Nathan waved his hands, shaking his head emphatically. “Let’s drop this. I didn’t mean to suggest I was on their side. It’s none of my business; I should have kept my mouth shut.”
Fighting back tears, Veronika lunged forward and hugged Nathan fiercely, feeling his bare chest and belly against her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
She felt Nathan nod, his chin brushing the top of her head.
“But I can’t go. Even if you’re right, I can’t sit there while Jilly and Sander cuddle with the son that should have been mine while my parents beam.”
Another nod. “That’s a perfectly understandable sentiment.” Over Nathan’s shoulder, Veronika watched the drones, who were watching them, waiting for instructions.
“What if I went with you?” Nathan asked.
Veronika stepped back, mildly stunned as she reeled out the implications of his suggestion. What if he went with her? No one in her family knew Nathan, or knew she hadn’t been out with anyone since Sander betrayed her. She didn’t have to show up as the lonely loser she was—she could make a grand entrance, turn everyone’s head, turn Jilly lime green.
“Would you act like I’m the most fabulous woman you’ve ever seen?”
Nathan opened his mouth, feigning surprise. “You are the most fabulous woman I’ve ever seen.”
“No, really. The only way I could stand to be there is if it looks like Jilly did me a favor by stealing Sander. If I showed up totally flash, a gorgeous guy on my arm…” The image in Veronika’s mind set her heart racing. She grasped Nathan’s arm at the biceps and squeezed. “You’d really do yourself up? Be utterly gorgeous? Charm the living shit out of everyone in sight?”
Nathan spread his palms, flashed that gorgeous grin. “Lead me to the fray.”
Oh, this was going to be magnificent.
15
Mira
It was their fifth or sixth date in just a few weeks, and they’d been talking about Tarrytown, Mira’s hometown, which Lycan had visited, or not exactly physically visited but had seen by opening some sort of remote portal, if Mira was understanding him correctly. Her parents’ house was gone, but the lighthouse was still there, and the park where Mira had broken her arm doing a backflip. Mira had grown fond of Lycan, which was a good thing, because the only thing she ever saw was Lycan’s face. He was her life, such as it was.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Lycan said.
“What is it?” Mira asked.
He looked off into the room, sighed heavily. “I’ve never enjoyed a woman’s company as much as yours. I’m afraid you won’t want to see me again, after I tell you what I have to tell you.”
Mira tried to imagine what this man could possibly say that would lead her to choose being dead over his company. “I’m sure that won’t happen, whatever it is. You can trust me.”
Lycan put his hand over his eyes. His chest hitched. Mira made gentle shushing sounds, the sort of sounds her mother had never made. “It’s okay,” she cooed. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
Lycan finally looked at her, his eyes red. “I really like you, Mira. I might even love you. But I lied to you. I’m not a rich man. I’m well-off, enough to afford these visits, but not the kind of rich where I can afford to revive you. Not even if I sold everything I owned.”
She hadn’t realized how much hope she was harboring until it was dashed. A black despair overtook her and swelled until even the room seemed to darken. “Please. You have to get me out of here.”
“Mira, I can’t. We’re talking millions and millions of dollars.” He whispered the amount, as if it were too obscene to say aloud.
She wanted to cry, but no tears would come, her chest wouldn’t respond. She was left with nothing to express the rising panic she felt except a gargling sound in the back of her throat. “I can’t stand this. I can’t be here any longer.” She looked at Lycan, who looked away, ashamed. “You have to get me out of here. Please.” She was blowing it, driving Lycan away with her hysteria. She knew that, but the words poured out anyway.
Lycan covered his face with his hands again. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I did a terrible thing, raising your hopes.” He let his hands drop. “It’s just that I was so lonely.”
The women here must all be kind to him, must hang on his every word in the hope that he’d choose them and free them from their long sleep. Where else would a man like Lycan get that sort of attention?
“But now I see how selfish I’ve been. I’m disgusting.” He swallowed thickly, shook his head. “Do you know, I’ve tried half a dozen social-anxiety stabilizers? But they all make my depression worse.” He laughed humorlessly. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s always a catch, always a cost that’s too steep.”
The self-hatred in his tone, the flatness in his eyes, shocked her. It was as if he’d suddenly undergone a complete personality change. He’d been coming to this place to escape the man he was in the real world, she realized. He was dropping the pretense now, and he would never be able to face her again.
“I’d miss you terribly if you stopped visiting me,” she said. The truth was if Lycan didn’t visit, Mira would be incapable of missing anyone. No one else was visiting, or likely to stumble upon her among the army of bridesicles lined shoulder-to-shoulder in boxes in this endless mausoleum.
Lycan wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Mira. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.”
“Lycan, please—” was all she could get out as he reached above her.
16
Rob
It was stupid, but Rob found himself hurrying to get to Winter’s crèche. For months he’d been rehearsing follow-ups to their previous conversation—new, more upbeat lines of conversation. Mostly, though, he’d agonized over the months that had passed since he last visited her. Pressure had been building in his chest from the moment he made his promise, and this visit would release that pressure. Or some of it, at least.
He understood that Winter was beyond time, beyond impatience as she waited for an opportunity to live for a few minutes. What concerned him was that someone else had waked her since his last visit. If so, she would have asked this visitor how long she’d been dead, and when she heard it had been months, she’d assume Rob had lied, that he told her what she wanted to hear and slunk off to enjoy his life. He didn’t want her to think that, even for five minutes.
On the other hand, he had no idea what they were going to say to each other. That part made him nervous, which was why he’d been rehearsing possible things to say while he’d plucked color-coded bits of technology from century-old husks for the past four months.
The seat was waiting for him, as usual. Squeezing his hands together, he waited while the crèche rolled out of the wall.
Winter’s eyes fluttered open. The timer began to roll. It was unfair that the timer began as soon as Winter was conscious; it would be fifteen or twenty seconds before she was lucid. He would pay about five hundred dollars during that time.
“You came back,” Winter said.
“Of course. I promised.”
They looked at each other, the seconds ticking away.
“I wanted to say again how sorry I am. If it’s any consolation, there hasn’t been a moment since it happened that I haven’t been miserable.”
Winter bit her lip thoughtfully. The gesture made her look more animated, almost alive for a moment. “How can I put this? That you’re miserable doesn’t make me feel better. What does make me feel better is knowing someone will wake me from time to time. If you do that, then there’s no need for you to be miserable. Fair enough?”