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She turns to face me fully now, closer than before. Her breath catches as our gazes lock again.
"Thank you for this," she says quietly.
"You're welcome." My voice is equally soft but carries an intensity that makes her shiver slightly.
I reach out slowly and tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She doesn't flinch or pull away; instead, she leans into my touch just a fraction.
We stand there for a moment longer than necessary before I finally step back.
"Shall we continue?" I ask, my tone lighter now to break the tension.
"Yes," she replies quickly, almost too quickly.
That night, Ariana serves as my attendant at dinner. The table is set with an array of dishes from across the galaxy, each more extravagant than the last. She moves with her usual grace, her eyes downcast but attentive.
"Tell me, Ariana," I say, cutting into a piece of grilled takara beast. "What did you do before coming here?"
She hesitates, glancing up at me through her lashes. "I worked at a small diner in the lower sectors."
"A far cry from this place," I remark, gesturing to the opulence around us.
"Very different," she agrees with a small smile. "But I enjoyed it. The people there were... real."
"Real?" I echo, raising an eyebrow.
"You know," she says, a bit more animated now. "Not like the guests here. They weren't hiding behind masks. Engaging in idle gossip about their…generous host."
I chuckle softly. "And do you think I'm hiding behind a mask?"
Her cheeks redden. "I didn't mean?—"
"It's alright," I interrupt, waving my hand dismissively. "You're not wrong."
She seems to relax a bit at my words and continues serving the dishes.
"So, what do you enjoy doing when you're not working?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"I like reading," she says softly, placing a platter of roasted el'kori on the table. "And painting, though I'm not very good at it."
"Reading and painting," I muse. "Two pursuits that require patience and imagination."
She nods, her eyes meeting mine briefly before darting away. "Yes, I like trying out anything creative, really. It helps me escape."
"Escape from what?" I press, leaning forward slightly.
She bites her lip and shrugs. "Just... life, I guess."
I lean back in my chair, contemplating her answer. There's more to this woman than meets the eye.
The rest of dinner passes in similar conversation—her interests, her past in Armstrong Post-War—but I keep my own emotions tightly controlled. Each question is calculated to draw out more of her without revealing too much of myself.
At some point I even convince her to sit with me, and enjoy a little of the luxury I have to offer. She's hesitant, acting as if she's a small prey animal about to jump into a trap. But she takes the offer and thanks me profusely.
"You haven't eaten well in some times, have you?" I ask, observing how she doesn't hide the way she ravenously tears into a small piece of fresh fruit. She blushes in embarrassment, and my endearment towards her grows.
Later that night, in the solitude of my room, I find myself reflecting on our exchange. Her sincerity is refreshing in a world filled with deception and ulterior motives. She's like a breath of fresh air in this stifling existence.
I stand by the window overlooking the estate gardens, their beauty now cloaked in darkness. My thoughts keep drifting back to Ariana—the way she blushes when she's embarrassed, the genuine smile that lights up her face when she talks about something she loves.
