Work Text:
Eva Stratt had negotiated with governments.
She had threatened oil ministers, overruled heads of state, redirected military resources belonging to countries that had not technically agreed to lend them to her, and once told a French cabinet secretary that if he interrupted her one more time she would have security escort him out and brief his deputy instead.
She did not get nervous.
She did not become flustered.
She did not lose track of sentences.
And she certainly did not forget how language worked because a man put on a suit.
Unfortunately, Ryland Grace had apparently decided to test that final hypothesis personally.
“Stratt.”
She kept reading the report on her tablet.
“Stratt.”
The latest orbital-testing projections were eight percent over budget, three days behind schedule, and full of assumptions that no one had bothered to justify properly.
She scrolled.
“Eva.”
Stratt looked up sharply.
Her irritation lasted perhaps half a second.
Then she saw him.
And her mind went completely, astonishingly blank.
Grace stood in the doorway of the Vat’s administrative lounge with one hand against the frame, looking mildly uncertain about whether he was interrupting something.
He was wearing a suit.
That should not have mattered.
Men wore suits every day. Stratt dealt with hundreds of them. Thousands, probably. Suits were fabric and buttons arranged in a socially acceptable configuration.
This particular one was dark navy, nearly black in the fluorescent lights, and fit Grace so well that Stratt briefly suspected someone had committed industrial espionage against her nervous system.
The jacket sat cleanly across his shoulders and narrowed at his waist. Underneath was a crisp white shirt, properly pressed for perhaps the first time since she had met him.
And the tie.
God.
The tie.
Midnight blue, patterned with tiny silver constellations.
Not generic little stars.
Actual constellations.
Cassiopeia angled across the upper half. Orion sat below the knot. Ursa Major disappeared partly beneath his jacket.
Stratt stared at it long enough to identify all three.
Then her eyes moved upward.
That was worse.
He had traded his usual glasses for thin gold-rimmed frames that made his eyes look brighter and somehow made the entire situation intolerable. His hair was actually combed, although one piece near his forehead had already begun escaping whatever effort he made.
Grace lifted his eyebrows.
“You okay?”
Stratt became aware that she had not spoken.
“Yes.”
He waited.
She answered too quickly.
“Yes,” she repeated, slower.
“Okay.”
His glasses slipped a fraction down his nose. He pushed them back up with one finger.
Stratt forgot why she had been annoyed.
Grace glanced over his shoulder. “Yao said the cars leave in ten minutes.”
“I know.”
“Right.”
He looked at her properly then.
His expression changed.
Stratt became abruptly aware of her own clothing.
She had chosen a navy dress that fell to the floor, the satin catching the light every time she moved. It was simple - thin straps, a straight neckline, and a slit up one side that made walking much easier than expected. The back was almost entirely open, held together by a few narrow straps crossing between her shoulder blades. She wore a pair of black heels she was already regretting, and her hair hanging in loose waves over her shoulders.
She had spent almost an hour getting ready.
She refused to tell anyone that.
Grace smiled. It began at one corner of his mouth and spread until his whole face changed with it.
His eyes brightened behind the gold frames.
Stratt’s brain, having only just recovered, shut down again
“You look really nice,” he said.
She stared.
Several responses presented themselves.
Thank you.
So do you.
That suit is surprisingly flattering.
I would like to see what happens if I pull you in by that tie.
Stratt opened her mouth.
Nothing happened.
Grace’s smile faltered.
“Stratt?”
“You’re wearing stars.”
He glanced down.
“My tie?”
“Yes.”
Grace touched it, looking pleased. “You noticed.”
Of course she noticed.
She had noticed practically every atom of him currently visible.
“I have functioning eyesight.”
“I don’t believe that. You stare at spreadsheets for 14 hours every day.”
“You usually dress like a high-school science teacher.”
“I was a high-school science teacher.”
“Exactly, this is visually disruptive.”
Grace laughed.
Warm, surprised, head ducking slightly.
Stratt immediately wanted to hear it again.
That was troubling.
He looked back up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m assessing.”
“Assessing what?”
“Whether someone replaced you with a better-dressed duplicate.”
Grace looked down at himself. “Do you hate it?”
“No.”
The answer came far too quickly.
His mouth twitched.
Stratt narrowed her eyes.
“I mean, it is acceptable.”
“Acceptable.”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” Grace adjusted one cuff. “High praise.”
“Do not become insufferable.”
“I’ll try.”
His glasses slipped again.
He pushed them up.
Stratt looked away.
A voice came from the corridor.
“Grace! If make us late because flirting with boss, I leave you here.”
Grace went beet red.
Stratt closed her eyes.
