The Star Princess (26 page)

Worriedly he did as she asked. Ilana reached into her jeans pocket and removed a tissue. Sniffing, she lifted her sunglasses and dabbed at her eyes. "Sorry," she croaked. "Emotional moment here."

His chest filled to bursting. He'd never experienced such feelings before for another, never knew it was possible to feel what he did to this degree.

Slowly, reverentially, he placed his free hand on Ilana's thigh. Her hand settled on his and squeezed. "Thanks for doing what no one else ever bothered to try, Ché. Maybe no one expected that I could. I don't know if… if I can transfer this feeling to a larger plane, or a spaceship— "

"You can," he said with confidence.

She smiled softly. "But I did this."

"Yes, you did."

"I did it!" she said, louder.

"Waa-hoo!" they whooped together.

Then, hesitantly at first and then with more purpose, Ilana leaned across the seat and pressed a kiss on his lips. He began to follow her as she pulled back, and then remembered where he was: in a light plane with Ilana high over Earth's Pacific Ocean. And without a doubt, the closest to heaven he'd ever been.

When Hoe next appeared in Klark's chambers later that day, he brought with him an official missive. He handed the computer to Klark. "A wife has been chosen."

Klark rose from a nest of luxurious pillows, where he'd been doing his nightly reading from the Treatise of Trade. He cinched the belt on his evening robe and took the computer Hoe offered. "Music off," he told the chamber's computer. The Bonali orchestration ceased. The room was silent save for the beating of his heart in his ears. Toren has chosen?"

"And your father gave his approval."

"Excellent. So you will be calling our wayward prince home?"

"Yes. Right away."

"Good. It appears destiny is on our side."

Hoe swallowed nervously. "With a few minor complications."

Klark watched him carefully, wondering if the man would come through when it came time to ask it of him. But he would worry about that when the time came.

He opened the missive. "Ah. It will be the Lesok princess, after all." He lowered the computer. "Is Prince Haj the complication? Is he raising a fuss?"

"More than a fuss. He is on his way to the Wheel. He plans to make a formal protest there to the Great Council."

"And the princess?"

"She seems quite delighted with the prospect of Prince Ché. A biddable sort of woman, she is."

Klark returned the computer. "Speed it along, Hoe."

"My lord?"

"Get Ché back here. Without delay!"

Hoe took a step backward and bowed. Fist pressed over his chest, he turned on his heel and left.

As soon as Hoe left his chambers, Klark began to pace. So… Ché was smitten with the crown prince's sister, was he? Well, his older brother would soon be home. And if Klark couldn't convince him to make the choice that was best for the Vedlas, then he would have to make it for him.

Destiny called to him; purpose sang in his veins. He knew that the sole reason he existed was to make the Vedlas the proudest and most respected of the Vash families, if not the most powerful. Ché Vedla was the instrument with which to achieve that goal.

Soon, and at his doing, the magnificent Vedla reign would once more be back on track. Klark's senses told him that the time was near. The Earth princess would not ruin it for him. No, she would not.

Klark had honed his body, kept his mind sharp, all so that he could achieve the goal of ensuring that the Vedla name once more reigned supreme. No matter how addled his older brother, Klark would see the fruition of his plans. By the holy blood that ran in his veins, he would not fail again.

Chapter Seventeen

After leaving the airport, Ilana and Ché went for a drive in the Porsche, celebrating with Gatorades and Corn Nuts, and recounting the flight.

Somehow they found their way to Highway and were following the road north. Ilana noticed that neither of them had proposed a destination, and that neither seemed to care. For two fairly ambitious, focused people, it was a little strange, driving around with no goal in mind. But then the entire impulsive, dizzying, unforgettable day had been strange. Why not keep it going?

The Pacific was on their left, shining in the afternoon sun. They had the windows open all the way. Che's long, athletic body just barely fit the Porsche. He drove with the driver's seat pushed back as far as it would go to make room for his long legs. His attention was on the winding highway, his driving fast and efficient. Confident. Sunlight and shadows played across his wonderfully sculpted profile. His nose was too long to be perfect, but she loved its imperfection.

