Four

Obviously I’m not going to get anything more out of Ares than his “I am death, fear me” pronouncement. I’m tired and heartsick that this is our wedding day, so I give up. For now.

I shove an old sleeping bag at him from the back of the closet, which is left over from when I dated a guy who did a lot of camping. Thank God that didn’t work out. I’m not really one with nature enough to sleep outside in a flimsy tent, encased in something that is basically a burrito wrapper for a bear to chomp down on.

Ares takes it without complaint and I retreat to the bedroom. Tomorrow is a new day and I get about four hours of sleep before I meet it head on. I spent most of the night stewing about the fact that I really didn’t get much of an answer from Ares about why he bothered to become a match candidate if he didn’t want to have a real marriage.

There’s an underlying thread here that I can sense but don’t understand. We have chemistry. He can’t possibly deny it exists so what is he planning to do, ignore it? And why?

After a shower, I feel marginally better and exit my bedroom to find Ares awake, dressed and sitting on the couch. Shame. I would have been okay with a minute or twelve to sneak a peek at him while still asleep, especially if he sleeps naked.

Maybe another time. I’m still upset but I’ve calmed down enough that I think we can have a rational conversation before I have to go to the salon. At least that’s my plan. “Good morning.”

“Why did you want a marriage?” he asks.

Okay then. So we’re going to jump right into it. That’s fine, I’m not really one to beat around the bush and I appreciate that he’s curious. “Because I wanted a husband. A real one. One that I could fall in love with and vice versa. Who makes me laugh and gives me flowers for no reason. I’d like to have a baby one day. We’d take turns pushing her on a swing and putting her to bed.”

My voice fades away as a stupid prick of tears chokes me. I guess I had that bottled up or something, and furthermore, it was nothing close to what I thought I was going to say—sex should have been the first thing out of my mouth for example. I’m a little surprised it didn’t even make the list, but I guess that’s not really what I’m looking for. I mean, yeah, it sounds great to have a husband who’s a dynamo in bed, but I just want the husband.

He takes all of this in with his typical stoicism. “I cannot be that.”

“Yeah, you’re not doing so hot in the making me laugh department, that’s for sure,” I tell him dourly. “You realize of course that I can send you back at a moment’s notice. Since we’re laying it all out there, I’m not sure why you didn’t just go along and keep your mouth shut.”

“It would not be fair.”

Well, that’s a kick. Ares has a sense of justice, as skewed as it may be. “The time to talk about fair would have been before we got married and you got me all off track with the kisses and stuff.”

He shuts his eyes for a blink, and for a moment I think he’s trying to find a language that works in this situation, but then he unwinds from the couch, crossing to where I’m standing near the kitchen, arms folded over my midsection. I watch him approach, noting a glint in his eyes that may or may not be remorse. Hard to tell with him, especially given that I thought we were on the same wavelength and definitely were not.

“I am sorry,” he says and I can tell he means it. “I needed to escape.”

His distance before the wedding takes on new dimensions. He stayed away from me on purpose but I’m not about to guess why. “You said that before. What does that mean?”

“You did not ask about my genetic alterations.”

His silvery eyes bore into me and I need to look away but I can’t. I shake my head in an attempt to loosen the heavy moment. That doesn’t work either. Now I’m starting to get a healthy dose of fear, and I’m not sure I want to know. “Is it important? It doesn’t change anything for me.”

At least I don’t think it does. I mean, I know that the Torvian military did genetic experiments on their soldiers and dumped them when the thing went sideways. Penelope told me all about it. But I envisioned whatever is wrong with my alien being like a chronic illness. You don’t tell someone with celiac disease that they’re too much trouble and you’d like a normal husband, thank you very much. You deal with it because the person is worth it and normal is overrated.

And yeah, I had a lot of stars in my eyes about this match that I couldn’t see through. You don’t have to tell me. It’s my worst flaw. I have to admit that I did this backward. You’re supposed to figure out the guy is worth it before you find out he has baggage. I don’t know squat about Ares.

“It is important,” he confirms. “I am a killer. My government sought to enhance my abilities. Heighten my thirst for ending life.”

“Did it work?” I whisper because I’m starting to get an inkling of why he might not fill the bill for the loving husband and father to my children that I had pictured. Is this the part where I find out I married an axe murderer?

