This was not going to work. Damn it.
How could she not have known about the accident? Fuck. Gods damn corporation and their “need to know” bullshit. Between Gideon’s death and the ship arriving unannounced two days early, their marriage had to be over before it had begun. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. He lengthened his stride.
Paying one of the prostitutes who made the long haul out there now and then might be a costly endeavor, but it had to be infinitely preferable to this. He and his hand were well acquainted, and by the looks of things would continue to be so for some time to come.
Bon stepped into his path, the big ape side-swiping him at the last second with a clap to the shoulder that sent him reeling into a wall. “Good party, Elliot.”
Adam only grunted in reply because one, he was busy finding his balance, and two, yes, it had been a good party. In fact, he was still feeling its effects. A swathe of people were willing to buy him drinks right now. The party seemed to have been going on for the last month, ever since he had been released from the med unit. But the buck’s party in particular had been most enjoyable.
Pity about the marriage.
“Is it far?” the princess asked in a breathy voice. She stood about average height, with a nose that tilted up slightly at the end and a stubborn, pointy chin. A nice mouth and dark eyes, pretty in a way. Pity—Gideon would have liked her. He’d been a smooth bastard. Gideon would have handled her just fine and known exactly what to say.
“We’re here.” Adam slapped his palm against a com reader set into the wall and the door to their shiny new domicile slid open. Up until two days ago, he had only rated a bunk and a shower two levels down. He felt like a trespasser every time he crossed the threshold into this gleaming kitchen-lounger combo with bed and bath attached. It might not be executive but it was a world nicer than what he’d been used to.
His wife stuck her head in and her body reluctantly followed, booted feet taking tentative steps inside. Most of the pristine glass and synth-wood surfaces remained untouched. On the whole it looked good. But he had left his mark in subtle ways. Bed unmade, dirty cups and plates stacked on the counter. A lone sock lay abandoned halfway across the floor. Not a bad effort for forty-eight hours, eight of which had been spent in a bar celebrating his nuptials, following the double shift he’d pulled sitting in the cockpit of a digger. He’d been trying to earn some fast cash for something he now did not need, since he sincerely doubted they would be wed for long enough for anyone to require a ring.
“I’ve been busy,” he said, and immediately regretted it. Forget justifying himself to her.
Adam puffed his chest out and did his best to stand up straight. The world seemed to slide on its axis and she looked at him with her big, dark eyes. Really, really dark eyes. Her coat was still on. His gaze lingered on the clips keeping it together.
His wife’s coat. On his wife.
No, bad idea. Don’t go there.
The door slid shut behind him, sealing them in, and something started pounding deep inside his head. Boom. Boom. Boom. His stomach roiled in a nauseous, nasty manner and if he wasn’t mistaken his hands had started to shake due to a case of the DTs. He needed to escape—now. “I’m going to shower, hit the sack.”
The woman turned and blinked at him, shoulders rising on a breath beneath the padded, knee-length jacket. Her elegant mouth opened the minutest amount, as if she were about to speak and—fuck it—he fled. His feet were off and carrying him toward the bathroom, hands pushing back his coat and dumping it on the end of the bed as he raced right by. Speed was of the essence. He had to get away.
It wasn’t until he was encased in the sterile white space of the bathroom that he could breathe again, safe from her scrutiny. This was not going to work. Not a chance.
Adam braced his hands on either side of the basin, cracked his jaw and braved a look in the mirror. Because how bad could it be? His eyelids flew back and his nostrils flared, hands holding on for dear life.
Ouch. Well. He had looked better. That much was true. His eyes were a sea of red and his pupils like pinpricks. It hurt to see them. But then, everything had started to hurt.
He turned his back on the mirror, tugged his long-sleeved T-shirt over his head and cringed. Not the sweetest smell. Maybe she had been right to hang back. She couldn’t possibly think it was his fault that she had arrived early and caught him unprepared.
Still, maybe he should go and apologize. Explain. And say what? Sorry they assigned you to a drunken wreck? Sorry your other husband died? What a fucked-up situation.