Ilana was on the phone with Linda, after sharing the news with Leslie and Slavica at SILF. Flash was at home. She'd called him there, and he'd met the news with droll astonishment. Now she grinned as she finished breaking the news to her assistant. "And he let me take it through a few turns while we were over the ocean. Yes, me. Linda, I am not making it up!"

The open window tousled Che's short hair, a honeyed cinnamon in this light. Automatically Ilana reached over and combed it with her fingertips as she recounted the highlights of the flight to Linda. Che's driving didn't change one iota, but a contented grin transformed his Greek-statue profile, making it warm and real. She thrust the cell phone at Ché. "Tell her, Ché. She doesn't believe me."

He spoke into the phone like into a microphone, keeping both hands on the wheel. One thing about him— he was always careful, whether driving or flying, and kept his attention on the road… or on the runway, thank goodness. "Indeed, Ilana spent one-point-four hours in the air, Linda. I have the log in my possession, should you wish to verify the feat."

Ilana pressed the phone back to her ear. "See? Ha!"

"Congratulations. You're a flyer now."

Ilana felt a ripple in her stomach. "Urn, I still have a few issues. Starships, mostly— but I did it, Linda. I flew! Che's done more for my sanity than a decade worth of clinics. Can you believe it?"

"If any man was going to make you fly, I knew it was that one."

Linda meant more than the obvious. And she was right.

Ilana glanced at Ché, her face heating. When was the last time she'd dated anyone since he'd arrived? Hell, when was the last time she thought about any other man? Not that she and Ché had really done anything yet, or had even kissed after that night at Reach— by mutual, unspoken consent— a record unbroken until the chaste kiss she'd given him a half mile above the ocean. Despite the lack of physical contact, it was the closest she'd ever come to having a steady guy, the closest in years she'd ever come to having a— she could hardly bring herself to think the word— relationship. But then, she'd never dreamed she'd fly a plane, either. "Yeah, well," she told Linda.

"Yeah, well what? ". You'd better make up your mind soon about that boy, or he's going to go home and get married, and you'll kick yourself the rest of your life because you're too darned dense when it comes to men."

"Linda!"

Lifting a brow, Ché glanced her way. Ilana gave him a helpless shrug. He knew Linda, enjoyed her company, but Ilana didn't need him to hear any of this.

"Okay, so then we landed," she said, changing the subject. She could tell that Linda was smirking on the other end of the line. "But I haven't. I'm still flying." She saw a road sign speed past. "Actually, we both are. Where are we, Ché?" She hadn't been paying attention.

"South of Santa Barbara."

"I heard that," Linda said. "Get off the phone and celebrate. Take the day off. Take tomorrow off. Go."

Ilana laughed. "Yes, ma'am." They said their goodbyes, and she hung up.

"Linda thinks we should celebrate."

"Linda is right." He made a sudden turn off the highway.

"Where are we going?"

"It is scenic here."

She wasn't sure exactly where they were. Ché drove down a narrow off ramp that doubled back on itself, and pulled up to a small inn and parked. "Serenity Inn," she said. "Slavica told me about this place. She stayed here. It's a bed and breakfast."

Ché gave her that I-don't-get-your-slang look. "It's an inn," she explained. "A place to spend the night."

"Ah." He looked toward the beach, and Ilana wondered what he was thinking. Then he turned back to her and said, "We've always returned to your home after all our excursions. Is there a reason we cannot stay here tonight?"

She swallowed her surprise. She'd thought he didn't want to sleep with her. "Well, a lot of reasons, all given by you."

He appeared clueless as to her meaning. "You do not want to stay?"

"I'd love to stay." But flying and sex with Ché all in one day? It seemed too good to be true, but she decided to go with the flow.

He opened his door. Ilana grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Slipping on her dark glasses— bought in the initial surge of paparazzi interest— she sat in continued puzzlement as Ché walked around the front of the car and opened her door. He seemed so composed, so "whatever," that she was sure he didn't understand the signal that sharing a room like this sent.

He was a world-class expert in sex. And yet he was so obtuse when it came to the more mundane social aspects of dating, sex, and relationships. Of course, he never was supposed to have had a social life in the normal sense. He'd expected to follow the path laid out for him at birth. Only that path had taken a wild detour.

