“Make no mistake about it,” Valerie rasped when she finally managed to catch her breath, her throat aching and hoarse, “I will never be like you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Later that night, long after Madame Allegria departed her dying brothel, long after Valerie returned from Eve Tesler’s now-emptied townhouse, she sat at the desk in the lobby.
The Nu device was open before her and she was tempted to do a search for the Dumera colony, but she knew it was too risky. Madame Allegria monitored everything. Instead, she pulled up her own personal storage file, entering her access code, and stared down at the one picture she had saved there.
The one of her mother. The only one of her mother that she possessed.
The Nu devices that Madame Allegria had purchased for the brothel were out-of-date, an older model, so the shafts of blue light that projected her picture into the air before her were grainy and blurred.
Even still, she felt a dull ache in her chest as she stared at her mother’s smiling face. A content happiness was in her eyes, but ever since Valerie’s father passed away—when she’d been a child—there had always been an underlying sadness there as well.
Her mother and Madame Allegria looked very much alike, though her aunt had had altering procedures done over the years. Her mother had green eyes, like Valerie, and deep auburn hair. The smiling lines around her mouth and eyes were untouched and natural. The clothes she was wearing in the photo were old and threadbare. Valerie remembered going to the salvage yard with her to find them. Her mother had always said that people were wasteful, that they threw away things that still had plenty to give.
She’d found those clothes that day…and she’d been right. She’d worn them for years before they’d started to show signs of wear.
Valerie sighed, zooming in on her mother’s face, before her gaze strayed to her own. Proudly grinning next to her mother. Valerie had been around 13 or 14 then. All gangly limbs and frizzy hair and crooked teeth.
We’d been happy though, she thought, a soft smile on her face.For years after this too.
Then her mother had gotten sick. Breast cancer. A common enough disease, easily curable with a single injection, though it was pricey. Too pricey for them, when they could barely afford their weekly meals.
Valerie closed the storage file and the photo disappeared. In its place was the image that would haunt her forever. The one of her mother, lying on her bed, pale and sweating, her eyes seeming too big for her face.
“I love you more than anything,” she’d said, voice brittle, eyes wet. “I’m so sorry, Val. So sorry.”
Her mother’s last words to her. She could still hear them clearly in her mind as if her mother had just spoken them.
Valerie shut her eyes, taking a long breath in through her nostrils.
Suddenly, she heard the whirring of the elevator and she straightened at her desk before standing. Her eyes drifted to the clock. It was ten in the evening.
The elevator gave a bright, mechanical ding before the doors slid open and Celine Larchmont stepped out. Valerie looked for the telltale signs of sex—flushed cheeks, trembling limbs, wrinkled clothes—but saw none.
Instead, Celine looked pensive. Almostfocusedas her gaze settled on Valerie, standing at the reception desk.
“Mrs. Larchmont,” Valerie greeted, inclining her head. She’d seen her just a few hours before when she’d arrived at the brothel at Ravu’s request. It hadn’t occurred to Valerie that the Keriv’i males might have preferred to say goodbye to select clients. A spear of jealousy went through her, wondering if Dravka had wanted to say goodbye to any of his.
“Valerie,” Celine replied, stepping up to the desk.
This was when Valerie was supposed to say,“I hope your visit was pleasant,” and other such bullshit. Now? An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. She simply stared, wondering if Celine would say anything about the night before at dinner or about the fact that she was there now.
“Sometimes,” Celine started softly, “I would just come here to talk with him.”
Valerie frowned, her brows furrowing.
With Ravu, she meant.
“It wasn’t always about the sex,” the older woman continued, her features contorting into a strained expression, “though that was nice with him too.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Valerie said quietly. “I’ve heard it all before.”
Celine sighed, her well-manicured hands sliding over the beautiful wood between them. Then her eyes settled on Valerie, spearing her with a long look. “You care for them?”
Her brows furrowed further.
“Them?” she asked, gesturing upstairs. “Of course, I do.”
