The Star Princess (8 page)

A prickling sensation in his throat made him cough. His eyes began to burn as well, and tears clouded his vision. The heel of his shoe sank into the damp ground, sucking loudly as he pulled it free. He stumbled, then caught Ilana by the forearms and steadied them both.

His fingers touched smooth bare skin, warm and soft. Trained in proper social etiquette from birth, he released the Earth princess like a hot coal, a reaction that undoubtedly startled her— but then she might not realize that in her short sleeveless shift, she revealed more skin than most Vash women did in their lingerie.

This was the way Earthwomen dressed, he reminded himself, coughing. It was a different culture, if it could be termed "culture," and not as conservative as his. Yet he had to admit that seeing the crown prince's sister in such a state of undress was, though unsettling, not at all unpleasant.

Now, if he could only see anything else.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "What is the vapor?" he rasped.

"Pepper spray." Ilana sneezed twice, sniffling. Her eyes watered and undoubtedly stung as his did.

She switched to Basic, the language of the Federation. Her dossier said that she read Basic fluently. Speaking it, she was less proficient. He imagined she didn't get much practice on Earth.

"I spray very small," she tried explaining in Basic. "Wind strong." She pinched her thumb and index finger together. "Only little we breathe."

"Pepper spray. A deterrent chemical?"

"Yes. Was accident." Holding on to his bicep, she dabbed at his tears with the heel of her palm.

Che's loins tightened. Here was a very pretty woman, scantily clad, standing so close to him that he felt the heat radiating off her body. Yet her intentions were not sexual— he could sense that concern was her motivation. Her sheer proximity, her scent, her curves, her mouth— it was all overwhelming, to say the least. A Vash princess in his world would never have touched him with such casual intimacy. But Ilana was not of his world.

"Here. Use this." She shoved a small white sheet of soft paper into his hand, dabbing at her eyes with another. She blinked rapidly, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. This spray very bad."

"It is quite effective," he agreed in a husky voice.

She gazed up at him with huge blue eyes that were more brilliant than he remembered. Perhaps the tears filling them made them so.

"You surprise me," she accused in Basic, an angry edge to her voice. "Why you come here?"

"I took a holiday. A vacation." He wasn't ready to explain the rest yet. "When I informed Ian, he assured me you would know of my arrival."

"Ian not call." She opened and closed her mouth several times. Finally, she clenched her fists. "I can't argue in Basic," she snapped, switching to English. "Ian didn't call. But I was at work all day. How did you find me? When did you get here? How long were you waiting?"

She went so long without taking a breath that he was almost ready to suggest she inhale. Then she sighed and asked, "What in the world are you doing here, Ché? Maybe you weren't the last person in the universe I expected to see tonight, but pretty damn close."

"Slow… " He held up one hand. "Fast words I cannot follow."

"I'll try." She blew her nose. "This has been a horrible day."

"Ian told me the approximate time of your arrival home," he explained. "When you did not answer your door, I returned to the ground car. I waited for many standard hours. I was nearly ready to seek temporary quarters on my own when you arrived."

She peered into the darkness. "So, where's your entourage?"

It pricked his pride to see that even the crown prince's independent sister assumed he needed handlers to make his way. "I left them behind," he answered crisply. "I'm here alone, on my own."

"Is that your Porsche?"

"It belongs to Hollywood Luxury Auto Leasing." He stumbled over the pronunciation, but assumed he got it right when she nodded. "While still home, I studied the procedures with which I'd need to… hire— yes, hire a vehicle."

She appeared impressed by the feat. "Rom doesn't know how to drive, so I didn't expect you to. I thought you guys flew everywhere."

"We do." He puzzled over the brief tightening of her mouth. Wouldn't she prefer to fly everywhere, as well? "But the ground cars we use to maintain our gardens are not all that different from yours here on Earth."

"You. In the garden." She looked him up and down. "Somehow I can't picture you weeding."

"I did not perform garden chores. But"— a corner of his mouth edged up with a surge of memories— "the vehicles were irresistible to a young boy and were easily commandeered." He shrugged.

Delight lit Ilana's face. "So, you were a hell-raiser as a kid. A troublemaker."

