“I have my own studio,” she said, pointing at a small, trim blue-and-white building they were approaching. “I also paint in a large room in the house. It depends on my mood and the light.”
“You carry the work in progress back and forth?” he asked in surprise.
Laughing, she opened the richly grained wooden door and stepped inside. “No, I have more than one painting going at any given time. My muse likes variety. She changes her mind by the hour as to what we’re going to paint. I have to build a lot of time in when I accept a commission, in case I get distracted.” Going to a large easel standing alone under the skylight, she yanked the cover off and pivoted. “What do you think?”
He thought he was mesmerized. Scarcely knowing what he was doing, he walked forward until he could have touched the nearly completed canvas, although of course he didn’t. It was an amazing abstract view, a nebula in deepest space, done in dark colors with pops of bright hues here and there. The scene transported him out of himself and he felt as if he was floating peacefully.
Eventually he realized he’d been silent for a long time and turned his head, looking for his companion. Her Tajikka was standing at his side, pressing against his leg, which was oddly comforting. Trevor found himself stroking one ear, allowing the long silky fur to run through his fingers. “I’m sorry—I got lost in the painting. This is astonishing.”
“You’re good for my ego,” she said. She was curled up in a huge chair, ensconced among pink-and-green floral pillows and resembling the young girl in the old records. “I’d never painted but one day after we got home, I picked up a brush and drew all over the walls in my bedroom. Rather than being punished for it, I was given my first set of real brushes and canvasses and I’ve painted every single day since. My father used a couple of my paintings in his marketing materials and those generated inquiries. He had high end clients, Inner Sectors generational billionaires, planetary royalty and the like, so I launched right into a pool of people with tons of credits to burn. And of course, the fact of who I am, helps a little, even I must admit. ”
He shook his head. “The art is phenomenal. It has nothing to do with—with—”
“The wreck,” she said helpfully. “Although since technically we didn’t crash on a planet, it shouldn’t be classified as a wreck precisely but that’s what the media called it and the term stuck.”
The Tajikka left his side and went to her, pushing its nose against her hand until she started petting the silky ears. Concerned, remembering this was a service animal, Trevor wondered if he’d upset her after all.
“My father never left this planet again after we got home. I don’t leave this compound myself, with rare exceptions. My brother Paolo is the brave one, going off to the Star Guard Academy and then going into combat and having all kinds of adventures, as he’d always said he would. I admire him. My father cut him off because he wouldn’t stay here and learn the gem and jewelry business but Paolo wanted to be just like Nick Jameson in all respects and drove himself to succeed. I’m glad he did.”
“Do you run the business then?” Trevor asked.
“Oh no, when my father died, the business was liquidated. He couldn’t imagine me taking it over and I had utterly no desire to do so either. I sent my brother his half of the proceeds. My mother’s fortune came straight to me but was in trust until I attained my majority.” She raised her chin defiantly. “I don’t care what my father’s will specified. He forfeited the right to tell us what to do when he abandoned us as kids on that damn ship. He sure didn’t get to tell me what to do after he was dead.”
Regretting his questions, which had touched on what were obviously still sore subjects for her, Trevor struggled to find a way to change the subject. Gianna seemed to bring everything back to the events on the Nebula Dream despite insisting she never talked about it. But he supposed if she’d returned to this house at the age of three and basically never left, her worldly experiences must be limited. She was a strong person to be as normal as she appeared to be. He caught a glimpse of the time on his wrist chrono and whistled. “I don’t want to be rude, but I should be heading to the spaceport—it’s getting late. I’m assuming you aren’t ready to leave yet?”
She closed her eyes and the pet clambered into the chair with her. Gianna laid her head on the animal’s flank, breathing in and out in a controlled manner. “I don’t know. Do I have to decide right now?”
“We’re in orbit for another day,” he said, remembering what the captain had told him. Her painful indecision made him sad for her. “I can be down here on the planet and drive to the estate in a few hours if you call the ship. If you decide to take the chance and come with us.”
“I could catch another ship,” she said as if to challenge him.
“Sorry, you can’t. We were diverted from our normal course by our company management, apparently at the request of supremely influential people. There won’t be any other vessels arriving at this planet in time to convey you to Xcelon Four for the wedding.” Moved by her distress, he decided to come out of his own self-protective shell and be more proactive. He moved closer to the chair. “And honestly, if the idea of going is so unnerving to you but you really do want to be there for your brother, the Nebula Zephyr is your best bet.”
Crossing her arms and lifting her chin, she didn’t give an inch. “Why? Convince me.”
“I’m not a salesman,” he said, annoyed, reverting to his original belief the cruise director should have handled this. Helping Gianna Nadenoft past whatever internal demons were stressing her at the idea of another spaceflight wasn’t his job. He had enough to do quelling his own tension and PTSD every damn day.
As the service animal whined, going between the two of them in a tight circle, as if unable to decide who needed him most, Trevor took a mental step back, realizing he was overreacting out of his own anxiety. Facts were needed, not emotions.
Especially not his emotions, complicated by a dawning attraction to this woman.
“I’m a former Special Forces operator, as are most of our security officers. The operational crew from the captain on down are ex-military. The ship’s AI is ex-military. We’re not going to let anything happen to any of our passengers, much less to you. No other ship can make that claim. In fact, it’s one of the selling points for my employer, the CLC Line, which the owners adopted as a foundational principle because of the disaster you were in.” Drawing a deep breath, he added the item he hoped would be the key, “And our ship’s doctor is the Angel of Fantalar, a military heroine. You might have heard of her.”
“I saw the trideo dramatization Liora Daburkin and her husband Sid made of Dr. Shane’s life and won all those awards for,” Gianna said, nodding. She sat up and combed one hand through her amazing curls. Giving him a tremulous smile, she launched into an apology and explanation. “I must seem confused or—or nervous to you. It’s just, when we came home, I started having nightmares and flashbacks and the problem has never gone away entirely. My father brought in several of my late mother’s distant relations to care for me, as well as doctors and others. He bought Verlaine for me, which actually has been the biggest help anyone provided.” She patted the animal’s head and the pet made a low pitched rumbling sound reminiscent of a cat’s purr. “He knows when I’m upset and going into flashback mode and usually can coax me out of it.”