An Unexpected Debt – Chapter 15

“And so you see, I’m now without an inheritance. Just me, my ship, and a few employees I can’t really afford.” I raise my glass of red wine and toast the universe.

Thanks for fucking me over, Universe. Really appreciate it.

Saif winces. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad,” he says, pushing his dessert towards me. I spear it with my fork and pop the tiramisu into my mouth. God, it tastes incredible. It’ll go straight to my hips, but I don’t give a shit.

Everyone else at our table has moved on. They are all at the bar, dancing on the dance floor, or enjoying the Palo Alto evening air. The auction announcements are moments away.

“The worst part of this whole situation is that I really have nothing.” I gulp down a few more mouthfuls of wine. “No land. No business. No relationship network. The ship is only good for a few Flyght hauls per month, which will keep me afloat, but nothing more. Certainly not enough to build a network… or have kids… or whatever.”

I wince as I look down at my plate, and it swims. It does this little dance where it splits into two and tries to come back together again.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I just realized I ate that entire plate of red meat right in front of you. I am just… callous. I can’t believe I did that.” Saif used to eat apart from all the other meat-eaters at far-school. I had forgotten.

“Skylar,” he says, dropping his head to make eye contact with me, “I’ve grown up in the last ten years. It doesn’t bother me anymore. Don’t worry about it.” He glances at his empty glass of whisky and rubs his face. “So, what are we going to do about this, huh?”

“We?” I ask, pressing my hand to my chest and laughing. I stress, “We are not going to do anything about this. I am going to figure out how to live on a meager income, and then I plan to fly until I turn old and gray. I’ll keep trying to get the ships back, but…” I shake my head. “Only my cousin has that kind of luck with getting property back. Me? I’ve lost more things, or had them taken away from me, than I’ve actually owned.”

Saif reaches over to take my hand in his, and when I reflexively pull away, he holds on tighter.

“I remember the last far-school event we went to together. We were… sixteen, right?”

I don’t like where this conversation is going.

“Mmm-hmm.” My voice is watery and filled with red wine. Untrustworthy.

“You showed up, and I could have sworn you had been crying before the train arrived, but when I questioned you about it, you begged me off. You were… just not the same that trip, and that was the first time I realized your life at home was very different from mine. I always thought girls were the cherished ones.”

I huff a laugh and reach for my wine glass, but it’s empty. I snap my hand back.

“What happened?” he asks.

I pull my lips in and shake my head as the tears surface.

“No. Nope. Not going to talk about it.” I pull in a deep breath through my nose and bring anger back. Anger keeps me from crying. “Saif, it’s not worth it to dig up the past. I’d rather leave it all behind.”

“But you haven’t left it behind, have you?”

I can’t answer this. Of course, I haven’t left it behind. My whole world revolves around my family and how they’ve screwed me over or continue to fleece me in every possible way. They either want money or my time and labor, and I have stupidly given them these things without demanding respect or care in return. And here I am, continuing to let them abuse me, even while I’m trying to save them. I am hopeless. How did I turn out to be the only sane and empathetic person in the bunch? I’m not even that great of a person.

Saif waits for my answer, but I can only look at him. My breathing slows as I compare him to the kid I knew so long ago. This Saif is so handsome. He’s tall now, and his dark skin glows with good health. He’s been a fabulous date all night, kind and caring.

I don’t deserve someone like him.

I’m sorry, Marcelo.

“Distinguished guests,” a voice booms out over the ballroom. Saved. “Auction results have been posted to individual booths, and we have pinged all the winners via their duonet auction accounts. Thank you all for coming and for supporting this amazing early cancer screening charity. We’re so grateful you’ve been here with us. Let’s give a round of applause for everyone who came, participated, and donated tonight.”

I skip the round of applause, tip over my wrist, and check my inbox via my wristlet.

A small smile pushes through my earlier unhappiness. “Congratulations on winning item 78 in the Palo Alto Early Warning Cancer Screening Silent Auction. Takemo Diaz will contact you about your prize package.”

Go Carlos. Excellent. Well, something good has come out of this night.

The applause dies out, and the band starts playing again, but a lot of people have either made their way to the auction booths, or they’re picking up their belongings and leaving.

“Well, it looks like the event is winding down,” Saif says, standing up. “How about one dance, and then we head out for a slice of pizza and a nightcap?” He raises his eyebrows twice. “If we were home, I know this amazing curry place that has the best pakora I’ve ever had. But I think pizza is more the food of choice around here.”

I push my chair back and attempt to stand.

The operative word there is ‘attempt.’ I sway and knock into the table, spilling two abandoned glasses of water onto the white linens.

