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What the fuck kind of crazy-ass planet had I landed on?
But there was no denying it. Cherry was grinning up at the shirtless, turquoise-haired behemoth like he was the best thing since interplanetary travel.
“This is Silar. My husband,” she gushed, giving the big alien male an obvious squeeze. “This is Warden Tenn,” she tipped her chin towards the man Tasha had told us about back on Elora Station. He fit the description we’d been given – hide like lavender, long white hair, and a jaw that looked like it could be used as an anvil to sharpen blades.
“And this is-”
Another man came forward, heavy boots and dark pant legs stepping crisply through the reddish dust.
“-Fallon.”
I wasn’t sure if it was my heart or the contents of my stomach suddenly lurching up into my throat. Whatever nasty combo it was, I swallowed it down and steeled myself to face my fiancé.
The first thing I noticed about Fallon the Zabrian was that he was super fucking tall. All three of the men here were tall, but Fallon was the one standing closest to me now. Feeling slightly disoriented, I tipped my head back, something I didn’t have to do often on the mostly-human world of Terratribe II. At just a hair under six feet tall, I wasn’t used to looking up at men.
The second thing I noticed about Fallon was that he was jaw-droppingly, gob-smackingly, good-God-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into gorgeous.
His skin was like the last dredges of fiery sunset, a smooth-yet-smouldering burnt orange that made my fingers twitch with the desire to touch it. Where both Silar and Warden Tenn had broad, brutal bone structure, something about Fallon’s was a little finer, almost regal. High cheekbones jutted then dipped to cradle brilliantly white eyes that shone despite the shadow cast by his wide-brimmed hat. Full lips, a hard, high nose, and long, pale blond hair that reminded me of Terratribe II corn silk rounded out the picture of one fine-ass form of a man, alien or human.
Yeah. Well. Massimo is good-looking too. And look where that fucking got me.
And the third thing I noticed about Fallon?
“Is that… Is that a bowtie?”
I asked it in disbelief, my gaze falling and snagging on the big black bow knotted neatly at the base of Fallon’s thick throat.
I could have kicked myself. My mother’s shrill voice sounded in the back of my head.
Smile, Darcy! A wife is meant to be a silent, smiling supporter. Never questioning, never critical.
Trying to recover, I plastered on a fake smile, only to be met by the flash of Fallon’s fangs as his face split into the biggest grin.
“Yes!” he replied. “Cherry told me all about ties. I figured this one would be better than the long and floppy sort. That just seems like it would get caught on something.” He hesitated. “Although I could unravel this one and make it into the long sort of tie, if that is what you prefer. It just might be a little… crumpled.”
He looked oddly put out by the idea of his wedding tie being crumpled, and holy fucking Terra, it almost made me feel sorry for him. My defences – honed over the years in response to a batshit crazy mother and then hardened by the shitty fucking fiancé she’d picked for me – slipped. Just a little.
“A bow tie is fine,” I told him.
His face lit back up.
“Good. Good,” he said, sounding relieved.
I took that moment to give the rest of him a once-over. He seemed to be dressed in the oddest combination of human formalwear and cowboy cosplay. A white hat, so similar in style to that worn historically by humans, was perched on his head. His bow tie went well with a white button-down collared shirt and what looked to be a perfectly tailored black suit jacket. Where the hell he’d gotten a jacket like that out here was anyone’s guess. Apart from one single lonely building behind the gathered group, there was nothing to see for kilometres but grass and dust and sky and mountains biting up at the horizon. I couldn’t imagine that there was a suit shop or a tailor around.
Fallon’s pants kind of ruined the nice-suit vibe. They were durable leather-looking material, creased with age and softened by wear, stretched comfortably over thick fucking thighs and falling to brush above the ankles of his pointed boots.
Fallon took a breath, drawing my gaze from his boots back up to his face. He looked like he was about to say something else when Magnolia’s voice cut him off.
“Is Oaken here?” she asked, sounding a little shy. “Is that him over there?”
I frowned, following the line of her pointing arm towards another Zabrian male I hadn’t noticed before. He was leaning against the lone building, arms crossed, white eyes stabbing out from beneath his hat.
“No,” Warden Tenn said with a growly sort of sigh. “That idiot is Zohro. Don’t ask me why he’s skulking around back there.”
“He is skulking because he does not wish to admit that he was wrong,” Fallon said.
Wrong about what? I wondered.
