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Chapter Nineteen

Amara

I can’t believe it. I just can’t. Everything about this marriage has been a lie since the very beginning. The only reason he came to Earth was to escape the hell he lived in. He never wanted me; I was merely a convenience to get what he needed.

How long was he planning to use me and then leave me? I know I should ask him these questions to his face, but I’m so angry, so betrayed, that I can’t even look at him because it burns my soul.

I gave so much of myself to Roth’kar, all while he planned to gallivant off the moment the deed was done. He convinced me he cared for me, that we would be a good pair, just so I wouldn’t end it before the thirty days was up.

I can’t believe I let him touch me, that I let him have sex with me. That I practically cut open my heart and handed him a piece of it when he never intended to do the same.

“Amara!” Roth’kar calls after me as I head into the house, my whole body hot, so hot, my senses on overdrive as I try to process the avalanching heartbreak. “Amara, wait.”

I stop and turn to him. “I am leaving.” My voice comes out weaker than I intend, but I’m weak, so weak, for him. “I am leaving to go home. I don’t want to see you until tomorrow. You can sleep at Marguerite’s house—I’ll tell her you’re staying.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but I ignore him, turning away again so I can go find Marguerite. Roth’kar follows me again.

“Please,” he says, reaching for my hand. “Amara, it’s not like any of that anymore.”

I jerk it away, because just touching him is painful.

“Stop it!” I snap. “Just stop! I can’t even look at you! I need to be alone.”

When I charge off again, Roth’kar stands still, watching me go.

I’m in tears when I finally find Marguerite. I can barely get the words out, but somehow she’s able to discern my meaning, because she pats my shoulder and assures me she’ll take care of everything.

All I can do is flee from the house before I break down.

I cry the entire light rail ride home, wishing that Roth’kar was with me, hating that he’s not, hating that he lied to me, hating that everything is wrong .

He never wanted me. Even now, was he planning to bounce the moment the trial was over? Is everything he ever told me, everything we ever did, even real? Was sleeping with me part of his plan?

The thought absolutely disgusts me, and the moment I’m through the front door of my condo, I get into the shower and scrub myself clean under the hot water. I feel vomit rise in my throat.

He did what he needed to do. He did what was expected of him, just like we talked about. I was right.

No, wait, I am going to throw up.

After getting it all out into the toilet, I close the lid and lean my head on it, wet and cold and exhausted. I’ve gone through some nasty breakups, but nothing has hit me where it hurts quite like this.

Finally, I heave myself off the bathroom floor, towel dry, and head into the bedroom. The sheets and blanket are still a mess from earlier, when I was trying to put on my dress and Roth’kar insisted on taking it off me.

I fall onto the bed, breaking out into sobs all over again. I lie under the blankets that smell like my husband, miserable and sick to my stomach, until I fall asleep.

The next morning, I feel like a cake that got dropped from a twenty-story building. When I slide out of bed, though, I smell bacon fat cooking. Quickly, I throw on my slippers and robe and stumble out into the hallway.

In the kitchen, Roth’kar stands over two hot pans. He turns when I appear.

“I made breakfast,” he says carefully. “Plenty of grease. And here’s some coffee.” I stand there as he pours me a mug from the coffee maker and slides it across the table in my direction.

I know what he’s trying to do. It’s not worth it. I already went through this entire breakup in my head last night, and while I might be exhausted now, it’s because I know the right answer.

“Roth’kar.” I sit down at the table, studiously ignoring the coffee.

“Almost done.” His tone is almost frantic. “Just a few more minutes.”

“Roth’kar.”

He gives me a pleading look. “Don’t make me leave.

” He pushes the pans aside and comes to the table, sitting across from me.

He reaches for me, but I don’t take his outstretched hand.

“Please, Amara. It’s not because of the Hole.

I don’t want to leave you . I’ve never felt happiness like I have with you, and?—”

“I’m not making you leave.”

I say the words strong and hard, so he won’t question them.

Roth’kar’s antennae lift for a moment from where they’ve been plastered miserably against his head. “You won’t?”

“No. I could never send you back there, even though it didn’t work out between us.”

“It… didn’t?” He searches my face for what I’m saying. “What do you mean, Amara? You’re going to stay married to me?”

“Until we sign the documents and make everything official, so you can get residency on Earth.”

