Love Minus Eighty (36 page)

A vivid, three-dimensional image sprang to life above Mira: a gray face, looking down at her from inside a crèche like hers.

“Mira?” The voice was a croak, but the face—the face was—

“Jeannette? Oh my God, Jeannette.” She was older, but otherwise hadn’t changed much. She was still so beautiful. Mira wanted to say a thousand things at once; they piled together and left her mute.

Jeannette’s eyes crinkled, her lips forming a stiff smile. “You look
awful
.”

They laughed and laughed, because what else could they do? Mira understood that these moments, these few, incredibly precious moments, were an utter fluke, more than she could have dared hope for, and she understood that when they were over, she would never see Jeannette again.

“I missed you, when you died,” Jeannette said. “I missed you so much. You were the best part of life.”

“Miss Van Kampen,” a disembodied voice cut in, “facility regulations prohibit the use of communication devices of any kind. Please disable your screen immediately.”

Mira heard Sunali’s shouted response loud and clear through the screen. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Yeah, go fuck yourself!” Jeannette shouted, as loud as the air tube would allow, her eyes never leaving Mira’s.

“Go fuck yourself,” Mira chimed in, then giggled like a child who knows she’s being naughty, but doesn’t care. Male voices, speaking urgently, drifted from below. They were coming to get the screen.

“I love you,” Mira said.

“I love you, too, Speedy.”

Mira opened her mouth to laugh, surprised and delighted to be reminded of the nickname Jeannette had given her the first time they met. Then everything went black.

There was an assertive thump on the floor—the resident below Rob pounding on his or her ceiling. Rob stopped playing, set his lute aside and drew one knee up to his chest.

All he wanted to do was play. It was strange: after killing Winter he hadn’t been able to
look
at his lute. This new flavor of pain left him unable to do anything
but
play. The problem was, he didn’t particularly want to play for an audience, although he’d have to get some gigs before too long, or go back to working at the reclamation center. He was burning through what little money was left in his account, after returning that final anonymous donation.

He wondered what Winter was doing at this moment. Was she on the island? Maybe off at some important function with Red? Her note had said, “no more,” but the last thing she wrote was, “I miss you.” Would she get angry if he tried to contact her, if he sent something to tell her he missed her, too?

There was a knock at his door. For a single, irrational second he thought it might be Winter, but beyond all of the other reasons it couldn’t be her, it wasn’t a ping through his system, it was an old-fashioned knock. Someone who didn’t know him, maybe a neighbor looking to bum a beer. He struggled to one knee, then to his feet, crossed his apartment in three strides, and opened the door manually, just a crack.

It was Winter, in a screen.

He yanked the door open. “
Hi.
” His lungs felt empty; he couldn’t seem to get any air into them.

Winter floated in without a word, eyes downcast.

“Are you all right?” Rob asked.

“I don’t know. Not really, no.”

Rob took a step toward her, then hesitated, irrationally afraid that she’d bolt if he got too close, even though she was nothing but a screen.

Her screen rotated to take in the apartment. “Not much of a place. You must be one of those guys who spends all of his money on irresponsible things.”

“Mostly on women. I went out with this woman who bled me dry.”

She rotated to face him. “You were going out with her, were you?”

Rob shrugged. “It felt like it. After a while.”

“Yes, it did.” She bit her bottom lip, a gesture that had become so endearing to him. “The song is beautiful. You’re going to be famous one day.”

A screen acted much like a crèche, Rob realized. They could speak, but there could be no physical contact. “I wish you were really here.”

“That would be a very bad idea. A terrible idea.”

“I don’t care. I still wish you were here.”

“All right.” The voice came from behind him. Rob spun around: Winter—the real, flesh-and-blood Winter—was standing in his doorway.

“Hi,” she said. She took a step into the room, looked around again, then brushed her hair back behind her ear as Rob stood there, speechless. “This can only end horribly. For me that doesn’t matter much; I’m in a pretty unpleasant situation as it is. But for you…” She let the implications hang there in the three feet that separated them.

