She shook her head, water droplets flying, and padded over to the bedside table where she'd left the new personal device he’d given her. She needed to tell someone. She needed to process this, and the only person she ever processed anything with was currently in a medical coma in Sector 4.
Tapping the screen, she brought up the recording interface. She hit the red button and propped the device against a pillow.
"Hey, Dee." She nudged the device straighter against the pillow, like Delilah could actually see her better. Her voice came out husky in the quiet room. "Day two of being the alien commander's… what am I? Guest… Problem? Decorative hazard? All of the above?”
Perched on the mattress edge, she was careful not to crush a gown that looked like silk as she picked at a loose thread on the towel edge. "Okay. Updates. Good news first. Kellat—the handsome doctor looking after you. And yes, you're going to flirt with him the second you open your eyes—he says you're getting better. Like, actually better. He thinks he can wake you up soon."
She paused, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat every time she said it out loud. It felt fragile, that hope. Like glass that might break if she said it too loud… or one wrong word and it'd shatter.
“So… wake up soon, yeah? Because things are getting weird. Good weird, but weird. Would you believe I let a man buy me clothes?"
Lifting her arm, she turned her wrist so the camera could catch the light gleaming off the silver vines of her bracelet.
"Look—he gave me this today. Wouldn't look at me when he did either, and I’m fairly sure he shuffled his feet. It's... beautiful, Dee, see? It's the nicest thing anyone has ever given me. I can't stop looking at it."
She ran her thumb over the cool metal.
"There's an event tonight. He's taking me. Which brings me to..." She gestured at the bed. "This. He raided a boutique or something while I was in the shower. I have no idea what half of this stuff is, but I'm going to try it on for you. You can tell me which one makes me look least like a potato when you wake up."
Standing up, she dropped her towel without worrying about being out of shot. She and Delilah had shared an apartment the size of a postage stamp, so they were used to seeing each other in all states of undress. She reached for the first gown, a deep crimson affair that slid through her fingers like something alive.
"Option one," she said, shimmying into it. It had long skirts that trailed the floor and a neckline that plunged so deep she was pretty sure her belly button was visible. She turned to the camera, then winced. "Yeah… no. Too much side-boob going on. Kirr might have a stroke. Passing on this one."
Peeling it off, she threw it on the rejected pile.
"Option two." A gold number that was stiff and structural. She got halfway into it before she couldn't breathe. "Nope. Nope. I enjoy breathing too much. Next."
She went through three more. There was a teal one that clashed with her skin tone, a black one that was kind of cool but made her look like she was about to attend a funeral, and something with feathers that made her sneeze.
Usually, this kind of thing—dressing up, preening in the mirror—was Delilah's domain. Harper was the one who fixed the sink or balanced the budget. She was the one who wore jeans until the inner thighs wore out because she'd spent her clothing allowance on Delilah's birthday.
But Delilah wasn't here. And this stuff... it wasn't for Delilah. It was for her.
Kirr had brought it for her.
Her hand landed on something dark and shimmery near the bottom of the pile. It was a deep, iridescent midnight blue, shifting to violet where the light hit the folds. The material was heavy enough to drape but soft as a whisper.
"Okay." She smoothed the fabric between her fingers, suddenly careful. "Let's try this one."
It was complicated. Latharian fashion apparently didn't believe in zippers. It relied on a series of hidden hooks and clever wraps that defied gravity. She struggled with it for a moment, getting her arms tangled in the long sashes, swearing under her breath.
"Shit, Dee. You know it’s bad when you need an engineering degree just to get dressed." She glared at the hooks.
Then, she found the anchor point at the waist. Pulling the sash through, she wrapped it around her back and then hooked it into place at her hip.
She turned to face the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and stopped, her jaw dropping. The dress had utterly transformed.
The fabric hugged her upper body, making the curves she usually buried under loose sweaters look... holy shit. The skirt fell in a column of dark water, pooling at her feet, with a slit that only revealed itself when she moved. The wrap style created an elegant V-neck rather than a scandalous one, framing her throat and collarbone.
She looked... tall. Regal even.
She looked like she belonged in someone else's life. Like she belonged on the arm of a man like Kirr.
The word fell out of her on an exhale she hadn't meant to give. "Wow."
She turned back to the device, doing a slow spin. "I think we have a winner. I look..." She searched for the word. "I look like a princess. Like one of those fairytales Mom used to read us when we were kids."
She touched her cheek, staring at her reflection. A thought struck her.
