The Supreme Director is watching along with his perfect wife. The entire room is focused on us. I hate this.
Ender places one hand on my back, just below my shoulder blades. His other finds mine, fingers warm, calloused in a way that comforts me. He doesn’t pull me close immediately.
“Are you ready?”
“Does it matter if I am?”
“I suppose not.”
He moves, smooth and fluid. It’s a wonder someone as tall and large as Ender can shift so gracefully. I can feel the heat ofhis body and the muscles concealed by his suit. A flush crawls up my throat, staining my cheeks.
“You’re doing great,” he says softly.
His hand guides me, steady as a compass needle. I hate that it feels natural. I hate that it feelsgood.
“I’m in my own personal nightmare right now.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Ender says, with a shake of his head.
He spins me, my skirt billowing with the sudden movement. The room blurs for a second, then snaps back into focus. He catches me with a practiced ease, his arm firm around my waist. The move draws us closer together. Every inch of my body is plastered to his. His eyes are pale and intent as they peer into my soul. And then it drops, so suddenly, and unexpectedly that it makes my breath stutter. It lands on my mouth.
For a moment, I think I am hallucinating, there is no way that Ender Vale feels any bit of desire towards me. I am harsh, abrasive, and severe. There is nothing about me that could ever tempt a man like him. We are opposites in every way that counts.
And then I remember who I am, where I am.
I take a step back, averting my gaze. I feel a strange sensation in my belly.
I am my sister. I am the girl he has been stuck with for the past few months. The one who doesn’t insult and belittle him or shoot him, for that matter. Mercy is kind and gentle. I can see why he would grow fond of her. The lust in his eyes is not for me; it is forher.
I clear my throat and blurt out the first thing I can think of to ease the tension.
“So,” I say. “Endymion? That’s a mouthful.”
“Don’t start,” he warns.
“I didn’t know that is what Ender stands for.”
“It’s not,” he grumbles. “I picked my own name because my father has terrible taste.”
“Endymion,” I say teasingly.
Ender dips me. The step is sudden and deliberate. My heart races as my hair nearly grazes the floor. But when he lifts me, there is a satisfied smile on his face, revealing his bright white teeth.
He steadies me instantly, forehead nearly touching mine. The air is thick, almost unbreathable. It feels like we’re the only people in the room. I’m acutely aware of him, the heat of his palm, the strength in his frame, the way his breath mirrors mine.
If I leaned in, just slightly, our mouths would touch. I pull back abruptly, cursing myself mentally for being so weak. He is not mine. And I don’t want him to be; he is a horrible person. A fact I seem to have forgotten after a handful of hours, pretending to be his loving wife.
“My father chose the name,” he explains. “I wanted something that was mine.”
“Ender suits you,” I admit. “It fits.”
The song ends with a handful of polite applause. Ender bows with exaggerated flourish, then offers his arm to guide me away from the center. People begin to drift to the floor now that we’ve completed our dance. It feels nice to be ignored again. I spot Clover by the door; her eyes watch us with fury. She spins on her heels, and I feel a burst of sympathy for her. I cannot imagine what it is like to watch the person you love marry someone else.
“Tradition complete,” Ender says. “And would you look at that, you survived.”
“Barely,” I murmur.
It was strangely intimate dancing with him, just then. Even though the room was full of people, it felt like we were all alone.