Ilyukhina appeared beside him in a fitted black suit with a deep green shirt underneath, the top buttons left open and the sleeves rolled to her forearms. Black heeled combat boots replaced dress shoes, and somehow they worked well enough that Stratt kept her opinions to herself. Her dark hair swept back into a gold clip, a few loose strands curling around her face.
She looked at Grace. Then at Stratt. Then back at Grace.
Her expression changed.
Barely.
Just the faintest widening of her grin.
Stratt knew that grin.
“No.”
Ilyukhina spread both hands.
“I say nothing.”
“You were about to.”
“I breathe.”
“Do it elsewhere.”
Grace looked between them. “What am I missing?”
“Nothing,” Stratt said.
“Everything,” Ilyukhina said.
Stratt pointed toward the corridor.
“Car.”
Ilyukhina saluted.
Grace pushed his glasses up again.
Stratt refused to acknowledge the flutter in her heart.
The banquet was being held at a converted nineteenth-century customs hall overlooking the water, two hours by plane from the Vat.
Officially, the purpose was to build relationships between the Hail Mary project’s continuing research programs and several private funding organizations.
Unofficially, rich people wanted dinner with scientists. They wanted to shake hands with members of the primary team. They wanted photographs beneath chandeliers. They wanted anecdotes about astrophage and international cooperation and humanity saving itself.
Most importantly, they wanted to feel important enough to write checks afterward.
Stratt had attended hundreds of events like this.
She knew exactly how they worked.
The moment she entered the ballroom, her brain shifted into operational mode.
Names.
Organizations.
Donation histories.
The room itself was offensively elegant.
Vaulted ceilings stretched high above them, painted in faded blue and gold. Tall arched windows lined one wall and looked out over black water scattered with reflections from the city beyond. Chandeliers hung from carved plasterwork, their warm light spilling across round tables dressed in white linen.
A small band occupied a low platform at the far end of the room.
Strings of tiny lights had been wound around the balcony railings.
Someone had arranged enormous green branches and white flowers in bronze vases between the tables.
Waiters moved through the crowd carrying champagne.
Everything looked polished and expensive and calculated to make donors feel as though the world’s salvation had excellent catering.
Stratt approved.
Mostly.
She moved forward.
“Director Stratt.”
A man approached.
Frederik van der Meer.
Helios Energy Foundation.
Two hundred million euros in discretionary research grants.
Excellent.
She smiled.
“Mr. Van der Meer.”
They shook hands.
Behind her, someone laughed.
Grace.
Stratt’s eyes moved before she could stop them.
He had joined Yao near the windows.
Yao looked appropriately formal in charcoal and black, posture straight enough to make every other man in the ballroom look undertrained.
Shapiro wore a dark red gown with clean geometric lines at the shoulders, her hair pinned up.
DuBois wore pale gray with a dark red pocket square that matched Shapiro’s dress so precisely that there was no possible way it had happened accidentally.
Ilyukhina still had mischief twinkling in her eyes.
And Grace-
Grace was smiling at something Yao had said.
The ballroom lighting caught along his gold glasses.
Stratt looked away.
“Your orbital facility proposal is ambitious,” Van der Meer said.
“It’s necessary.”
“So I gathered.”
“We’re reaching the stage where computer modeling is no longer sufficient. We need controlled facilities capable of-”
Grace laughed again.
Stratt’s eyes flicked over Van der Meer’s shoulder.
A woman had joined Grace.
She was tall. Blonde hair. Silver dress. Hoop earrings. Unfamiliar.
Grace turned toward her, smiling politely.
Stratt lost approximately three seconds.
“-which was our primary concern.”
She snapped back.
“Your board’s concerns are based on the preliminary cost projection.”
Van der Meer paused. “Yes.”
Stratt had no idea what he had just said. She continued anyway.
“The revised numbers account for long-term operation and maintenance. If your board reviews the updated figures, the concern should resolve itself.”
His eyebrows rose slightly.
“You sound confident.”
“I generally am.”
That earned a small laugh.
They finished the conversation. Stratt secured the promise of a follow-up meeting.
Good.
She watched Van der Meer walk away.
Then immediately looked back across the room.
Grace was still talking to the blonde woman.
She touched his arm.
Something inside Stratt tightened.
Ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
Ryland Grace’s arm was not under her jurisdiction.
He could allow anyone he wanted to touch it.
The woman laughed.
Grace laughed too.
Stratt’s grip tightened around her champagne flute.
“Careful.”
Ilyukhina appeared beside her.
Stratt looked down. Her fingers had gone white around the stem.
She loosened them.
“I’m fine.”
“Yes.”
Ilyukhina drank from her own glass.
Stratt waited.
Ilyukhina waited too.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing something.”
“I am standing.”
“You’re enjoying yourself.”
