“Alpha poet to you, thank you very much.”
I try and fail to lighten the moment. My eyes water and a single tear traces down my cheek, which he catches with his tongue and replaces with a kiss.
“And you don’t have to make me understand. I thought this was biology playing dirty,” I whisper. “Heat. Bond. Bite. All of it. But it’s not only that. It’s you. Annoying, impossible, terrifying you. And I love you so much I’m probably going to need a lifetime of emotional support snacks.”
I suspect his eyes are also glistening. But I don’t want his tears. I want his taste. So, I reach up and take it.
Chapter 8
Bee: Epilogue
Three months later, the Athena Real Women campaign launch fills the penthouse event space with bodies, voices, cameras, perfume, champagne, and the buzz of a magazine that matters.
I move through the crowd with my spine straight and my chin lifted, the posture I learned from Athena’s pages years ago, back when I was a teenager memorizing articles about women who refused to shrink themselves to fit arbitrary standards. The lead feature stares back at me from every display screen, printed program, and the massive projection of Dr. Kenzie MacArthur’s face appears in unretouched detail; her expression holds the calm intensity of a woman who has never performed pleasantries for cameras and does not intend to start.
The article covers the environmental impact of coffee production, deforestation in Brazil, ethical sourcing, and the women whose labor feeds the global economy yet rarely appear in its narratives. It is beautiful and hard-hitting. It has my fingerprints all over it: heart, brains, and teeth. It also has afew carefully negotiated absences. No details that would put sick Layn children or the people protecting them in danger.
I have the magazine I wanted. Its growth is beautiful and exhausting. But I didn't do it alone. I also didn't do it by crushing Todd Childs' bones to dust, although I did allow my mate to dismantle Todd's life into pieces. I built it with my eyes open, my work intact, my best friend present, along with, most importantly, my prince.
“Editor-in-chief,” Loora says, appearing at my elbow with a plate of hors d’oeuvres she has already begun devouring. Her fingers select the most promising specimens with the strategic attention of a general surveying terrain. She looks spectacular tonight in a little black dress that makes three donors, two photographers, and one nervous junior editor forget their sentences. “You know what that means, right?”
“It means I get to keep the corner office with the private bathroom.”
“It means you’re the one they blame when everything goes wrong.” She pops something breaded and cheesy into her mouth, chewing with the satisfaction of someone who enjoys her food more than etiquette. “It means you have to rein in Sky before he threatens all the junior writers and frightens the investors.”
I follow her gaze across the room to where Skylor stands near the bar, his blue-tinted glasses softening the alien gleam of his amber eyes, his skin carrying that faint bluish cast under the event lighting that makes him look like royalty from a dimension adjacent to ours. He is wearing the suit I selected for him this morning, dark charcoal that complements his violet undertones, and he has positioned himself where he can observe the entire room without hovering over me.
This is progress.
His hand moves to the small bowl on the bar, and he crunches the premium roasted coffee beans. Three separate people notice, hesitate, and decide not to ask.Good.
His eyes meet mine across the room, as if my stare is a magnet. The bond warms my body, familiar now, no longer a command but a current. His gaze drops briefly to my ring, then returns to my face. He does not smile in public often, but his expression shifts in the private way I know. Mine, it says.
Mine too, I think back, because I am petty and possessive in several languages now.
Loora makes a sound. “Gross. You two are doing silent alien flirting.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You absolutely do. Also, when you do the Earth paperwork, I am still maid of honor.”
I laugh, and because he is impossible, Skylor’s ears angle toward the sound across the room. Loora notices and sighs into her plate. “A girl could get used to that kind of attention.”
The words are light, but I hear what sits under them. I bump her shoulder gently. “You'll find someone who tracks your laugh across a crowded room.”
“I know.” She lifts her chin. “And until he arrives, I deserve these appetizers."
"Absolutely. And while you're enjoying those, I'd better check in," I say as I make my way towards the center of my world.
Skylor’s hand finds the small of my back when I reach him, the touch claiming without confining, his thumb tracing the curve of my spine through the silk of my dress. “You are magnificent tonight,” he says, voice low enough for me alone. “The room moves around you, without realizing that they are orbiting.”
“That line is almost too good. Did you practice?” I ask, patting his chest.
“Yes.”
My mouth falls open. “You practiced flirting?”
“I practice all important skills.”