“No.” The tension doesn’t dissolve an iota. “I am a failure. That is why I came to Earth.”

I let out the pent up breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Then what’s the problem? You’re not a soldier anymore, you don’t want to kill people. We have chemistry and I want to get to know you better. Why the hell is that not a recipe for a good match?”

“I have…powers that cannot be explained.”

He’s hedging, and again, I can’t tell if he’s searching for words or being cagey. Eros has some weird crap he can do too, where he touches Penelope and can read her emotions. I honestly forgot about that part of the genetic experimentation. “It’s okay, I’m fine with whatever it is. It doesn’t bother me.”

It bothered Penelope plenty, but I think it’s kind of cool that she doesn’t have to tell Eros if she’s mad or whatever. He can just sense how she feels, and anytime you don’t have to clue in your man about the state of your emotions sounds like a winning combination to me. I mean, the words if you don’t know what’s wrong, I’m certainly not going to tell you will never come out of her mouth.

“It is not fine,” he says tightly. “I do not wish to be genetically modified. They had no right to do so.”

“Well, of course not,” I return with heat because I am not one to let an opportunity for righteous indignation pass, especially on someone else’s behalf. “But it’s over now and you’re here on Earth to start a new life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

The second skitter of foreboding skates down my spine as he shakes his head. “Not over. Your scientists want to study my genetics in hopes of replicating it.”

“That’s why you wanted to leave Switzerland.” The affirmation is written all over his face and my heart squeezes more than I would like. Wow, that’s a crappy row to hoe. “They can’t touch you here.”

I have no idea if that’s true, but I want to believe it and that’s enough for me. Without a second thought, I lace my fingers with his and hold on. He glances down at our linked hands but doesn’t pull away. A small victory, though what war I’m fighting here I haven’t figured out.

“I appreciate you,” he says sincerely. “You chose me without fear. It is…humbling.”

I roll my eyes. “You can put your admiration away. You’re hot and I wanted an alien husband like Penelope’s. One of those is still a thing. The hot part, in case you missed it. And now we’re married for better or worse unless you have more revelations that might make me change my mind. Otherwise, I still plan to make the best of it.”

“I must tell you about my abilities.” He hesitates and I give him all the time he needs, which sounds easier than it is. I don’t do patience well. Finally, he clears his throat. “Instead of enhancing my ability to kill, they gave me the power to heal.”

Wait, what? I guess I didn’t realize they did different genetic experimentation on the Torvian army and that Ares would have powers that are nothing like Eros’s. “Heal? Like, headaches and stubbed toes or diseases?”

He scowls but it doesn’t mask the discomfort flitting through his gaze. “All ailments. Though larger systemic issues take a much bigger toll on my energy and require periods of rest.”

Well, yeah, okay. That makes sense. “How does it work? Show me.”

“No.” His expression turns dark and fierce with his denial. “It is shameful. I no longer have a drive to cut down my enemies. I see pain and suffering and yearn to help. I am half the grimpishign that I was.”

“The what?” I can’t tell if that’s German or his garbled alien language, but he brushes it off.

“Irrelevant. I cannot be your mate when I am so flawed.”

Oh, God. This is not the conversation I prepped for. I blow out a breath as I try to figure out how to psychoanalyze an alien who thinks he isn’t good enough for me based on the fact that he doesn’t want to murder other Torvians in cold blood. Or whatever temperature their blood is. If they have blood.

I am giving myself a headache. Clearly I should not demand that my alien healer fix it. Instead, I lead Ares to the couch and guide him to sit on it as I curl up next to him, still holding his hand. At some point I should go to work but this is too important. Surely Penelope will understand.

“First of all, you’re not flawed,” I say and stroke his knuckle which is what I would like for him to do if our positions were reversed. “If what they tried to do to you worked, you’d be a soulless killing machine. And you wouldn’t be here or married to me, so maybe look on the bright side.”

“You do not understand,” he says and his voice thins. “I am a soldier. It is all I know. Having a drive to care for others is difficult. I do not like it.”

I huff out a sigh of frustration. “Okay, well that’s a fair point even though it makes no sense to me.”