“Very much.”
Stratt followed Ilyukhina’s gaze.
Straight to Grace. Her jaw tightened.
“You should be speaking with the Lithuanian delegation.”
“Mm.”
“They have concerns about the shielding requirements.”
“Mm.”
“Ilyukhina.”
“Who is blonde woman?”
“I don’t know.”
“Interesting.”
“I don’t care.”
“Very interesting.”
“She appears to be from ESA.”
“Maybe.”
“So she’s probably talking to him about research.”
“Yes.”
Stratt took a sip of champagne. Ilyukhina’s grin grew.
“Research.”
“Exactly.”
“Very scientific hand touching.”
Stratt nearly shattered the glass in her hands.
“I am going to have you assigned to Antarctica.”
“I like Antarctica.”
“Then someplace humid.”
“Cruel.”
Stratt glanced back.
Grace had leaned slightly closer to hear the woman.
His glasses slipped.
He pushed them up.
The woman smiled.
Stratt hated her.
No.
She did not hate her.
She had no reason to hate her.
She hated this feeling.
That was different.
“I’m leaving,” Stratt said.
Ilyukhina looked delighted.
“Why?”
“To work.”
“Of course.”
Stratt walked away.
Ilyukhina’s laughter followed her.
For the next thirty minutes, Eva Stratt behaved like a normal person.
Mostly.
She spoke with the chair of the Valkyrie Research Trust.
She discussed supply-chain stability with a German manufacturing executive.
She persuaded a communications corporation to donate satellite bandwidth for a research network by explaining, with great patience, exactly how much positive publicity they would receive for it.
She secured two follow-up meetings and one provisional equipment donation.
She also knew where Grace was in the ballroom at all times.
This irritated her deeply.
He moved toward the bar.
She noticed.
He went out onto the balcony.
She noticed.
He returned inside beside Yao.
She noticed.
He removed his suit jacket for perhaps thirty seconds while DuBois attempted to clean a splash of wine from one sleeve.
Stratt nearly walked into a waiter.
By the time Grace crossed the ballroom toward her, she had decided the suit itself was hostile.
“Hey.”
He came to a stop at her side.
Stratt looked at him.
“Hello.”
“You need a partner?”
“For what?”
Grace nodded toward the semicircle of donors forming near them.
“Social combat.”
“I don’t need assistance.”
“I know.”
His smile appeared.
She hated what it did to her.
“But,” he added, “Shapiro told me I should make myself useful.”
“Shapiro said that?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘Go stand near Stratt and try not to embarrass us.”
That sounded plausible.
“Fine.”
Grace grinned.
They approached the donors together.
It should have made the evening easier.
Instead it ruined Stratt’s ability to function.
Grace was good at this.
Annoyingly good.
He listened. Actually listened.
While Stratt talked funding structures and experimental infrastructure, Grace translated the same concepts into stories without undermining her.
When donors asked vague questions about educational impact, he talked about students.
When they asked what the work might mean twenty years from now, he gave them practical examples.
He was warm.
Polite.
Self-deprecating in exactly the right amount.
People liked him almost immediately.
Stratt had known this.
She had seen him interact with representatives in meetings.
She had not realized that a simple outfit change would cause her to start noticing every little detail.
They joined a conversation with three representatives from the Fenwick Science Foundation.
Grace stood beside her.
Close.
Not touching.
Stratt was fine.
One of the representatives moved backward without looking and nearly stepped into her.
Grace’s hand landed at the small of Stratt’s back.
“Careful.”
Just that.
One word.
His palm pressed lightly through the back of her dress as he guided her a half step aside.
Stratt forgot the number she was saying.
“…twenty…”
She stopped.
The representative waited.
Grace looked at her.
Stratt’s brain still failed to produce a single word.
His hand was still pressed against her.
“Twenty-seven,” Grace supplied quietly.
Stratt looked at him.
He smiled.
“Twenty-seven million in projected construction costs,” she continued.
“Right,” the representative said.
Grace removed his hand.
Stratt hated that too.
The conversation moved on.
Five minutes later, another group joined them.
Grace put his hand at her back again to guide her slightly closer when someone moved between them.
Stratt lost a noun.
Infrastructure.
She forgot the word infrastructure.
Grace glanced at her as his mouth twitched.
She gave him a murderous look.
He understood immediately.
His smile widened.
Bastard.
“You all right?” he murmured while the donor beside them turned to greet someone else.
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because you just forgot the word infrastructure.”
“I did not.”
“You said ‘the… facility things.’”
“I was simplifying.”
“For the chairman of an engineering foundation.”
“Dr. Grace.”
His shoulders shook.
Stratt glared.
His glasses slipped down his nose.