He gazed down at her. Light from above illuminated her face. Tell me more, her eyes pleaded, as if she were more interested in the man inside than his face or imminent crown. That searching gaze jolted Che's senses like a bracing dive into cold seawater.

Past or present, he couldn't recall a woman who'd observed him so brashly. The others hadn't dared to, or hadn't cared to, he supposed. It was clear that Ilana fit neither category.

"My childhood years were happy," he revealed, spurred on by her curiosity. In his new English, he tried not to mangle the explanation. "But strictly supervised, as I had to be prepared to take my father's place on the throne. The Treatise of Trade dictated everything my family did, that I did or did not do. But no matter how thorough the supervision, no matter how loving, a child will always find ways to outwit it. He would have chuckled, had the situation been appropriate. Instead, he allowed himself a small smile. "I will say only that my siblings and I were creative in seeking out mischievous diversions."

Ilana tipped her head to the side. "Are you still as creative?"

He opened his mouth to deny it— roguery wasn't a trait the Vedla clan cultivated— but he'd come to Earth, had he not? What did that say about the rebel in him?

He clamped his mouth shut. By the heavens, what was he thinking, telling Ilana Hamilton about his boyhood exploits? No one outside his immediate family and the palace staff knew of those escapades, which had earned him many a scolding. The Vedlas were a disciplined breed. It would not do to have Ilana Hamilton think otherwise. He must act with dignity befitting his class.

His tone turned formal. "On the matter of my driving the Porsche— the markings, the language, and the mechanisms with which one controls the car are primitive, but not difficult to learn."

Ilana drew back, as if his abrupt change in manner chilled her. "Primitive," she muttered. "Not difficult to learn. Give me a break, it was all those garden carts you hijacked."

He swallowed a groan.

She walked to where her can of pepper spray lay on the pavement. She retrieved it, then brandished it as a wand as she spoke. "You're pretty humble. When my stepfather's people came here for the first time, they had trouble."

He shrugged. "They were B'kahs."

That won him another laugh.

Did all his opinions entertain her? It seemed so. For the life of him, Ché couldn't determine what she found so funny. Could he not maintain his dignity around this woman? "I require your advice with which to choose temporary lodging for my holiday."

"It's too late to find a room. You can stay in my place tonight. We'll worry about the rest tomorrow."

She walked to the staircase. He remained rooted where he was. "You employ a chaperone?" He would have thought she'd have to summon one.

"A chaperone?" She clearly struggled not to laugh.

"We cannot stay alone together. It's a breach of propriety. It will cause a scandal."

"Who'll know? Unless you're planning to call home and confess."

He stuttered. Great Mother, he'd never stuttered in his life! "I’ ll will do no such thing."

Ilana's eyes twinkled delightedly. "I won't say anything, either. I don't have a chaperone. Or a cook, or a chauffer. No plants, no pets, no roommate. But I do have a guest room. That's where you'll sleep, nice and safe. If you're that worried about me assaulting you, you can lock the— oh, damn!" She froze, her eyes widening as she peered over his shoulder at the street.

"Paparazzi!" she hissed.

His body tensed, ready to do battle. A figure crouched behind a ground car, aiming what Ché recognized as a camera.

Ilana grabbed his chin and wrenched his head around. "Don't let him get a shot of your face. Where are your sunglasses?" She yanked them from his coat pocket and slid them over his eyes. "Don't talk."

He opened his mouth to speak, and she pressed her finger to his lips. "If I were on a foreign planet," she said past gritted teeth, "and a representative of the indigenous species had just given me critical instructions, I wouldn't argue!"

She stood so close, clothed only in that distracting, insubstantial tiny shift. His senses soared to full alert, as in Bajha swordplay when he fell within striking range of his opponent. Her warm finger pressed against his lips.

When her awareness of him flared in her eyes, he saw it. Holding himself very still, he watched her react to the feel of his mouth on her finger, the prick of his barely surfaced whiskers, the feel of his breath, the intensity of his stare.

She dropped her hand with satisfying swiftness.

Pleased, he smiled. In this particular arena, at least— man and woman— he'd been able to maintain his advantage.

"This has never happened before," she growled.

It took him a moment to process that she meant the man wielding the camera. "The press usually ignores me," she continued explaining under her breath. "I'm not as colorful as the rest of my family."