A temporary detour, she reminded herself. He'd be getting married— and soon.

Ché took her hand and helped her out. She'd gotten used to and appreciated his chivalry. "I hope they have rooms," she said awkwardly.

"We only need one."

Okay. That answered that question. They'd be sharing. But, they'd been roommates for weeks. Why would he think this time was any different just because she did?

Ché opened the door to the huge cottage-style inn and let her walk inside first. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior. They stood in a wood-floored foyer decorated with antiques. The place smelled like cinnamon and lemon oil. No one was around, but there was muffled conversation. They walked in further. A sitting room led to a dining room that opened onto a wide porch overlooking the ocean. "It's so pretty," Ilana said on a breath.

Guests sat in a few of the wicker chairs, sipping wine and playing backgammon. A fat ginger-colored cat slept in a sun patch on a mat by the back door. It was peaceful, serene, leaving Ilana with no doubts as to where the inn had gotten its name.

Ché stood next to her, apparently as entranced by the inn as she was. She hadn't realized until now how crazy her life had been lately, wrapping up the Holt film, getting it ready for festivals and Sundance, working with her partners on the possibility of making SILF a galactic venture. And, of course, Che's presence in her life. Walking into the inn was like stepping off a speeding treadmill. Life had simply stopped. No wonder Slavica had raved about the place.

As they stood there, taking in the gorgeous view, Che's royal, top-secret, high-tech personal comm device made a sharp little chirp. They both jumped. "So much for real life not intruding," she said.

His expression told her that he felt as she did. He pulled the comm out of his pants pocket. The comm call was a direct and secure communication computer that Ché used to stay in contact with his advisor. But she'd never heard the thing call Ché, although she knew he checked in periodically to soothe the nerves of the bevy of people who fretted over his safety.

His thumb brushed over a blinking green LED and the unit went silent. The last she saw of it was a plaintive little light glowing steady amber as he shoved it back in his pocket. "There," he said. "Real life gone."

"What if it's an emergency?"

"It is not," he said with certainty.

"And if they need you for something?" Like a wedding? Oy.

"I will call them later."

"Hello!" A cheerful woman with arms full of grocery bags bounced toward them. She wore baggy khaki pants and a sweatshirt decorated with tiny cats. "Do you have a reservation?"

"No. If you have available accommodations, we would like to purchase a room."

One room. Ilana couldn't help grinning.

Ché took the bags from the woman and set them on a nearby table. "Why, thank you," she chirped. She wiped her hands on her pants, clearly taken with his good looks, good manners, and unusual accent. She smiled at Ilana. "Just the two of you?"

"Yes," Ilana answered before Ché could change his mind or realize what he was doing.

The proprietor went to a small antique desk and unlocked it, producing a ledger. Everything was so blissfully old-fashioned. No computers in sight. No digital clocks. "We have the Spring Room available. It's our smallest, but you can have it until Friday. The Seagull Suite is available, but until tomorrow morning only. I have honeymooners coming, I'm afraid. But if you can do one night, it has a king bed, a balcony, a fireplace, and a hot tub. It's quite lovely."

Ilana gave Ché an eager look. She'd rather have paradise for one night than lesser accommodations for more days. Ché took one look in her eyes, apparently agreeing with what he saw there, and told the woman, "We would like the suite."

Ilana felt somewhat dazed as they went through the check-in process. They had no extra clothing, no toothbrushes; they were just doing this with total spontaneity, and she still wasn't sure what Ché had in mind. He'd been so adamant about not wanting casual sex with her that she couldn't see him changing his mind so suddenly, and without a formal request. She had visions of him getting down on one knee and asking for permission to get in her pants.

"Mr. French," Ché said, giving his name when asked.

"I'm Mrs. French," Ilana added. Ché threw her an amused glance and paid for the suite in cash.

They climbed the stairs to a hallway of rooms. The door on the end had a piece of driftwood etched with letters that read Seagull.

Ché unlocked the door and let them in. It caused an immediate cross breeze. The balcony's French doors were wide open. Gauzy white curtains billowed inward. An earthenware vase of cut sunflowers stood in the middle of a square antique table set with a bowl of fresh fruit, a bottle of champagne, two glasses, plates, and a knife.