He pushed them back up.
Her gaze followed the movement.
Grace caught her doing it.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was smug.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were smug silently.”
“Is that illegal?”
“It may become so.”
The donor turned back.
Stratt resumed talking.
Grace’s hand settled again at the small of her back.
She forgot half the sentence.
This was going to become a problem.
Across the ballroom, Ilyukhina noticed everything.
She had originally intended to spend the evening drinking free champagne, terrifying financiers, and seeing whether she could persuade Yao to dance.
Then she watched Stratt stumble slightly as Grace wrapped his arm around her waist.
Priorities changed.
Ilyukhina watched from the bar as Grace leaned closer to say something into Stratt’s ear.
Stratt froze. Ilyukhina saw the tiny hitch in her shoulders. The way her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. The way she stared straight ahead for two full seconds before answering the man in front of her.
Grace, naturally, appeared oblivious.
Hopeless, Ilyukhina thought, both of them.
She took another sip of her champagne.
Yao appeared beside her, cradling an old-fashioned.
“Didn’t Stratt tell you not to drink tonight?”
“Is champagne,” Ilyukhina said, examining the glass. “Basically baby alcohol.”
Yao sighed.
“Olesya.”
She shrugged. “Have you been watching them?”
His eyes drifted across the ballroom to where Grace stood beside Stratt as they spoke with a group of donors. Stratt paused halfway through a sentence, glared at him, then visibly searched for the word she’d lost.
“…Yes,” Yao admitted. “Grace is affecting her composure.”
“She is in love.”
One corner of Yao’s mouth twitched upward.
“I wasn’t going to put it quite like that.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
Yao chose not to argue.
Ilyukhina let her gaze wander around the ballroom. It slid past the donors, the dance floor, the chandeliers, and stopped on the musicians setting their instruments down between pieces.
A slow grin spread on her face. Beside her, Yao noticed immediately,
“Ilyukhina, you have that twinkle in your eye.”
“What twinkle?”
“The one that usually ends in Stratt threatening to throw you overboard.”
“I am appreciating music.”
Yao folded his arms.
“What are you planning?”
“Nothing.”
“Olesya Ilyukhina.”
She handed him her champagne.
“Hold this.”
Before Yao could protest, she was already weaving through the crowd.
The band was currently between pieces. Four musicians sat near the far wall: violin, cello, piano, and acoustic guitar.
The violinist looked up first.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes.”
Ilyukhina glanced over her shoulder.
Stratt was still occupied.
Excellent.
“I need favor.”
The violinist hesitated.
“What kind of favor?”
“Romantic one.”
The cellist looked immediately interested.
The pianist tried to hide a smile.
Ilyukhina leaned in.
“You know Invisible String? Taylor Swift?”
The violinist blinked. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Stratt did not see Ilyukhina disappear.
She was too busy trying to explain propulsion-testing requirements while Grace stood close enough that she could feel his sleeve brushing hers.
The group around them had changed again.
Now it was a mixture of scientists, foundation representatives, and one older industrialist named Malcolm Vey, who had spent most of dinner congratulating himself for funding a research center twenty years earlier.
Stratt disliked him within thirty seconds.
Grace seemed willing to give him a chance.
Of course he did.
Vey listened to Stratt explain the proposed testing site.
He nodded slowly.
“I see.”
Stratt knew that tone.
Nothing useful ever followed that tone.
Vey smiled. “Very ambitious.”
“Yes.”
“Although I suppose ambition has served you well.”
Stratt’s expression did not change.
Grace’s hand was still at her back.
She felt his fingers shift slightly.
Vey continued.
“I’ve always admired how you manage the Hail Mary program.”
“Thank you.”
“Though I imagine a certain… severity is necessary.”
There it was.
Stratt had heard every version.
Difficult.
Cold.
Uncompromising.
Ruthless.
Bossy, when someone lacked imagination.
Grace’s hand stilled.
Vey chuckled lightly.
“I’m told half your team is terrified of you.”
Stratt smiled thinly.
“Only half?”
One of the others laughed.
Vey did too.
“Fair enough.”
He took a drink.
“Still, it takes a particular sort of woman to make herself that unpopular.”
Grace’s hand went very still against Stratt’s back.
Stratt felt it.
She had already decided she did not care what Malcolm Vey thought of her.
She turned to Grace.
His smile was still in place, barely.
The corners of his mouth were held too deliberately.
His eyes had gone flat behind the gold frames.
Vey either did not notice or did not care.
“I suppose,” he continued, “when one lacks the luxury of charm, authority has to do the work.”
Stratt had been insulted by better people.
She was already preparing a response when Grace spoke.
His voice was pleasant.
Almost mild.