"I beg to differ," Ché muttered in Basic.

"It has to be because of the invitations. They've gone out, you know. For Ian and Tee'ah's wedding."

"I well know the wedding," he whispered back dryly.

She winced. "Oops. I guess you would. Sorry."

"I am not."

She smoothed her bangs away from her forehead and stared up at him. Her unruly bleached-blond hair looked soft to the touch. Her eyes were wide, without guile. "Heartbroken?" she asked.

He reared back. "No."

"Bitter?"

"Indeed not."

She smiled kindly as if she didn't believe him.

To make matters worse, a tear crawled down his cheek. With the heel of his palm he rubbed moisture from his stinging eyes. Blasted spray. He was many things right now: weary, annoyed, exasperated, disorganized, dissatisfied, and unfocused, to name a few. But lovesick he was not. If not for propriety, he'd grab Ilana's arm, haul her close, and make her see how wrong she was.

But he could manage courtesy for one night, could he not? Particularly toward the crown prince's sister, who was generous enough to offer him hospitality, though she clearly hadn't expected him, and didn't appear to have any great love for the Vash Nadah, family ties notwithstanding. Tomorrow, however, he'd be on his vacation, and away from this disconcerting woman's scrutiny.

"Wait here," he ordered. "I will chase him away." With one hand spread wide and shielding his face, he strode toward the bad-mannered intruder.

Lights from the camera flashed as the man backed toward another vehicle. Smirking, Ché amplified the menacing nature of his advance.

"No!" Ilana caught up to Ché and tugged on his arm.

"But he troubles you."

"I know, but— "

"I will make him go."

"It's only a few photos. If we turn it into an incident, they'll have a whole story."

The flashes began anew. Ilana tugged on Che's free arm, the one that didn't shield his face. "Please?"

He made a noise in the back of his throat and reluctantly turned, dropping his hand once his back was to the cameraman. "At home this would not happen," he grumbled. "We have palace guards to prevent it."

"I don't live in a palace."

For that, he was grateful. "Palaces can become tedious," he admitted.

She threw him a curious glance. Then she swore. "Walk faster. He's following us. What a jerk. He's on the grass, there in the dark." She scowled. "I hope he steps in dog poop."

"Dog… poop?"

"Canine excrement."

"Ah." So, it was true: Earth-dwellers permitted their captive creatures to defecate in public places. It would take some getting used to, this wild-and-woolly planet Earth.

They ducked up the stairs. Then I, too, will hope that he steps in dog poop," he said magnanimously.

Ilana choked out an unexpected laugh. As they rounded the top of the second flight, a man jogged down from an upper floor. He wore typical Earth attire— jeans and what Che recognized as a "sweatshirt." On his head was a brimmed cap labeled "Angels."

The man almost tripped over his own feet, slowing to stare at Che— because of the mirrored eye-shaders, Ché supposed. But if he removed them, his pale Vash eyes would give the curious Earth-dweller even more to gawk at.

"Hey, Ilana. What's up?"

"Hi, Sam." Ilana dabbed at her reddened nose. "This is my upstairs neighbor," she explained to Ché. "Sam, this is… this is my friend, Ché."

Sam stuck out his hand, and Ché grasped it, an Earth-dweller gesture of greeting with which he was fortunately familiar. "What's up, Frenchie?" Sam asked.

"Not— ," Ilana began to correct.

Ché stopped her with a touch of his hand on her arm. He hadn't given it much forethought, but an assumed name would not hurt.

Simultaneously, they sneezed.

"Aw," Sam said, grinning. "Matching colds. Love sucks, doesn't it?"

Ilana wiped her nose with a tissue. "I sprayed us with pepper spray."

Sam's mouth twisted. "Different strokes— "

"Accidentally."

"Right." Hands shoved in his jeans pockets, Sam grinned, then skipped the rest of the way down the stairs. There he turned and called up to them, "Try Reddi-Wip next time. It doesn't have as many side effects."

Ilana groaned and shoved open her door.

"Ready whip?" Che queried. Colloquial speech baffled him.

"Never mind," Ilana said. She pulled him through her front door and slammed it closed behind them.