He pulled his hands from his pockets and found himself outside the woodshop with no recollection of having gotten here. But it made sense. He’d spent so much time at work lately, his feet had practically worn a path to the door.

He needed to punch something. Pounding pegs into legs might counteract his pain. He yanked the door open and heard Tailless howl in pain.

Everything is normal in here, anyway. He entered the shop.