“I don’t think Stratt’s ever had trouble with authority.”
Vey looked at him.
Grace smiled, still perfectly polite.
“Obviously.”
“No,” Grace continued. “I mean people follow her because she is right.”
A brief silence.
Vey smiled indulgently.
“My point was only that leadership can sometimes require a gentler touch.”
Grace nodded.
“Sure.”
Stratt watched him.
The smile remained.
His tone did not change.
And yet something beneath it had sharpened.
“She also has about two years to stop the sun from dimming enough to collapse global agriculture,” Grace said. “So I’m guessing gentle isn’t the priority.”
Vey gave an awkward laugh.
“Well, naturally.”
Grace’s hand shifted once at Stratt’s back.
His thumb brushed against her bare skin.
“She got twelve governments that didn’t trust each other to share resources, scientists who all thought they were the smartest person in every room to cooperate, and enough material redirected to build an interstellar spacecraft from scratch.”
He smiled wider.
“So if the criticism is that she isn’t charming enough while doing that, I think she probably chose the right thing to sacrifice.”
Silence.
Stratt stared at him.
Vey’s smile had tightened.
“I meant no offense.”
“I’m sure.”
Grace said it sweetly.
His tone said fuck you.
Stratt almost laughed.
Instead she lifted her glass.
“Mr. Vey,” she said, “I believe your foundation’s representative wanted to discuss the instrumentation grant.”
He seized the escape.
“Yes. Of course.”
He moved away.
The others drifted with him.
Stratt and Grace were suddenly alone near the edge of the crowd.
She turned to him.
Grace still looked mad.
“That was unnecessary.”
He looked at her. “No, it wasn’t.”
“I can defend myself.”
“I know.”
“You know I don’t care what men like that think.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you-”
“Because I care.”
Stratt stopped.
Grace seemed to realize what he had said.
“I mean, I care that he said it,” he backpedaled.
“I understood you.”
“Oh.”
He pushed his glasses up.
Stratt watched.
Grace exhaled.
“He was being a jerk.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like when people talk about you like you’re some kind of machine.”
Something in Stratt’s chest tightened.
Grace looked away briefly.
“You have to make awful decisions. That doesn’t mean you enjoy them.”
Stratt studied him.
Most people assumed she did.
That was the easiest narrative.
Eva Stratt was ruthless because ruthlessness came naturally.
She did not lose sleep over it. She did not feel guilt. She did not care.
Grace had never seemed to believe that.
She looked down.
His hand was still resting against her back.
He noticed too.
“Oh. Sorry.”
He started to remove it.
Stratt caught his wrist.
Grace froze.
She did not quite look at him.
“You can leave it.”
A pause.
Then his hand settled back.
“Okay.”
Stratt looked up.
Grace was smiling again.
Softer now.
And his eyes-
God.
His eyes lit up.
Stratt was fluent in 8 languages. Conversational in at least 14. And yet, she still forgot every word available to her.
Grace tilted his head.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Staring.”
“I’m not.”
“I know a lot about staring, Stratt. You are staring.”
“I am thinking.”
“About?”
“You’re very nosy tonight.”
Grace grinned.
Stratt hated him.
Her stomach did backflips.
This was becoming catastrophic.
Ilyukhina found the lighting booth by asking three waiters, one security guard, and a catering manager who clearly suspected her of committing a crime.
Technically, she was not committing a crime.
She was simply entering an area marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY without being authorized.
Different category.
The booth sat above the ballroom behind a narrow balcony. Ilyukhina opened the door and found a woman in a headset hunched over a lighting console.
She turned around, startled.
“Can I help you?”
Ilyukhina stepped inside.
“Ma’am, you can’t be in here.”
“I am astronaut.”
“That doesn’t actually-”
“I need lighting.”
The technician stared at her.
Below them, the entire ballroom spread out beneath the glass.
Ilyukhina pointed.
“See woman in navy dress?”
The technician followed her finger.
“Which one?”
“Terrifying one.”
She looked again. “Oh.”
“Yes. Her.”
“What about her?”
“Later there is dancing.”
“Yes.”
“When final song starts, make room romantic.”
The technician slowly turned back toward her.
Ilyukhina smiled.
“No spotlight. She will murder. Just softer. Warm. Maybe dim edges.”
“You want me to alter the lighting design without the event coordinator’s approval.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t do that.”
Ilyukhina reached into her jacket.
The technician stiffened.
She pulled out a folded event credential.
“Primary Hail Mary crew.”
The techie looked at it, then at her.
“That still doesn’t authorize you.”
“No.”
“You know that.”
“Yes.”
She stared at Ilyukhina for several seconds before glancing through the glass again.
