“Custom clothing?Jens’i, that seems a bit extravagant,” I complain.
Jens’i, my distinguished butler, who is often regarded as one of the most levelheaded and wise members of the estate staff, rolls his eyes at me.
“Your Grace, with all due respect, your clothing budget exceeds that of the King’s. I think it’s only fitting that we offerhersomething that actually fits her alien body.”
“A budget that is afforded to me due to my station, lest we not forget. The human is—”
“No less deserving. I can keep your situation private, but do not assume I don’t understand the circumstance you find yourself in now. Keep in mind that although I am your butler, and proud to be so, first I am a mate to Hi’lar. As a mated male, I can see exactly what’s going on—”
“Enough.”
“You won’t be able to deny the truth much longer, and you shouldn’t have to. Humans are being integrated into our society. It might even be a good thing from a diplomatic standpoint—”
“Enough!” I growl. He doesn’t understand.
“Your Grace.” He bows deeply but lets his eyes show their disappointment. It’s not often he has an outburst like that. His feelings must truly be strong to tell me so plainly.
But he knows. My mask is down, and I am laid bare.
“I’m arranging a bed to be brought up for Marta, among other comforts. Shall I tell them to furnish it in the dressing room?” He moves on to the business at hand, as if to recover from my slight against him.
“Yes, I think that’s the best place for her at the moment. We can figure out specifics about her stay here in the morning.” I soften my tone. I don’t often snap at the person I consider my one confidant. He nods.
“Unless anything further is needed, Your Grace, I will be retiring for the evening.”
“Of course, please give my regards to Hi’lar. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He gives one last look at the bathing chamber doors.
“Patience and understanding will go a long way, even if it’s what you grant yourself. It’s okay to put your needs first, Raf'ere.” The lack of formal title is bristling at first, but I know it’s done with sincerity.
I don't have the heart to tell him Marta will never work, she’ll never fit into my life like he thinks she will.
“Thank you.”
CHAPTER13
?ESTABLISHING DOMINANCE?
?MARTA
The white uniformdoesn’t fit me well, but it’s the best of the pile. I’m short even on Earth at a cool five two, but in space I’m tiny. I know these garments are probably cut for alien proportions, but swimming in the oversized dress doesn’t make me feel any less dowdy.
The fabric feels unnatural, but still somehow breathable. It has the texture of plastic but doesn't make me sweat like a polyester does. There's a teal belt that is held up by loops, but the waistline of the dress is at my hips. It creates a strange silhouette. My hips are wide and while in my youth I hated them, now at twenty-eight I look at them with much kinder eyes.. They’re still not my favorite part of my body, so I likely wouldn’t have chosen to emphasize them like they are now. That, in combination with sleeves about six inches too long, makes me look like a chunky toddler wearing her mother’s business casual attire.
Who gives a fuck about fashion right now? Oh, maybe the girl who thought it’d be a great time to rub one out?I’m a hot mess all around.
But the dress is the only thing in the stack of clothing that doesn't absolutely tent over me. I roll the long sleeves up until they reach my mid forearms, for easier use of my hands. I take the belt out from the loops that rest on my mid-thigh and just tie it a bit higher where my natural waist falls.
I allow myself a quick glance in the mirror once I’ve fixed the outfit as best I can—and honestly, I’ve looked worse. I tuck my makeshift Italian horn necklace into the high neckline of the shirt.
My hair is still damp from the shower, but I don’t see any towels or blow dryers around. I guess that makes sense given that Raf’ere’s skin and hair never truly seemed to get wet, even in the direct spray of water.
Leaning over the sink, I try to wring the water from my hair. The curls bounce as I release my grip and it seems to have helped my drowned rat chic look a bit.
Knowing Duke Fuckface won’t lift a finger, I take the time to fold the clothes that didn’t work. I don’t want the kind Jens’i to have to deal with my mess, amidst Raf’ere’s terrible attitude.
As I do, I find my mind wandering back to earlier, when I came in his arms. Why in the fuck didn't I stop? I could have played it off, pretending like I had just slipped.