“Oops,” I say with a chuckle, and Saif grabs me, so I don’t fall over.

“Well, maybe dancing is a bad idea.” Saif laughs as he rights me.

“No, no, no. Let’s dance. I’m sure it’ll be ages before I’m this dressed up again.” I point at him and put on my serious face. “You’re in charge of holding me up. Got it? Be sure to use those powerful arms you’ve developed in the last ten years.”

He smiles as he pushes in his chair, and the memories of our last goodbye rush through me and steal my breath. That’s going to happen again, isn’t it? We’ll say goodbye, and I won’t see him again for years… or ever.

“I’ve been known to hit the gym,” he says.

“Fantastic. Let’s do this.”

It’s a bad sign that I’m already slurring my words, and the ballroom is twirling on its own without me having to put my dancing feet on the floor.

Saif leads me out, my hand in his, and sweeps me into a close hold like an expert. He leans over and whispers, “My mom insisted on ballroom dancing lessons.”

I raise my eyebrows as I lean away. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He nods and guides me along, his hand on my lower back. We’re not technically ‘ballroom dancing,’ though we are dancing in a ballroom. This thought makes me giggle, and he rolls his eyes at me. “You know she did everything possible to keep me busy, when really, she could have given me a few credits and told me to play in the streets with the local kids. She didn’t want people thinking I was feral.”

“Like a cat?” I almost frown at this, but I pull my face into a neutral grin.

“Yep. That’s why they kept sending me away to far-school. I didn’t like going until I met you.”

I am far too drunk for this kind of sweet sentimentality, and Saif’s memories of far-school are different from mine. He went because he was forced to. I went to get away from home. But we both found each other there. There were others besides him, for sure. A few boys I kissed on the sly because I wanted to know what that was like. But Saif was a constant presence from when I was ten years old and on.

Leaning my cheek in, I rest it on his chest. Our date is close to concluding, and I don’t want it to end. But I saw the disappointment on his face earlier as I told him everything that happened with my mom and losing my family business. There’s no way I’ll be acceptable to his family. I know it. He knows it. This is our last hurrah.

We sway about on the dance floor, close to each other, and I lose myself in the moment. I try to picture what it would be like to have men in my network who supported me, who didn’t think I was a free lunch or slave labor.

What would that be like?

I have no idea.

“You conniving bitch.”

I blink and pull away from Saif because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t him who called me a conniving bitch.

Takemo Diaz stands next to us, his face as red as lava. He’s practically steaming. I glance around, and only a few other couples are left on the dance floor. Most of the ballroom is empty now.

“You cheated,” Takemo says, pointing at me. “At a charity auction, of all places.”

“What’s this now?” Saif asks, pulling me around to behind him. “Really, Takemo, your behavior is dismal. I heard the way you spoke to Skylar earlier, and I didn’t like it.”

“She cheated,” he insists. He leans past Saif to look at me. “Maybe ‘bitch’ is too far, but I will not tolerate this kind of manipulation, especially with the All Rio Bridge Tournament. You cannot throw me under the bus because you don’t like the way I do business. I’m sick of you interfering with my life.”

This makes me smile, and I’m too drunk to stop it. “It’s only been a few days.” My voice is sickly sweet, so I bat my eyelashes at him too, for good measure. “Surely, you didn’t think you’d be rid of me so quickly?”

“Can you even play Bridge?” he asks, his tone exasperated.

“Of course, I can play Bridge,” I say, but he rolls his eyes.

“Lies. So many lies. Do you ever tell the truth?”

Again, I have a sinking feeling he knows way too much about me. My skin crawls when I imagine being followed and watched at all times by some pervert who wants to blackmail me into behaving.

No. Just no.

“Fuck off.” I step away from Saif and Takemo. “I’m not lying, and I didn’t cheat either.”

Well, that’s a little lie. I’m so good at lying when I need to. It’s kept me alive this long.

“I’m going to have a word with the auction chairperson and deal with this,” he says, pointing at me again. “It’s one thing when we’re trading insults and pranks over your mother’s crappy ship. But you will not mess with the tournament.”

Crappy ship? It’s a fucking Corsair, you asshole.

“We’ll see about that. You’re stuck with me now.” I stalk off, leaving Saif standing between us. When Takemo tries to come after me, I hear him scuffle with Saif. But I don’t turn around.

Instead, I pick up my pace and put my high-heeled shoes to the test. I run past India Dellis, watching the scene with a modicum of glee twisting her lips, and I blow her a kiss along the way.

Don’t wobble. Don’t sway, Skylar! Don’t roll an ankle.

I’m about to make Marcelo eat his words and run that marathon.

As long as it takes me far away from here.