Naima: A SciFi Alien Mail Order Bride Romance (TerraMates Book 7) (2 page)

He growled. "Me too."

Suddenly I felt jittery and started babbling. "A man of few words, huh? I manage a boutique. I would love to do something out of my comfort zone. I'm always up for a good adventure. I love anything drenched in white chocolate. Shit. I'm starting to sound like a dating profile. I'm just nervous, if you can't tell already."

"Don't be."

I shifted in my seat, the shaky grin on my face fading fast as an awkward silence enveloped us.

"What kinds of things do you like?" I asked lamely.

"Excuse me."

With his chin resting on his fist, he peered over his shoulder. He called out in Maztekki, exchanging words with a muffled voice in the background. My eyes focused to his fist, where I saw four asterisks tattooed on his knuckles. My heart skipped a beat.

Without warning, Laz started singing. An alien was serenading me over my phone.

Beyond the four stars, with the whispers of this melody
I carry this heart forever, my naima, you'll be.

The two lines of the lullaby Dad used to sing to me began to loop on repeat in my mind. For years, I had tried to recall the rest of the lyrics to the broken song, but for some reason, those two lines were the only ones that stuck with me all these years. Astounded, I gripped my armrests. I rocked back in my seat, my tongue sliding over the back of my teeth nervously. As he turned back to face me, I held my breath in anticipation.

"Sorry. I'm needed elsewhere. We'll have to cut this short, but we'll talk again soon."

"Oh, but I – right. Okay." Weaving my fingers through my hair, I flashed him a quick smile. "It was nice meeting you, Laz."

"And you, Gabriella."

The phone went black while I was still waving.

Well, that could have gone better. Shaking my head, I slid the scrunchie off my wrist and twisted my hair back. I had been out of the dating field for so long that my social skills were in dire need of a brush-up. I wondered if aliens could tell when Earth girls had problems talking with them.

Ding.

My phone lit up again.
GabriellaS, GenLaz241 has chosen you as his mate. The offer is 500,000 credits. Accept or decline?

Was this really happening? That was enough money to pay off everything I owed. I snatched up the end of my ponytail, playing with my hair, the bristles pricking at my fingertips. I couldn't think.

I felt like this couldn't be real. I looked at my phone again.

Accept or decline?

It wasn't a difficult decision, but I felt like someone else was in control of my body. I moved my finger forward and pressed accept.

TerraMates was my ticket to a fresh start in life, and there was no way in hell I was going to let it slip through my fingers.

GABRIELLA

Tugging on the lapels of my coat, I stepped onto the steel boardwalk leading to the TerraMates ship. The spaceship was a giant passenger shuttle accented with gold paint and docked at the end of the spaceport. Dozens of families gathered on the landing by the shuttle gate. The other well-dressed women, more mail-order brides I assumed, wore their most fashionable attire. I saw skimpy dresses and elegant ensembles which flaunted their figures. Streaming tears stained their rouge cheeks and painted lips as they hugged their loved ones goodbye.

With a sheepish smile, I lugged my suitcases behind me and slipped past the loving families. I had never felt more out of place or more alone. As I strode past the gaggle, a few of the brides regarded me with raised eyebrows and curious stares.

"You take care of yourself, sweetie – you hear me?" A small family of three grabbed my attention. A pretty bride with a bright, round face and a gorgeous head of black, kinky curls huddled with her mother and father. She placed her forehead against her mother's, carefully touching the elderly woman's face with her thumbs. The bride wasn't crying at all, but her clenched lips and the pained look in her eyes revealed her distress. Her father, a tall and big-boned man, easily towered over his wife and daughter. He ran his fingers through their hair and pulled them close to him. His eyes fell shut, and his lips began to move rapidly in silent prayer.

I realized I was staring at the family. I moved my gaze down to my spiked, four-inch boots. I was becoming overwhelmed with a terrible feeling of nostalgia. After all these years, I should have gotten used to Dad not being around anymore.