Rob closed the distance between them. He touched her shoulder, which was bare, and pale from three years hidden from the sun. He slid his palm behind the back of her neck, felt her hair brush softly against the backs of his fingers. Winter melted against him, rested her head on his shoulder, her lips a whisper from his neck.

The world went silent. There was nothing but this embrace, nothing to think or worry about, nothing that possibly needed to be done, nowhere to go. As he inhaled, he felt Winter exhale, tickling the hairs on his neck. He exhaled, felt Winter draw air through parted lips. With this woman in his arms, he could solve any problem.

“Can we stay just like this for about a month?” Rob said.

Winter drew back, out of his arms. “No.” She reached up, released the clasp on her shirt, and let it slide off.

When he woke, Winter was sitting on the edge of the bed, sliding on a boot that probably cost a month of Rob’s pay. Winter saw he was awake, smiled wanly. “Got any suggestions for a good lie I can tell Red, if he asks where I’ve been? I don’t have much experience with lying. I’m guessing you don’t either.”

Rob thought of the card from Penny he’d kept hidden from Lorelei. That had been more deception than lie.

“I guess I should feel guilty about this, but I don’t,” Winter said. She was finished dressing. “Before I died and went to bridesicle hell, maybe I would have.”

Rob bunched the sheets across his lap, sat up. “Do you have to go? I could get some coffee delivered.”

“That sounds lovely, but I should get back.”

“Just don’t tell me this was a onetime thing and that I can never see you again. I don’t think I can stand to hear that again.”

Winter folded her arms and sighed. “That’s what I was planning to say, but I would just be fooling myself. Again.”

Rob stood, wrapped his arms around Winter. “Can we plan something? This way I can look forward to it.”

“I wish we could go out to dinner, but… too risky.”

“Dinner here, then. I’ll get a delivery from Luigi’s.”

“
You’ll
get it? Rob, I’ve got money coming out of my ears. Dinner’s on me.”

Veronika rode past Lemieux Bridge. It stretched toward the river, the high sweep of its expanse like a harp with golden strings. She smiled.

Just go through the motions until it stops hurting
, she subvocalized, then took a sip of the blueberry coffee she was holding.
It’s old advice, but it’s all I’ve got.
For an instant Veronika forgot she was addressing Nathan, because she’d said the same thing to Rob just yesterday. She may have used the exact same words.

I know everyone thinks this
, Nathan sent,
but I’m not sure I’ll ever get over her. This
—He stopped, trying to regain his composure.

It was weird being the whole one, the shoulder to be cried on. It was also weird that suddenly her happiest male friend was
Lycan
. As Rob and Nathan agonized over their respective lost loves, Lycan was finding himself. Veronika thought she deserved at least a smidgen of credit for that particular turnaround.

I wish I knew how to help you
, she sent. She took a swig of her coffee.

Rob pinged her. Great, heartbreak in stereo. She invited him to join her.

I appreciate you listening
, Nathan sent.
I know I’m saying the same things over and over. I’ll let you go.

Rob’s screen popped into the passenger seat as Nathan signed off. Rob looked… surprisingly good. Happy. Beaming, even.

“What happened to you? Ten hours ago you looked ready to ask Lycan for tips on bridge diving.”

“This is borderline rude, not waiting to tell you this in person, but I can’t wait. Winter came to my apartment last night.”

“No
way
.” Veronika bounced in her seat, unable to control herself. “She just showed up? In person?”

“Yup.”

“What happened?”

Rob smiled. “She loves me.”

“God, I hope you guys know what the hell you’re doing.” If Red caught them, the legal consequences would be devastating. Beyond that, the research indicated that affairs almost always ended badly, leaving nothing but pain and regret in their aftermath.

“Well, under normal circumstances I’d never think of being with a married woman, but these aren’t normal circumstances.”

“No, they’re not. Normally you’re not risking the wrath of a billionaire.”

“Where are you headed?” Rob asked.

“To Lycan’s for dinner.”

