Page 9

CHAPTER 9

CORA

I ’m sprawled on my bed, the afternoon sun filtering through my curtains, my phone glowing in my hands. Orion’s latest text makes me bite my lip to stifle a laugh.

“Send me a picture of your pussy, I miss it.”

Typical Orion—straight to the point, no preamble, no wasted words. I glance toward my bedroom door, listening for footsteps, but the house is quiet. Mom’s probably in her studio downstairs, and Dad’s likely bench-pressing his body weight in the garage. Safe enough.

I tug down my yoga pants, the cool air hitting my skin as I angle the phone just right. The click of the camera feels loud in the quiet room. I send the picture with a follow-up text.

“Here you are, Mr. Weller, Sir. Though I think maybe it’s YOUR pussy. After all, you’re in charge.”

His reply is instantaneous. “If you were in arm’s reach, I’d already have you naked.”

I laugh, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. But before I can type a response, the door bursts open.

“Cora!” Mom’s voice is bright, her paint-splattered smock flaring as she strides in. I yank my pants up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash, my face burning.

“Mom! Do you ever knock?” My voice cracks, and I shove my phone under a pillow like it’s incriminating evidence.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Oh, honey, I knocked. You were just… preoccupied.” She gestures vaguely toward the pillow, and I groan, slumping back against the headboard.

“It’s a private conversation,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Sexting and sending nudes are signs of a healthy relationship,” she says cheerfully, like she’s quoting a self-help book. “Though, you might want to invest in a lock for your door.”

“Mom!” My voice hits octaves I didn’t know I could reach.

She laughs, waving a hand as she backs out of the room. “I’m just saying! You’re an adult, Cora. Own it.”

The door clicks shut, and I bury my face in my hands, groaning. My phone buzzes again, and I fish it out from under the pillow.

“You could always just move in with me.”

I stare at the screen, my breath catching. It’s not the first time he’s floated the idea, but it’s the first time it’s felt… real. My fingers hover over the keyboard.

“Maybe, but I need to explain to my parents first.”

The “Sent” notification appears, and I exhale, staring at the ceiling. How do you tell your parents you’re moving in with your literal alien boss who also happens to be your dom? I’m not sure there’s a Hallmark card for that.

I’m in the kitchen, an apron tied around my waist, the rich aroma of beef stroganoff filling the air. The bottle of wine Orion gifted me sits on the counter, the label sleek and foreign, a reminder of his otherworldly taste. I pour three glasses, the deep red liquid catching the light, and set them on the dining table just as Mom and Dad wander in.

“What’s all this?” Dad asks, his eyebrows lifting as he eyes the spread. The stroganoff is in its final simmering stage, creamy and fragrant, and I’ve even tossed together a side salad because, hey, I’m not a total amateur.

“Dinner,” I say, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Thought I’d treat you.”

Mom’s already at the table, inspecting the wine. “This is fancy. Did you rob a wine cellar or something?”

“Orion gave it to me,” I admit, stirring the stroganoff one last time before turning off the stove. “He’s… well, he likes to spoil me.”

“Spoil you?” Dad echoes, taking his seat. “Sounds like a keeper.”

I snort, plating the food and bringing it to the table. “Let’s just eat before it gets cold.”

The first few bites are quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that only family can bring. Mom hums appreciatively, and Dad practically inhales his portion, which is about as close to a compliment as I’ll get from him. I sip my wine, nerves starting to tangle in my stomach as I brace myself for the conversation I’ve been dreading.

“So,” I say, setting my fork down, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Mom’s eyes narrow, and she leans forward, elbows on the table. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Mom!” My face flushes, and I shake my head emphatically. “No. It’s not that.”

Dad chuckles, swirling his wine. “Let her talk, Maggie.”

“I’m moving out,” I blurt, the words tumbling out. “Orion and I have been talking about me moving in with him.”

Mom doesn’t even blink. “Oh, is that all this is about? You want to move in with your boyfriend?”

“And here we thought you were pregnant or something,” Dad adds, smirking into his glass.

I groan, dropping my face into my hands. “You’re impossible.”

“Cora, honey,” Mom says, her voice softening, “you’re an adult. You don’t need our permission.”

Dad nods, his expression serious for once. “We just want you to be happy. And if this Orion guy makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.”

“Besides,” Mom adds with a wink, “if he makes you dinners like this, we might just start inviting ourselves over.”

I laugh, the tension in my chest easing. “Thanks, you guys. I was worried you’d freak out.”

“Freak out?” Dad scoffs. “You’re our daughter, not our prisoner. You’ll always have a home here, but you need your own space too.”

Mom stands, patting my shoulder. “Now, since you cooked, your dad and I will handle the dishes.”

I protest, but they wave me off, shooing me out of the kitchen. I head upstairs, my phone already in hand as I type out a message to Orion.

“So when do you want me to move in?”

His reply is instant. “Tomorrow.”

I grin, my heart racing. Tomorrow.

I sit cross-legged on the floor of my childhood bedroom, surrounded by cardboard boxes and the scattered remnants of my life. The room smells faintly of lavender and old paper, a scent that’s been here as long as I can remember. My hands hover over a dusty shoebox, and I pull it open, grinning when I see the tiny gold soccer trophy inside.

“Next stop, FIFA World Cup,” I mutter, reading the engraving on the base. Dad’s handwriting is unmistakable, all caps and slightly crooked. I laugh, shaking my head. “One season, and he thought I was the next Mia Hamm.”

I set the trophy aside, my fingers brushing against something else under the bed. It’s a small, leather-bound journal, its cover worn and soft. I flip it open, the pages yellowed with age, and my breath catches. Junior high Cora’s handwriting stares back at me, loopy and uneven.

“Dear Diary,” I read aloud, my voice soft. “Today, I decided what my perfect man would be like. He’d be tall enough that I could lean my head on his shoulder when we dance. He’d take care of me, make me feel special. He’d challenge me but also support me no matter what. And he’d love me the way I need to be loved.”

My throat tightens, and I blink back tears. I trace the words with my finger, the ink smudged in places where I must have cried while writing. It’s like I’m looking at a map of my heart, one I didn’t even realize I’d been following.

“Orion,” I whisper, the name slipping out before I can stop it. He’s tall—so tall I have to crane my neck to look at him. He takes care of me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. He challenges me, pushes me to be better, but he’s also my biggest supporter. And the way he loves me… it’s everything I ever wanted, even if I didn’t know it at the time.

I hug the diary to my chest, a warmth spreading through me that I can’t quite explain. It’s like a puzzle piece clicking into place, a truth I’ve been avoiding finally coming into focus.

“I’m in love with Oriyn,” I say, the words soft but sure. A laugh bubbles up, giddy and light, and I press the diary to my face, hiding my smile. “I’m in love with an alien. Who would’ve thought?”

The room feels different now, like the walls are holding their breath, waiting for me to catch up. I set the diary down gently, my hands trembling just a little. I’m not sure what happens next, but for the first time in a long time, I’m not scared to find out.