For as long as I could remember, I have had the utterly useless ability to maintain eye contact with people speaking to me but hear absolutely nothing at all. I like to think of it as having a mind with a penchant for roaming. Dad used to say I was a shining star, and I shone the brightest when I shut out the world.

I needed to keep out the world so I wouldn't remember how lonely I was.

For the most part, being by myself didn't bother me much, except when everyone else's parents were around. When I saw other dads everywhere, it emphasized his absence. At my first sports game when I was twelve years old, I remember all the other fathers cheering for their children scattered across the field. Dad wasn't there, but I always imagined he would be front and center. If he were there, he would have been the proudest of all the other dads. His hoots, whistles, and cheers reigned above all the rest, and Dad's cobalt-blue eyes glistened with joy...in my dreams.

Dad lived on in my imagination until I was fifteen. When I waved back at my imaginary Dad taking pictures of me from the front row during a choir performance, it piqued the interest of Michi.

"Gabby?"

"What, Michi?" I recall snapping at her. I hated it when people shortened my name. Dad gave it to me. It was the only thing of Dad's I had left.

"You realize there's no one there, right? Who are you waving at? Freak."

Michi said this in a cruel stage whisper just loud enough for all the other choir members to hear. I was mortified, not only because of her words, but also because of the mean and uncomfortable laughter around me. I never let my guard slip again. The wishful sightings of Dad swiftly receded.

I had a prepared answer for the few people who approached me, asking where my parents were. I informed any nosy people that they had both passed on.

My mother wasn't dead yet, but she might as well be, for all the love she showed me. Not that I gave a damn. A couple of weeks ago, I had spotted her in the grocery store when I was out running errands. I had hidden before we crossed paths. Lurking behind a concrete wall, I watched her with a peculiar mix of disgust and pity. It had been less than ten years since I saw her last, but it looked like she had aged twenty. I wondered if she had a drug problem.

Her sagging gray skin was pock-marked. She used to have rich, lustrous brown hair. Now her hair was thinning, revealing bald patches of her pink scalp. She was also twice the size I remembered. She was a wheezing, panting mess, struggling to balance the groceries in her arms with her bulky frame.

Standing idly by, watching the woman who gave birth to me struggle to feed herself might seem heartless to some. In retrospect, I guess it was cruel. Unfortunately, I had never experienced kindness from her. She was nothing like Dad. My mother was everything I never wanted to be – nasty, shallow, superficial, and above all, weak.

After Dad died, my mother rapidly married again, attaching herself to a new man named Richard. I suppose she might have loved him. To me, he would always be the prick she slept around with behind my father's back. Richard appeared in our house in a matter of weeks. It felt as if my mother let the drunk bastard move in before I could even shed a tear for Dad.

From the very beginning, I knew there was something wrong with Richard. He acted like he owned our place immediately. He was rude, cocky, and obnoxious. My mother made sure to keep her new man happy but didn't pay any attention to her flesh-and-blood. I stood aside and watched as Richard and Mom squandered all the money Dad saved for us.

At least they spent it on healthy things, like fast food and liquor. I had to learn to fend for myself at a young age, feeding myself with their leftovers. Other times, I scrambled together bland concoctions from the old food I found around the kitchen.

My 'guardians' made it clear that my exceptional performance at school meant nothing to them. I had nothing to offer them they wanted, and I stopped trying to please them. I realized that I had to live my life for myself.

If you asked me why Richard had it in for me, however, I had no idea.

Most days, I did my best to stay out of his way. He started hitting the bottle regularly around the time my teen angst reached its apex. We seriously started butting heads when I approached the age of fifteen. Unable to keep my mouth shut any longer, I started talking back to him. Each insult I threw in his direction was more daring than the last.

The first time he got physical with me, I learned he wasn't fucking around. As I stepped in to defend my cowering mother against his never-ending battery, he hit me straight in the eye with his fist. Stumbling back to the floor with my vision clouded with stars, the one hundred eight pound man over twenty years my senior kicked me twice in the jaw for good measure.