“Let’s talk more, when we can do it IP?” Rob said. “You’ve
been such a good friend, I wanted to tell you as soon as possible, even if that meant via screen. It’s just between us, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

They signed off, and Veronika was alone in her silent car. Veronika envied Rob’s earnestness, how deeply he trusted his own emotions, even if that trust was probably misguided in the case of Winter. It seemed obvious that Rob’s obsession with Winter sprang out of his need to take care of her. He’d sacrificed everything to keep his promise to her, and when you make someone the center of your life like that, she’s going to end up on a pedestal.

As Veronika’s Scamp swung into the garage under Lycan’s apartment complex, it occurred to her that she could get a sense of how compatible Rob and Winter really were, just to satisfy her own curiosity. She’d constructed a profile for Rob months ago, but never used it. She retrieved it now, ran it against the profile she and Nathan had constructed for Winter, minus the parts that were fabrication, and…

Her coffee pouch slipped from her fingers, plopping to the seat. “You’re kidding me.” Point nine-seven. If Veronika had tried to find a match for Rob, and started from a sample of ten thousand prospects, she would have been lucky to find one match that good.

With a sigh, she climbed out of her Scamp, stepped into the lift. Rob had run over a woman who was all but perfect for him, making it impossible to ever be with her. What a mess.

In the hall, she pinged Lycan to let him know she was there; the door to his apartment swirled open. She stepped inside, yelped, took an involuntary step backward.

Lycan’s place had become a sumptuous dining room, complete with chandelier, high-backed brass chairs, antique drone servants. It was instantly familiar to Veronika as
a scene from
Wings of Fire
. Lycan was sitting at the table, foot crossed over knee, dressed in the signature twenty-first-century garb of her secret, embarrassing crush—Peytr Sidorov. Blue jeans and a layered white banquet shirt, his shiny white shoes rounded at the tips.

Hand trembling, obviously nervous, Lycan rapped on the dining table. “It’s all real. Not an interactive.”

And to think just a moment ago Veronika had been thinking about how grounded Lycan was becoming. The door to the kitchen had been replaced by gold curtains; they swished open and a drone entered, carrying a silver tray. It held out the tray to Veronika, offering little crab-shaped appetizers. She took one, held it between two fingers. “What is going on?”

Lycan grinned. “It’s a surprise. Remember a few months ago, when you left me in your living room and invited me to play an interactive to pass the time while you worked?”

“Yes,” Veronika said uneasily.

“Out of curiosity, I checked which you played the most. Then I bought my own copy.”

Veronika took a good look around Lycan’s living space. There were vases filled with flowers everywhere, frescoes of maidens in billowing dresses on the walls. “And then you had your home decorated to match it?”

Lycan swallowed, nodded.

This was too bizarre for words. Veronika resisted the urge to back out of the room and run away. They’d been treading that odd ground between friendship and intimacy for some time, and Veronika had been comfortable there. But this…

“Lycan this is… a little over the top, don’t you think?”

This was not a dinner planned for a good friend, or even for someone you were treading that odd middle ground with.

Lycan only shrugged, his big hands gripping the ornately
carved arms of his chair, his foot dangling over his big knee, looking ridiculous in that white shoe.

She tried to entertain the possibility that that dopey shoe was on the foot of a man she could love. But she was in love with Nathan, and Nathan was single again, so there was hope.

Trying to set that aside, she imagined sitting in her kitchen drinking tea with Lycan on a Sunday morning. Or the two of them in bed on a Friday evening, Veronika’s hair brushing Lycan’s face.

No fireworks; pulse slow and steady.

Hey, hey
, Nathan sent, interrupting her reverie.
What are you up to? Free for dinner? On me.

Veronika felt a thrill, then surveyed the sumptuous spread the drones were laying on Lycan’s giant banquet table. The candlesticks on it were freaking works of art. Were they authentic eighteenth century? They sure looked it. Of course she had to stay, after Lycan had gone to all this trouble. The prospect of dinner with Lycan didn’t fill her with the mad, crazy excitement she felt at the prospect of eating with Nathan.
On him?
They
always
paid for their own meals. Had Nathan finally recognized what had been right in front of him all this time?

Can’t
, she subvocalized.
Having dinner with Lycan tonight.
She knew what his reply would be: Bring him along. Make it a party. The more the merrier.