The woman who had him tied up in knots stepped onto the balcony, bringing with her the scent of her coconut shampoo and he inhaled deeply. She came up behind him and looped her arms around his waist, leaning against his back.
“Regrets?” she said.
“None,” he replied in a firm voice, putting his hand over hers. “Ready for a day of fun and sun out on the ocean?”
“I’m not sure fishing is my thing but I guess I’ll find out today. I do like to eat them.” She chuckled and he drew her in front of him for a kiss.
They stepped inside, gathered their things, packing them in the handy antigrav container and left the bungalow, heading for the docks where they’d meet his friends and their dates and cast off in the chartered deep sea fishing boat. IDA offered an endless menu of choices for activities and he’d chosen this one for himself long before the selection of a date match was made. Now he was a bit regretful as Rosalie was being such a good sport about the whole thing but he hoped the slight change he’d made in the day’s agenda as a surprise for her would please her.
As they walked and she made lighthearted comments about the colorful birds sipping nectar from the abundant flowers lining the path he reminded himself her fated mate mark would fade and go away if he didn’t take any steps to formally claim her or see her after this week ended. She’d never even know, being human.
But he would.
And he was sure his heart would break to lose Rosalie.
Her songs the night before had entranced him, the notes winding around his body like silken cords, binding him to her even more closely. How could he willingly part with a woman who had such a powerful effect on him?
He could ensure her life changed for the better despite their parting. He could wield his considerable influence to set her on a better career path, provide her comforts and luxuries without her knowledge of the source.
“Your singing last night was phenomenal,” he said abruptly. “Did you ever consider a career as a singer?” He could operate behind the scenes to make it happen.
“Not really.” Her reply was candid. “I always loved music and then in elementary school I was lucky enough to have a music teacher who wanted to nurture my talent. She was a bright light in my life and I still take an occasional lesson with her, when I can afford it. I won’t let her give me lessons for free because she’s retired on a tiny pension and she needs the income. But I know making it as a singer is a hard road and so many try and fail. I don’t have any reserves to live on while I tried. It’s not a realistic dream.”
It could be, he thought.
“There was sort of a chance once,” she went on, unaware of his internal musings. “A regular customer of mine at the diner was a retired Amarotu Combine enforcer. I used to sing sometimes when business was slow. Made big tips that way. He told me the Combine was constantly looking for talented people to staff their casinos and clubs out in the Sectors. He said he had the contacts to make that happen for me if I wanted it. Swore the only thing expected of me would be to sing and go where the Combine sent me.” Rosalie shivered.
“But you said no?” he prompted.
“One thing everyone knows in the strata of society where I live is once you’re entangled with the mob, your life is no longer your own. You have to do whatever the bosses tell you or else the consequences are…awful. Maybe Big Moe could have kept me safe while I was on Earth—he might have had the juice for that—but once I was sent off elsewhere, anything could happen. It’s a deal with the devil.” Eyes wide she stared at him. “I couldn’t take the chance. My life might be hard at times and I’ll never be rich but at least I make my own decisions. I stopped singing at the diner or anywhere else in public. He died of a stroke about a year later and I heard through the grapevine he’d protected me for a long time from being kidnapped by the mob and forced to sing offworld. I faked a severe case of laryngitis, even took unpaid sick leave, and paid a dirty doctor to write me a letter stating my vocal cords were full of nodules and I’d be unable to sing again.”
“Gutsy,” Trey said, balling his hands into fists as he considered the risks she ran simply by living her life.
“I haven’t sung since, except at my teacher’s house and she’s getting feeble. I won’t have her much longer. So you see, doing the karaoke last night meant a lot to me.”
They’d arrived at the docks and up ahead his friends waved them on.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go into so much detail,” she said as they hurried toward the charter vessel.
“I asked, don’t worry.” His protective instincts were ratcheted up to an unbearable level after her story about the mob’s interest in her. No closer to making a decision what to do about Rosalie being his potential fated mate, he decided to table the whole thing and enjoy the day on the ocean with his friends and their dates. After all there were three more days of the IDA experience remaining.
Chapter Six
Rosalie enjoyed the novelty of being out on the ocean and was happy not to suffer sea sickness, as one of the other girls did, retiring to the cabin below with a dose of meds the captain provided. The sun on the water was beautiful and there were large aquatic animals to be seen. A pod of sleek black-and-white creatures raced the boat for a while before veering off to do acrobatics in the waves and eventually disappear.
The men fished once the ship was at anchor. Rosalie decided fishing wasn’t for her, too much downtime when a whole lot of nothing happened, but she’d brought a book, because she never went anywhere without reading material, and sat in the shade on deck happily immersed in the book she’d chosen. The other three women sunbathed and chatted in desultory tones, including her when they could, which was nice but Rosalie wanted to concentrate on her book.
Lunch was prepackaged, from one of the top restaurants at the resort and she enjoyed the conversation, which was general and wide ranging.
After lunch, Trey insisted she take a turn at fishing and amazingly she caught a fairly good-sized game fish. Flushed and in disbelief, she studied the large, colorful creature as the crew brought it aboard, flailing in a net.
“No, no, no,” she said decisively. “We’re not eating him. He fought so hard. Let him go, please, Trey.”
“I can’t refuse you anything, songbird. At least let me take a few holos of you with your catch for posterity. The fish can survive another few minutes out of the water.”
Rosalie knew he was amused by her abrupt decision but it was one thing to have a perfectly cooked filet on a plate and another to watch the actual fish with its sides heaving on a deck. Reluctantly she posed next to the fish as a crew member held it up for her and then the men dumped it back into the sea. Rosalie nearly fell over leaning on the rail to watch as it swam away, colors flashing through the water.
Trey caught her in his arms and kept her from a dunking. “Your good deed for the day.”