He would get his hands on me on four other occasions before I finally gathered the courage to leave with Jake. In twisted hindsight, I suppose I should thank the tragic figures in my life for shaping me into the woman I was today.

It didn't matter anymore. My string of bad luck would end here and now.

"Attention, all passengers. This is the final boarding call for shuttle Alpha-912, bound for Maztek. The captain will close the doors in approximately three minutes."

I tightened my grip around the handles of my suitcase and raced toward the gate.

The wheels of a beverage cart rolled along tracks built into the floor of the aisle, stopping next to me. "Care for some coffee or tea?"

The shuttle attendant was a well-groomed older gentleman in a cream jumpsuit and immaculate zero-gravity boots that looked functional but had the unfortunate design decision of being bright pink. A loopy quiff sitting on top of his head bounced as he maneuvered his container of supplies. He flourished a hand over the neat rows of mixed nuts, cookies, and chips lining the top of the cart.

He must have seen my face because he quickly offered another product. "Are you hungry for some treats, perhaps?" he said with a smile. "It's been a long flight already, and I'm afraid Maztek is still another three hours away."

I didn't feel like purchasing anything, but he looked so eager that I couldn't refuse. "Just some tea, thanks. I'll have the mixed fruit flavor."

The attendant handed me a silver goblet filled with a fragrant, sweet tea. I sipped from my glass and set it down on a coaster. The back of my head slumped back against the cushion of my headrest. I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax. Maybe the complimentary sleep mask would help. I eased the silky blindfold over my eyes.

The problem was that I wasn't alone. Even in the dark, I could still hear the chatter of all the other mail-order brides around me. Maybe they had interesting stories to tell. I could accept a lack of sleep if it meant I would be able to hear amusing snippets of conversation.

"It took ages for TerraMates to verify my profile, but I'm happy they did. I say it's worth the wait. My new husband is a big-time ambassador on Maztek."

"Mine is a second cousin of King Jacquim. He's practically royalty."

I rolled my eyes. What a gold-digger. I had heard her disgusting sugary-sweet voice throughout my trip, and I was already getting sick of listening to it.

"Ooh, Vanessa. You're a lucky girl."

"I know, I
am
lucky! Trinity? Are you still crying about your family? For crying out loud, babe, get over it. You know there's such a thing as a video call in space, right? It's practically free, too. Do yourself a favor, make a call, and quit whining."

Trinity wouldn't give up. "But I –"

"Look at the bright side. Your whole family came out to see you off. It's a shame that some brides have burned all their bridges and are fleeing the planet, coming here by themselves." There was a pause in the conversation. "One wonders what she might have done and why she's running away. I've certainly never seen anything like it."

Was she talking about me? The conversation wasn't amusing at all. It was time to take action. "Excuse me." I slid the sleep mask to the top of my head. "I don't mean to be rude – not that you would know anything about manners – but would you mind keeping it down? A few of us care about our appearance and are trying to get some rest before we meet our mates. It's a long interplanetary journey. We don't need to know every detail of your life and your voice is making the flight feel longer."

I must have been tired, because I sounded rude, even to my ears. Most of the women agreed with me, nodding agreement in the background.

I turned my head to look at Vanessa. She looked gross. Makeup caked her face, and it was impossible to tell what she looked like underneath. Still, now that I saw her, she looked strikingly familiar. Did I know her from somewhere? I thought she might be good-looking underneath the makeup, but a permanent sneer ruined her appearance. My eyes widened in recognition. I remembered where I had seen her before.

Vanessa had seen my epiphany. As she tossed her fiery, pin-straight locks over her shoulders, a fleeting look of panic passed over her face. She quickly recovered, unpleasantly puckering her shiny brown lips. "I can do whatever I want on this spaceship. I know my rights. If you don't like what you hear, don't listen to me. It's as simple as that."

"My apologies." I wasn't sorry at all. Batting my eyelashes innocently, I sunk back into my seat and folded my arms across my chest. "While we're discussing things that aren't anyone else's business, I think I have something to bring to the table. Have you been here before? I suppose the third time's the charm. Am I right, Ms. Greer?"