Chapter 40-Interlude from the beginning of story
The comm unit in the outer office rang loudly and the sound of his secretary's voice answering it came unwelcome to his ears. Jag kept his head bent over the computer, furiously studying the data. He didn't want to speak to her.
The intercom from the outer to the inner office beeped once, and then the stern Csillian voice spoke directly to him. "Colonel, Mrs. Fel wishes to speak to you. Should I page her through?"
For a moment Jag considered declining. It was tempting, but the repercussions were too dire to give it much thought. "Go ahead." Still he kept his eyes focused on his notes and documents, paying no mind to his mother's face as it jumped from the holoprojector on the corner of his desk.
"Jagged," she said with her usual cheerfulness.
"Mother," he replied evenly, still refusing to look directly at her.
She was quiet for a moment, and he could feel her knowing eyes boring into the side of his face. He didn't care. She could think whatever she wanted of him, he was not going to pretend to be okay. He hated this, this, thing they were forcing him to do, and there was no way he was going down without a fight. "Jagged, Miss Solo's ship just arrived in the system. It would be a good start if you would be there to meet her when she landed."
"No thanks," he said flippantly. "I'm busy."
"She'll need someone to show her the apartment we bought. You need to go see it anyway."
Jag let out a long breath through his nose, then continued his study. "I'm sure she'll be fine."
"Jagged—"
Jag spun around angrily, looking at her for the first time. "I said no! I don't want anything to do with her."
Syal's gaze was compassionate. "I understand. Believe me, you can't be any more upset over this than I am. But alienating her is only going to make your life harder. You might as well start things off on the right foot."
Jag stared at her stoically. "No."
She scowled at him. "Where are your manners, young man? You're only making a difficult situations worse. You can't let her spend her first night here without even meeting you."
"I would rather not," he said, keeping his voice carefully controlled.
She sighed heavily. "You should at least try. I taught you better than this."
"I don't remember any of your lessons that spoke of the proper etiquette when you meet your bride-to-be," he replied, barely restraining the angry tremor from his voice.
She pursed her lips sadly. "You're a grown man. Do what you want; but remember, you're going to have to spend the rest of your life with this girl. The foundation of your relationship can start now. Do you want her thinking ill of you from the beginning? Don't answer that. Just think about it. Goodnight, Jagged."
"Goodnight, Mother," he said, watching her image fizzle out as the connection was cut. After a few seconds of pondering her words he went back to his work, stubbornly keeping his resolve to hate the woman who was ending his life.
Jag sat back and looked at the chrono hanging on the wall for the seventh time. She would have arrived at the apartment by now. She would be planning out the quarters that would be their home. She would most likely wondering where he was.
Jag ran a tired hand over his brow. This was hardly how he had planned his life to be. He wanted be a general someday, a commander with a fleet of his own. He wanted freedom, independence, the joy of rising to the occasion and besting your peers. It was in that environment that he thrived, that he craved. He would never have that now.
He could see it clearly in his mind's eye. Middle-aged with no accolades or honors to his name, coming home from the same office to a pompous, trumped-up wanna-be princess who he didn't and never could love. It was almost more depressing than he could bare.
Why was this happening to him? Why him? He had so much he wanted to do before he settled down. He didn't need or want a wife. He was only eighteen! He had so much living to do before he settled down. And what if he hated her? He wasn't far from it already.
Where are your manners? his mother had asked him. She was right of course, like always. He wasn't helping things by being rude. She was the one leaving her family and life behind after all. He could at least attempt to be civil.
Intent, he hit the intercom. "Colonel?" his secretary asked.
"Call the apartment my parents rented," he said. "Ask Miss Solo to meet me at the Fantasy for dinner tonight at 2000 hours."
"Yes, sir," she clipped.
Jag chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip, reminding himself of his mother's words. He could at least be civil.
Jag swallowed hard, closing his eyes and trying to calm his racing pulse. He couldn't do this, he couldn't. It was too hard. He didn't want to see her, speak to her, anything. He never should have asked her to meet him. Quietly he reminded himself that this was his home planet, he had invited her, he had the upper hand. He could decide how long to stay. He would just stay long enough to eat, and then leave.
Civil.
He turned the corner and went through the door, nodding to the blue-skinned man behind the desk. The man checked for reservations, then looked up, his red eyes confirming what Jag already knew. He continued through the restaurant out onto the balcony where most people flocked to. The artificial crashing of the waves and the smell of salty sea air assaulted his senses. He licked his lips and looked around.
All he saw was an ocean of blue faces and red eyes. He searched carefully, scanning every table, every person—
He stopped short. Amid the crowd of Chiss was a woman, her back turned to him. Chestnut hair was pinned at the top of her head, her black dress revealing a slender figure and a muscular back. It ended a mid-thigh, long creamy legs continuing the rest of the way, ending in small black heels. Jag froze.
That was not what he had expected. In truth, he had imagined a too-thin, stuffy little woman with large glasses and a big nose. Actually, she could still have a big nose. He hadn't seen her face yet after all.
And then she turned, picking up her water glass by the stem and sipping delicately, exposing her profile perfectly to him. No, her face was as exquisite as the rest of her. But that didn't matter, he reminded himself, his mind having gone temporarily numb. She was here to end his life. He was just going to be civil...