Page 82 of Between Earth and Eternity
I move down the hallway until I finally reach the master suite, and the feature that immediately grabs my attention is the ceiling. It’s completely made of glass, the stars and matter outside the ship on full display.
To the right, there’s what I assume is a bathroom, and to my left, something I wasn’t expecting: a set of stairs. Curiosity leads me farther as I gingerly take each step until I stand on a large platform with an enormous bed in the middle, surrounded by glass like a giant bubble. My legs go weak for a moment as my mind tricks me into believing I really am standing in the stars. The bedding looks so soft that I can’t help but run my hands over it.
A bed made for royalty, luxurious and bathed in starlight. I don’t try very hard to stop myself from imagining Vallen sleeping here.
Does he sleep on his back? His stomach? With just boxers on?
“Okay, stop,” I say aloud. But my imagination takes another turn, picturing him in this bed when he isn’t alone. He’s probably had a plethora of women up here, and those images make me rush back down the stairs.
Just as I reach the door to the hallway, it slides open, and my heart jumps into my throat. Bex stands on the other side with a kind smile, almost as if he was waiting for me.
“I was wondering where you’d wandered off to. Vallen said you might still be here, so I came to check on you.”
My face is flushed with embarrassment. To try to take away from the fact I’ve been snooping, I say, “Is that what he does with all the women he brings back here? He sends you to check on them and hurry them on their way?”
He blinks, genuinely surprised. “Actually. No. He doesn’t ever bring anyone back to his personal rooms.” I gulp. “Ever.”
“Oh.” The embarrassment comes back ten-fold.
“I was about to put in an order for breakfast. Would you like some?”
His kindness is something I have no right to receive, though perhaps that’s just the nature of the role he serves. But Bex is more than just a steward who works for an employer. I can tellby the way he speaks to and about Vallen. Almost as if they are actual friends.
“Breakfast sounds great. Thank you.”
I follow him back to the main living space, the thought of food making my mouth water, but when we turn the corner, Bex almost runs right into Vallen.
“Bex,” he says, but he looks at me.
“Ah, Val. I didn’t hear you return. I was just giving Miss And—” He pauses, correcting himself. “Skyler a tour of the suite.” He gives me a wink.
“And my bedroom is part of the tour, it would seem,” Vallen says sternly, folding his arms.
Shit. I really didn’t mean to get Bex in trouble. I open my mouth to say it wasn’t him, but Bex jumps in again. “Well of course. It is the best room, sir.” He gives him a cheeky grin. Vallen narrows his gaze. “Also, we might want to take care of that,” he says, tapping Vallen’s cheek. For a moment, I stand there, confused, but when Vallen turns his head, I see a small cut under his eye.
“I’ll grab a kit.” Bex swiftly departs.
I study the cut. It doesn’t look too deep.
“Come here,” I command, and he obeys, following me back to the couch. He sits, and Bex returns with a small medical kit. I don’t wait for Bex to say anything. I open it and start pulling out what is needed to treat the cut.
“May I?” I ask. Vallen nods, and I catch Bex watching, brows raised.
“Looks like you’re in good hands,” Bex says and leaves us.
I pull the coffee table closer to the couch and sit in front of Vallen before I dab some of the antibacterial ointment on a piece of gauze and rub it gently on the cut. He doesn’t flinch or make a sound, simply studies me wordlessly, and the silence makes my nerves skyrocket, especially being this close to him.
The usual heat of rage is nonexistent now, but even with him reserved like this, there’s still an electricity between us, a buzz lingering in the air that keeps me alert.
He was right. He is absolutely impossible to ignore in every capacity.
“What happened?” I ask, keeping my focus on the task at hand.
He inhales a sharp breath. “Let’s just say my father wasn’t too happy that I broke my brother’s nose.” I lean back to take in his face, my mouth slightly ajar. “Shocked to hear a father hit his grown son? I don’t blame you.”
I’m speechless, not sure if I should comfort him, feel sorry for him, or do nothing at all. Some wounds are not hard to find. It’s the wounds underneath the skin that are the most difficult to heal. And I can see that deep sadness quickly flash in his eyes, showing that those wounds are buried.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, reaching for one of the butterfly bandages and placing two small strips on top of the wound.
