up, his torso eventually reawakening, too, his shoulders coming back online, his head returning to regularly scheduled programming.
As he exhaled long and slow, Rochelle eased off with the fanning. “Your color is more normal now.”
“I don’t know what happened in there.”
“Panic attack.” She sat down next to him. “It happens.”
“Not very manly.”
“It’s not a question of strength. Anyone can feel stress.” Moving her purse into her lap, she took out a pack of Dunhill cigarettes and a gold lighter. “Do you mind?”
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“If you’d rather I didn’t—”
“No, no. It’s fine. I don’t care.”
As she went to light up, her gloved hand trembled. “The aristocracy frowns on females who smoke.”
Boone propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face. “It was really good of you to come.”
“I wouldn’t have missed this.”
“You really are a female of—” Boone frowned. “You’re crying.”
Stupid comment to make. Like she didn’t know? And yet she seemed surprised.
“Sorry.” She took the hand towel she’d used on him and put it on her eyes. “And you keep your handkerchief. I’ll use this.”
As he stared at her, he thought about that male of hers. The one who hadn’t stuck around. Who had failed her.
Who needed a good beating for deserting someone as worthy as she.
“It’s a Fade Ceremony,” she said as she took a deep breath. “I’m supposed to tear up.”
Getting to her feet, she walked into the toilet room and bent down to tap her ash into the bowl. As she straightened, she flipped a switch to activate the fan overhead and smoked with her head tilted back, her exhales directed toward the ceiling above her.
They stayed there, him on the settee, her in the doorway by the toilet, until she finished the cigarette and flicked the filter into the loo.
Flushing things, she said, “Shall we return to the fray—”
“I met someone,” he blurted.
Rochelle’s brows lifted. “You did?”
“Yes.”
As he measured the even cast to her voice and the open expression on her face, he realized he’d brought the subject up because he hadn’t wanted to mislead her. He was glad to see Rochelle and touched that she cared so much about his sire’s death—and maybe if he hadn’t met Helania, he might have tried to start something with her.
But Helania had changed everything.
“That’s wonderful.” Rochelle came back over and reached into her purse. Taking out a roll of Certs, she offered him one first. “When did this happen?”
He took the mint because it gave his hands something to do. And actually, as wintergreen filled his mouth, it woke him up some.
“Very recently.” He purposely did not count the matter of hours, versus nights or months, it had been. “I feel . . . I think I’m in love with her. It sounds crazy, but it’s where I’m at. I’m in love.”
“You are?” Rochelle smiled. “Do I know her?”
“No, you don’t.”
Boone hesitated. He was so not ready to see the discrimination their class was so well known for in Rochelle’s face or attitude. He didn’t want to be disappointed by her.
Except he wasn’t about to hide anything about the one he wanted. “She’s a civilian.”
“Really?” Surprise flared in Rochelle’s eyes. “Not one of us?”
“No,” he said. “She’s not an aristocrat.”
Rochelle’s stare dropped to the floor, and he braced himself for her response. Damn it, he thought his friend was better than that. More decent than—
“I fell in love with a civilian, too,” she said in a tight voice.
As Boone inhaled sharply, she nodded and smiled sadly. “Yes. Not one of us, either.”
“Why didn’t you say?” he asked.
“How could I have?” She took another deep breath. “Although if I’d known you were this open-minded . . . I might have spoken more about things to you.”
“Did it not work out because of the class difference?”
Rochelle closed her eyes. And then she started to weep openly, an emotion wracking her slim body so hard he worried it would tear her in half.
When Helania’s phone went off with a text about twenty minutes before sunrise, she tossed her needlepoint to the side and grabbed the thing off the sofa before the bing! even faded. When she saw who it was, she smiled—until she opened the message. She read the words twice. And then again.
Putting the iPhone aside, she stared straight ahead. For like, two seconds.
Her hand slapped back on the cell, and she typed out a quick response. Hitting Send, she bolted up off the couch and ran to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, she brushed her