Page 26 of Escape Clause

“Your instructions are stored in my memory banks.”

She moved to the chillerator and peered over her shoulder. “I mixed up somecocktails. Would you care for one?”

“What is a cocktail?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off her. A pair of form-fitting pants hugged her shapely thighs and rounded buttocks while a loose-fitting tunic left one shoulder bare. He ogled the exposed skin. A feverish heat suffused him.

“It is an alcoholic drink. It’s as close to amai taias I could get.”

“All right.” The concoction would probably taste vile, but, to please her, he’d choke it down.

She removed a pitcher of yellow liquid and filled two fancy glasses he didn’t realize he owned. Swaying on her feet, she stumbled, almost spilling the drinks. “Oopsie!” She giggled.

“Are you...inebriated?”

She giggled again. “Maybe a little.”

“You’d better let me carry these.” He took the glasses. “Why don’t we go into the other room until dinner is ready?”

“Lead the way.”

“DonJu-One, let us know when dinner is ready.”

“I always do.”

“What’s in these?” he asked as he carried the drinks to the living room.

“A juice the name of which I can’t pronounce and some kind of liquor. It took a bit of sampling to come up with a decent facsimile.”

Quite a bit of sampling, he guessed. He chuckled. “That explains it.”

She peered up at him through her lashes, her gaze lingering on his mouth like a caress. “I love your laugh. You should do it more often.”

His chest tightened. “I shall endeavor to do so, then.” He didn’t laugh much. She wasn’t the first to say that to him, but she was the first who’d given him something to laugh about.

They settled on the sofa. She kicked off her shoes, pulled her feet up, and angled her body toward him. Her knees touched his thighs. She had dainty feet and cute toes, but he riveted on her bare shoulder, the tunic slipping halfway down her arm.

He handed her a goblet. “Maybe go easy,” he suggested, and took a sip of his own.

Not unpleasant. Fruity and sweet, but with a fiery afterburn. If she’d been “sampling,” it was no surprise she’d become tipsy. “What did you do today?” he asked.

“I talked to my friend Prudence, let her know I’d arrived and am now a married lady. Then I asked Don Juan to explain how the kitchen appliances worked. With his help, I ordered some ingredients you didn’t have, had them delivered, and I got dinner started.”

“Meal preparation is DonJu-One’s function.”

“Is it not okay for me to cook?”

“No, no. It’s fine. I meant, you don’t have to.”

“Good. Because I enjoy it, and it gives me something to do. I’m not used to being idle. I’ve been working since I was sixteen.”

“Our youth don’t get jobs until they are nineteen or twenty,” he said, trying not to criticize Terra Nova ways. Sixteen seemed too young to be working. Shouldn’t she have been in school?

“I didn’t have a choice. I had a stepmother to support.” She took a sip of her drink.

He frowned, not understanding. He was about to ask for clarification when she spoke again.

“Would it be all right to go out exploring during the day? I won’t go far, just the local area.”

“Of course. You feel comfortable using the vaporator by yourself?” Her request pointed out his dereliction as her husband. He should escort her, give her a tour, show her the attractions and historical sights, share what he loved most about his planet. But he couldn’t spare the time at this critical juncture. Taking off early twice to get married had put him behind. More behind. He was always behind.

---