“Sorry.”
It took him a minute to calm down from her having insulted his family. Especially one of his favorite members.
Bastien finally cleared his throat and resumed the story. “Anyway, he has a hard time breathing in our atmosphere. It’s a different mixture than what they have on Andaria and his anatomy’s not quite the same either. So there he was, wheezing, green, yacking everywhere, and about to pass out. Barnabas wasn’t taking a bit of mercy on him and neither was Lil or Quin. They were screaming and shoving at him. Telling him to move his fat ass. I’d never heard so many insults screamed at one person in my life. And I’d had enough of it.”
“What did you do?”
“Was my usual charming self. Yanked my helmet off, laid down on the ground, and told them I was done for the day. That my ass was too precious for that amount of abuse. And that I was ready for my nap. To call a transport.”
She arched a brow at him. “I imagine that didn’t go over well with your uncle.”
“Like a labor strike with my sa. He set my precious ass on fire, but it got the attention off Jullien and they finally gave him some peace. So, in my opinion, worth it. And when I got home and my ?da found out and took a blaster to my uncle … totally worth it. Kept me out of those miserable summer treks in hell until well after I hit puberty. And even then, I got to go with a security detail that threatened the life of anyone who sought to harm me.”
“Is that why he’s so skittish of you?”
“Probably. My ?da’s a little overprotective. In case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed. Hard to miss.” She walked into his arms. “She already threatened to have me killed if I break your heart.”
Bastien didn’t comment as Alura rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Mostly because she’d already broken his heart. She’d done that the moment she’d forced him into a marriage he didn’t want.
But he wasn’t cruel enough to tell his mother, because there was no telling what she’d do to rectify it. As they’d both noted, his mom could be a bit psychotic and overzealous whenever it came to him.
When Alura pulled away, her blue eyes were filled with warmth. “Love you. And one day, I’m going to make you love me, too.”
“Alura—”
She placed her fingers over his lips to stop his protest. “It’s okay, Bastien. I know I’m not your first choice. But I can guarantee you that you’ll never want another woman after me. That I promise you.”
For some reason, those words left him with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He watched as she left to rejoin the party.
It wasn’t until he was alone that he realized she’d never answered his question about why Barnabas had come out here with her.
Whatever. His uncle was probably grilling her like he did everyone else.
Sighing, Bastien decided he’d had enough of this fiasco. Not like anyone here could hate him any more than they already did.
“Cald mitta,” he breathed under his breath, using the Andarion words for goodnight.
“Later, bitches” might be a bit more apropos for how he felt.
Peeling off his suit jacket, he draped it over the balcony, rolled the cuffs back on his shirt, then did something he hadn’t done since he was a kid skipping out past curfew—he climbed down his mother’s prized foliage and snuck across the lawn, taking care to dodge sentries, guard dogs, and cameras.
By the time he made it to the road, he almost felt like himself again.
He crossed the busy intersection on foot, to his private storage unit no one knew about, where he kept a couple of his treasured airbikes his mother would have apoplexy over should she ever discover them. In fact, she’d torched the only one he’d made the mistake of allowing her to see when he’d been sixteen and had been dumb enough to drive it home from the dealership.
Lesson learned.
Never let his mother know about his addiction to extreme speed.
Bastien shrugged his Armstitch jacket on and reached for a helmet. He swapped his shoes for a pair of reinforced boots before he settled himself onto the bike and started it. The engine roared to life with a guttural sound that caused the bike to vibrate through him. Yeah, this was what he needed to clear his head—warp speed and some gravity-defying flips.
Pulling the helmet on, he took a second to scan through frequencies, looking for some raucous music to accompany his mood.
His family had always despised his taste in music—to the point his father had once confiscated every playing device Bastien owned. Since then, Bastien had learned to tune in to the unlicensed pirate stations transmitting from Kirovarian outposts. They alone played the songs his father’s committee had banned from their commercial networks. Music deemed too “corrupt” or “dangerous” for the masses.