Below them, Stratt was talking to Grace. His hand rested at the small of her back, and Stratt had just stopped in the middle of a sentence for no apparent reason.
The technician watched for another moment.
“Is this a setup?”
“Yes.”
“Are they hopelessly in love with each other and refusing to do anything about it?”
“Exactly.”
The technician looked back at Ilyukhina. Then she grinned.
“I’m so fucking in.”
Ilyukhina squealed. “I like you.”
“Good.” The technician turned back to the console and fidgeted with one of the encoder wheels. “Because you’re really cute.”
Ilyukhina went quiet.
The technician flushed red. “Sorry that was inappropriate-”
For perhaps the first time that evening, Olesya Ilyukhina looked genuinely caught off guard.
“Oh,” she whispered.
The technician smiled. “What?”
Ilyukhina recovered quickly. “Nothing.”
“Sure.”
She leaned over the console again, and Ilyukhina’s eyes followed her for a second before she remembered why she was there.
“Final song,” she said. “You make edges darker.”
“I got it.”
“Warm in middle.”
“Yes.”
“Very romantic.”
“Yes.”
“Use floor washes. And uplighting.”
The technician laughed. “You’re bossy.”
“You like,” Ilyukhina smirked.
She looked up at her, cheeks flushed.
“Maybe.”
By dinner, Stratt had almost adjusted to Grace standing beside her.
Almost.
Then he removed his jacket.
Apparently he had become too warm.
The jacket went over the back of his chair.
Grace rolled his sleeves to his forearms.
Stratt stared at her plate.
This was obscene.
Across from her, Shapiro was explaining a recent breakthrough in protein folding while DuBois listened with genuine interest. Yao ate quietly, as always.
Ilyukhina slipped into her seat a moment later.
Yao looked up, then paused.
Her gold hair clip sat slightly crooked, a few more loose strands escaping than before. The dark red lipstick she’d arrived wearing was slightly smeared, and her shirt was unbuttoned one lower than it was before she snuck off.
Yao sighed.
“Ilyukhina.”
“Yes?”
“Where were you?”
“Nowhere.”
DuBois glanced over, one eyebrow lifted.
“…Nowhere?”
“Exactly.”
Stratt looked up from her menu.
“What did you do?”
Ilyukhina wore her most innocent expression.
“Nothing.”
“That expression means you did something.”
“I ate bread.”
Stratt turned to Yao.
“Yao.”
He looked from Ilyukhina to Stratt.
“I have learned that asking follow-up questions generally makes things worse.”
Coward.
Grace sat two seats away. His sleeves remained rolled to his forearms.
Stratt looked at her food.
Someone beside her asked a question about licensing agreements.
She answered.
Grace laughed at something DuBois said.
Stratt lost her train of thought.
Again.
The donor beside her waited.
Stratt recovered.
“…which is why international licensing cannot be negotiated individually.”
The donor nodded.
Across the table, Grace looked over.
Their eyes met.
His eyebrows lifted.
You okay?
Stratt gave him a tiny nod.
Grace smiled.
She looked down immediately.
Ilyukhina kicked her ankle.
Stratt looked up.
Ilyukhina widened her eyes dramatically toward Grace.
Stratt kicked her back.
Hard.
Ilyukhina nearly dropped her fork.
Yao sighed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Stratt said.
“Stratt kicked me,” Ilyukhina said.
“Ilyukhina, you sound like a child.”
“You kicked!”
“Why would I kick you?”
“Romantic frustration.”
Shapiro choked on her wine.
DuBois looked down at his plate.
Yao closed his eyes.
Grace frowned.
“What?”
Stratt glared at Ilyukhina.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
Ilyukhina froze. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
“I am frustrated that Stratt has no appreciation for romance.”
Grace laughed.
Stratt looked at him.
That was a mistake.
His eyes lit behind the gold glasses.
Her fury vanished mid-thought.
Ilyukhina watched it happen.
Her expression became unbearable.
Stratt looked away.
“Eat your dinner.”
“Yes, boss.”
By dessert, the evening’s provisional commitments had reached fifty-three million.
Stratt needed seventy.
She could justify another hour.
That was what she told herself.
Grace disappeared.
She noticed within thirty seconds.
Of course she did.
She was speaking with a Norwegian philanthropist when she realized his chair was empty.
A minute later she spotted him near the windows.
With the blonde woman again.
Stratt’s stomach tightened.
She hated it.
Hated the jealousy.
Hated how childish it felt.
Grace was allowed to talk to people.
Grace was allowed to flirt, if that was what he was doing.
Grace was allowed to date.
Grace did not belong to her.
The woman laughed at something he said.
Stratt looked away.
The philanthropist was still talking.
She forced herself to listen.
Asked two questions.
