Page 9 of Searching the Skies

Geneva inhaled sharply, hating to be spokenaboutrather thanto, but nothing she could say would make the situation any better. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” she said, forcing a small, tight smile.

“I look forward to it.” He nodded to her before bidding farewell to Dahlia and leaving the room.

“I don’t know what you and Marcus have been plotting,” Geneva said in her most authoritative voice before her mother could get a word in. “But I’m not going to discuss it with you. If nothing else, going out with him will get me away from here, so I won’t argue that point, but I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish. Nor do I care.” Dahlia opened her mouth, but Geneva put a hand up to stop her. “Like I said, I am not discussing this now. I am tired, and I am going to bed. Good night.” With ire burning in the back of her throat, Geneva spun around and stormed out of the room.

Chapter Five

Tension permeated the Greyson household the following morning. After a futile one-sided argument with her father, Geneva resigned herself to avoiding any more confrontations in the hopes it would make the fortnight go faster. During the day, she trudged behind her mother all around Triayda’s shopping district in preparation for the evening’s events, and she did her best to not sulk openly like a petulant child. Dahlia made it difficult at times, as she insisted on repeating the same dialogue that had taken place many times over the past few years.

“How much longer do you have until you can come home for good?”

“The ships and the bases are my home now.”

“You know what I meant. How much longer will it be until you’re done…doing whatever it is you do?”

“I’ll leave when I’m ready. I’m not ready yet.”

“If you insist on cavorting about with the Terran military, why can’t you at least do something safer? Like data analysis? Or engineering?”

“Because it’s not bloody enough and I don’t get to stab anything.”

The countless conversations ended with Geneva either shocking her mother into a blessed silence, tuning out her frenzied ramblings, or terminating the call on her communicator. Unfortunately, there was no “off” button in person. Remembering her promise to let the day go by as smoothly as possible, she opted for allowing her mother to chatter incessantly as they tried to find something suitable for her to wear later on.

Geneva continued to bite her tongue as she sat in her bedroom while her mother’s friends scurried around her in a blur of high-pitched babble. Feeling more like a porcelain doll than a military commander, she let her hair be yanked, pinned, and sprayed, and her face be painted in a variety of unnatural colors. When it was time to slip the shimmering satin dress onto her body, she raised her arms without verbal objection. Upon completion of their task, the group of women pushed her in front of a mirror to admire their handiwork, and she was able to see how little like herself she appeared.

Her golden-brown hair was twisted up along the back of her head and fastened in place with a diamond-encrusted barrette. Several strands had been left loose and framed her face in floating curls. Similar jewelry adorned her neck and wrists, and she’d ignored her mother’s complaints about how she didn’t have the necessary holes in her body for the matching earrings. The emerald-green dress a saleswoman had chosen for her brought out the verdant flecks in her hazel eyes, and the fitted bodice seemed made for her, though it had been a last-minute purchase. Hidden beneath the slinky skirt skimming the floor were the flat silver shoes she’d insisted on, as she considered high heels both ridiculous and dangerous to someone unaccustomed to wearing them.

She knew her mother’s entourage awaited a reaction and praise, and she tried to think of a statement that would be truthful yet acceptable. “Thank you for your help,” she finally said. “I’m …presentable?”

As soon as the words left her glossy mouth, her mother rushed in to announce Marcus’s arrival. Someone arranged a silvery, lace wrap around her bare shoulders before she was pulled to the top of the spiral staircase and encouraged to smile before making her descent. Lifting her skirt so she wouldn’t trip, she picked her way down one step at a time and tried to remain in the numb state she’d forced herself into.

Her date for the evening stood at the bottom of the stairs, and his face brightened when she rounded the curve of the staircase. “You look lovely,” he said, offering her his arm. She mumbled a quick word of thanks before accepting the gesture. He led her outside where a hovercar, similar to the one her parents had sent to retrieve her from the spaceport, waited and helped her inside once the driver opened the door.

Geneva couldn’t see much out of the tinted windows, but she remained facing toward the door as they sped toward the center of the capital. Marcus stayed at the far end of the backseat and tried to start a conversation. “Everything must seem so different from the last time you were here.”

She shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Though I’m sure even the fast pace of the city is nothing compared to what you have to deal with in your line of work.”

“Yup.”

He made one last attempt. “Aren’t you curious as to where I’m taking you tonight?”

Her gaze flicked toward him. “Not really.”

His dark eyes grew cold as he glared at her from across the car. “Geneva, I know you’re not happy about being back here, but you don’t have to take it out on me.” Even as he tried to maintain his icy stare, the tone of his voice suggested more hurt than anger.

She knew she was treating him unfairly, but she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to concede yet. “Where are we going?” she asked, shifting her body several degrees away from the window.

Marcus’s expression softened. “I got tickets for a concert at the Triayda Theater. The group performing this week is supposed to be excellent.”

“How nice.”

In the darkness of nightfall, Pasurea’s capital emitted an aura of bright light from its countless skyscrapers, each hundreds of stories high, reaching toward the heavens. The hovercar arrived at a landing near the top of one of the wider buildings, and Geneva waited for her door to open before taking Marcus’s hand and stepping out onto the polished stone. Though she had been to the theater many times as a child, the palatial rooftop structure never failed to impress her. The muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxed at the sight, and she looped her arm around his to be escorted inside.

The interior of the building appeared just as breathtaking, adorned with intricate carvings and woven tapestries. Marcus led her up a carpeted flight of stairs and down a short hallway to a private box. From the small balcony, they benefited from a perfect view of the stage and watched as the musicians entered. Neither of them spoke, and Geneva was glad when the lights dimmed and the conductor strode out to the applause of the audience.

Haunting strains of a melancholy melody filled the theater, and she realized how long it had been since she’d stopped to appreciate even the simplest beauty. Any music played on the ship during the appropriate times was usually some sort of electronic, repetitive soundtrack to provide background noise to make the completion of daily tasks less mundane, but the performers before her played their acoustic instruments with a passion and vibrancy to reach every person in the room. As much as she appreciated the concert, though, Geneva fidgeted in her seat, as she wasn’t accustomed to sitting still and listening to something for an extended period of time.