I hate the words as they come out of my mouth, but it’s the right thing to do. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if Roth’kar had to return to the Hole after how terrible it was.

But he can’t stay in my house, either. I can’t be his wife, knowing what I know now. Not when there’s still a chance he would leave me.

Roth’kar’s tone is worried as he asks, “And then? After?”

“And then we get divorced, and you can go off and do whatever you want.”

His antennae droop, and he lowers his head.

“You’ll let me stay here until the paperwork is done, and then you want me to leave.”

“Yes.”

I’m trying to keep calm, but inside my heart is breaking into pieces all over again. But I deserve more than this. I deserve someone who chose me . Who wants me .

“It’s only a few more days,” I point out. “Gazargo comes back on the third.”

“Three days.” Roth’kar raises those blue eyes to mine, and they are bottomless. “Three days until I have my citizenship.”

“And then you can go.”

He nods slowly, his hands curled into fists. Then he rises silently from the table, serves the food on two plates, and puts one in front of me. He looks numb as he sits down, and we both eat in silence.

The rest of the day passes much the same: in silence. I deposit Roth’kar’s clothes outside the spare room in a neat pile, then go into my own room and shut the door so I can be alone. I lie on my bed, miserable, staring at the wall and wishing everything was different.

When I emerge again, he’s taken the clothes away and retreated to his own room.

I make dinner that night, and Roth’kar tries to help, so I let him. I say nothing, and though he glances at me from time to time, he doesn’t speak, either.

Over our meal, he says, “Amara, please, let me explain myself.”

My response is firm and final. “I think you did already.”

He falters. Looking down at his plate, Roth’kar doesn’t attempt to make conversation again.

I will give him what he wants. I’ll make sure he has everything he needs to build a life for himself. And then we’ll wash our hands of each other.

The next morning, I get up early for work, before my alarm has even gone off. When I walk out into the kitchen, Roth’kar is already awake and cooking. He slides a plate of food into my spot at the table.

“So that you have a good day today,” he says, by way of explanation.

I don’t answer. I can’t trust myself to answer without breaking down. His attempt to take care of me, to be kind to me, grates on my nerves. How can he go about this farce still?

After I eat, I throw on my bag and head out the door.

The day is a slog. Kendall knows something is up, and she offers to talk about it, but I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

I thought I’d found the love of my life, but I was just a path for him to get what he wanted.

Have things changed since then, like he’s arguing? I believe Roth’kar cares about me, yes. But if I asked him point-blank if he still intended on leaving… would I believe his answer? Do I really know his heart?

I don’t think I do, not anymore.

That’s what hurts the most—how our relationship had blossomed so fully, only for all the trust I had in him to be destroyed. Now, I’m mourning it.

The drive back from work makes me infuriated as other drivers cut in front of me, because an accident has slowed everything down. I just want to slam on my horn and shout at someone. It’s all so unfair.

Finally, I’m home, but I dread walking in the front door. Just seeing Roth’kar’s face this morning was like a dagger to the chest.

When I finally step inside, I’m greeted by the scent of onions, garlic, and spices. I frown when I spot Roth’kar in the kitchen, wearing my apron, busying about over two pans and a pot on the stove. He turns when I enter, and he offers me a tentative smile.

“Curry?” he asks.

Fuck. He knows I love curry. He knows I’d do anything for it, and I hate that he’s trying to buy me back with food.

It’s not about whether or not I love him. I’m pretty sure that I do. It’s about whether or not I can trust what we’ve built—and how it feels like our little city of budding love was wiped out in a tidal wave.

“Roth’kar, I’m sorry.”

He turns his head again. “For what?”

“This is pointless. It’s not about forgiveness. You can’t just undo what’s been done. Everything between us is based on a lie, and I don’t think I can ever trust you again.”

His antennae flatten, and he turns back to the food. He doesn’t speak for a long time, and I think he’s not going to answer me at all until he says, “I am not trying to buy your forgiveness, Amara.”

He serves rice in bowls, and then dishes out the curry over it, topping it off with yogurt and cilantro before bringing it to the table. He sets one in front of me, then seats himself on the other side of the table.

“I am trying to take care of you. That is my job, as your husband. To take care of you and protect you, even if you don’t want me to do it. And I’ll do it as long as I can, until you make me leave.”