Secured a provisional commitment of fifteen million euros.
Excellent.
She should have been pleased.
Instead she looked back.
The woman had moved closer.
Grace was smiling.
Stratt set her glass onto a passing tray harder than necessary.
“You know,” Ilyukhina said beside her, “you could go talk to him.”
“I am not interrupting.”
“Why?”
“Because I am an adult.”
“Debatable.”
Stratt glared.
Ilyukhina looked toward Grace.
“You want him.”
“Ilyukhina.”
“You do.”
“Lower your voice.”
“No one hears.”
“I hear.”
Stratt folded her arms.
Ilyukhina studied her.
Then her expression softened slightly.
“Eva.”
“What?”
“You’re actually upset.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Stratt said nothing.
Ilyukhina sighed.
“She is married.”
Stratt blinked.
“What?”
“Blonde woman.”
Stratt looked at her.
“Married?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I meet husband.”
A pause.
“Oh.”
Ilyukhina’s grin returned instantly.
“That changes nothing,” Stratt said.
“Of course.”
“I was not concerned.”
“Yes.”
“You’re intolerable.”
“Yes.”
Stratt looked toward Grace again.
He was already looking back at her.
Their eyes met.
Grace smiled.
Not the broad social smile he had been giving donors; this one was something saved just for her.
Stratt’s chest tightened.
Grace excused himself and beelined toward her.
Ilyukhina saw.
“He’s coming!”
Stratt elbowed her.
“Go away.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
“I never listen.”
“I know.”
Grace was halfway across the floor.
Ilyukhina looked toward the band.
Then toward the upper balcony.
Excellent timing.
She patted Stratt’s arm.
“Good luck.”
Stratt’s eyes narrowed.
“With what?”
But Ilyukhina was already gone.
Grace arrived.
“Hey.”
Stratt looked at him.
His jacket was back on.
Terrible.
Excellent.
She could not decide.
“You vanished,” Grace said.
“I was working.”
“I know.”
“That is why we are here.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
Grace smiled.
“Successful?”
“Sixty-eight million.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus.”
“Don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m impressed.”
That hit differently.
Stratt looked at him.
Grace tucked his hands into his pockets.
His glasses slipped.
She wanted to reach up and fix them.
That was an alarmingly intimate urge.
“You were busy,” she said.
Grace glanced toward the windows.
“Oh. Lena?”
Lena.
Of course.
“Yes.”
“She wants me to help with an outreach program.”
“So I heard.”
“She thinks I’d be good at it.”
“You would.”
Grace smiled.
Then studied her.
“Were you jealous?”
Stratt’s heart stopped.
“What?”
Grace’s face changed immediately.
“I’m kidding.”
She stared at him.
He laughed nervously.
“Bad joke.”
“Yes.”
“Very bad.”
“Extremely.”
“Sorry.”
Stratt looked away.
Her pulse was ridiculous.
Grace watched her.
Then his voice lowered.
“Eva.”
She looked back.
His expression had softened.
“You know I’m not-”
The lights dimmed.
Grace stopped.
Stratt looked upward.
The chandeliers faded gradually from gold to amber.
The edges of the ballroom softened.
Conversation dropped into murmurs.
Stratt frowned.
She had forgotten about this part of the evening.
Across the room, the musicians shifted.
The first notes of a waltz began.
Someone applauded.
The emcee stepped toward the microphone and announced that the dance floor was open.
Stratt stared.
Grace looked delighted.
“I forgot this was happening,” she said.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You remember everything.”
“Apparently not.”
Grace looked toward the floor.
Couples were already moving onto it.
Shapiro and DuBois joined near the edge.
Grace turned back.
Then held out his hand.
Stratt stared at it.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Director Stratt?”
“You are enjoying this.”
“A little.”
“I can tell.”
“Dance with me?”
There were probably thirty reasons to say no.
Stratt could not remember any of them.
She put her hand into his.
Grace’s fingers closed around hers.
They were warm.
“Come on.”
He led her onto the floor.
Grace could waltz.
This felt personally insulting.
“You know how to dance.”
“My mom made me learn.”
“Of course she did.”
“What does that mean?”
“You continue to possess unnecessary hidden competencies.”
“Unnecessary?”
“Yes.”
“Seems pretty useful right now.”
His hand settled at her waist.
Stratt forgot what she had been saying.
Grace looked down briefly.
“Okay. You know this.”
“I have attended formal events before.”
“I know.”
“I did not emerge fully formed from a government office.”
Grace smiled.
“I’ve wondered.”
Stratt gave him a look.
He laughed.
His hand moved slightly against her back as they turned.
That hand again.
The entire evening had become a campaign of psychological warfare conducted by his right palm.
Their joined hands rose between them.