I try to put myself in his shoes, but I wasn’t bred for anything other than spa days and binge watching Say Yes to the Dress. My alien probably grew up dreaming of holding a gun and slogging through rice fields on the way to an ambush. If they even have rice fields on Torvis.

“Tell me,” I say impulsively. “About being a solider. Do you miss it?”

His eyes blink shut. “Yes. I had purpose. Direction. Pride in my skills. Now I have none of these. I came to Earth in search of a new life where I would not be a failure and learned as much about culture and…zeitgeist as possible. I wish to be a part of something meaningful.”

“Good news is you already are.” I manage to keep my sarcasm in check, God knows how. “A marriage. To me. It can be as meaningful as you want. I’m not playing hard to get here if you missed that.”

Ares stares at me and his expression is nothing short of baffled. “I do not know how to do that.”

“Which part? Marriage or meaningful?” He nods once which makes me laugh. “Both then. So here’s the most important question. Do you want to learn how to have a meaningful relationship with me?”

He hesitates so long I worry that I’ve either confused him again or lost him, but then he cocks his head. “You will teach me?”

“That’s the plan.” How remains a mystery but I’m strangely excited at the thought of starting at ground zero with this alien I’ve acquired who lost everything and only wants to fit in somewhere. I can relate, especially given my dating and job track record—I’ve never jelled with anyone. We’re a better match than I ever dreamed. “Just don’t expect to be totally wowed right out of the gate. This will be a work in progress.”

“Why would you do this?” he asks sincerely. “You should send me back now that you know my defects.”

I have to laugh. “Because I don’t see your ability to heal as a defect. The only thing I’m worried about right now is getting you to a place where you feel like your life has meaning. I hope I can give you that.”

There goes my raging altruism again. We know so little about each other. How can I promise he’ll fall in love with me? Or if he does, that’ll fill the emptiness he seems to be carrying with him from Torvis? I can’t promise that.

But the beauty of it is that no one can promise that to anyone. All we can do is take the next step in our relationship and see where it leads. I just wasn’t expecting to be the expert in matters of the heart. My track record with men isn’t so great, but then if it was, I wouldn’t be here staring down the barrel of an alien marriage that is suddenly rife with so many more possibilities than it had five minutes ago.

“I have to go to work,” I tell him. “While I’m gone, you can…”

I wrack my brain for how to start teaching Ares what it means to be invested in another person to the point of finding purpose in life because your mate exists. There are so many things that go into a marriage, things I have no clue about either. I kind of thought this whole deal would fall into place. Penelope and Eros make it look like a cake walk.

Me, on the other hand, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the task. What the hell was I thinking? Penelope didn’t have to do anything like this—Eros fell for her in the first second of their meeting in the world’s fastest case of love at first sight. Her problem was getting him to back off until she was ready to accept what he was offering.

That might be the right approach here too. Back off and start over. Inspired, I hand Ares one of my Cosmo magazines.

“You can read English, right?” He nods. “Great. We’re going on a date. There are a lot of dating tips in here. Come up with something we can do after I get home from work. Something where we can spend time together and get to know each other. The more romantic the better.”

Warming to the idea, I grab an entire stack and load him up. He has all day, after all, and will likely get bored without something to keep him busy.

Balefully, he eyes the bound paper in his arms. “A date?”

“You’ve been on a date before, right?” His blank stare answers that question. “Okay, no problem. Wait, how do you find mates on Torvis if you don’t date?”

“Mates are chosen by a department in our government and assigned. For procreation only,” he clarifies. “We do not find meaning in this arrangement. It is temporary.”

Fantastic. I’m fighting more than one cultural issue then. “Pretend that’s the worst idea anyone has ever come up with and that you hate it. You’re going to want to exorcise that whole concept from your brain, because it doesn’t work like that on Earth.”

No wonder caring about the welfare of another person seems so abhorrent to him.

He nods. “I will read your Earth rules for dating while you work.”

Probably it’s going to be a disaster of the highest order, but I have little choice at this point. I’m all out of inspiration. But if this works, I might end up with an even better alien lover than I hoped. After all, how many women get a blank slate for a husband and his agreement in hand to learn everything you choose to teach him about marriage? I can tell him that the most important rule is that he has to rub my feet every day and it’s always the male’s job to cook.

What’s he going to do, argue with me?