His thumb brushed against her knuckles.
“You’re staring,” Grace said.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“At what?”
“My tie.”
Stratt looked down.
Then back up.
“Yes.”
Grace grinned.
“Knew it.”
“You are extremely pleased with yourself.”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“Because you like it.”
“I never said that.”
They turned.
The room blurred around him.
Stratt knew there were dozens of people nearby.
She heard laughter.
Glasses.
Music.
But Grace held her attention too easily.
His eyes caught the warm lighting.
His glasses slipped.
Again.
Stratt finally lost patience.
“Hold still.”
Grace froze.
“What?”
She lifted her hand from his shoulder and pushed his glasses back up with one finger.
He stared.
Stratt immediately regretted the decision.
“There.”
“Oh.”
“They were slipping.”
“Yeah.”
“You need them adjusted.”
“Probably.”
Neither of them moved.
Someone brushed past Stratt.
Grace’s hand tightened at her waist automatically.
He pulled her closer.
Her palm landed against his chest.
Both of them froze.
Grace looked down.
Stratt could feel his heartbeat through his shirt.
It was racing.
It wasn’t just hers.
Interesting.
The music shifted.
A slower arrangement began.
People adjusted.
Grace swallowed.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
His hand stayed at her waist.
Stratt left hers against his chest.
They started moving again.
Grace looked down at her.
“You know, you scared me earlier.”
“When?”
“At the bar.”
“Why?”
“You looked like you wanted to murder somebody.”
Stratt’s mouth tightened.
Grace smiled carefully.
“Was it me?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Mostly.”
His eyebrows rose.
She almost smiled.
Grace’s gaze dropped toward her mouth for half a second.
Then returned to her eyes.
Stratt’s pulse jumped.
“Eva.”
“What?”
“I meant what I said earlier.”
“About?”
“You look beautiful.”
Her brain emptied.
Again.
Stratt stared.
Grace’s expression softened.
“I know you hate compliments.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I dislike pointless ones.”
“This one had a point.”
“Which was?”
Grace’s thumb moved lightly at her waist.
“Telling you.”
Stratt swallowed.
Across the room, unseen by both of them, Ilyukhina reached the band and gave the violinist a tiny nod.
The current song ended.
There was a breath of silence.
Then the guitarist began a familiar progression.
The violin joined.
Stratt froze.
She knew the melody immediately.
Grace did too.
His eyebrows rose.
“Wait.”
Stratt looked toward the musicians.
No.
No way.
The violinist carefully avoided eye contact.
Stratt’s eyes narrowed.
“Ilyukhina.”
Grace laughed.
“It’s Invisible String!”
“I know what it is.”
“You complain every time I play this.”
“You play it constantly.”
“It’s her best song!”
“It’s repetitive.”
“You know every word.”
“Against my will.”
The lights changed.
Barely.
The outer edges of the room dimmed into softer gold.
The center of the floor remained warm.
Stratt looked upward.
Then across the room.
Ilyukhina was nowhere visible.
That was extremely suspicious.
Grace looked around.
“Did they plan this?”
“I am going to kill her.”
“Who?”
“Ilyukhina.”
“What did she do?”
“Everything, apparently.”
Grace laughed.
The sound went straight through her.
Stratt looked back at him.
His hand had moved farther around her back.
Their joined hands lowered slightly.
The other couples seemed farther away now.
Some drifted toward the edges.
Most simply stopped mattering.
“Can I ask you something?” Grace said.
“That depends.”
“Were you actually jealous?”
Stratt looked at him.
The teasing was gone.
He meant it.
She could lie.
She had lied to governments.
Entire agencies.
Heads of state.
Lying to Grace felt impossible.
“Yes.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Really?”
“Don’t look so pleased.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Maybe a little.”
Stratt narrowed her eyes.
Grace looked down at their hands.
“I was jealous too.”
She blinked.
“Of whom?”
“That Helios guy.”
“Van der Meer?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s sixty-two.”
“So?”
“So nothing.”
“He kept touching your elbow.”
“He was emphasizing his points.”
“I didn’t like his points.”
Stratt stared.
Then laughed.
Grace smiled.
“So we’re both idiots.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Right. I’m an idiot. You’re terrifying.”
“Correct.”
They moved beneath the soft lights.
The strings rose around them.
Stratt knew the song well enough to hear the missing lyrics in her head.
Grace looked at her.
Really looked.
The same way he sometimes watched her in meetings when she said something unexpected.
The same way he had looked when she entered the lounge tonight.
Ilyukhina had been right.
Damn her.
“You’ve been staring too,” Stratt said.
Grace’s cheeks colored.
“I’m always staring.”
“How much?”
“You want honesty?”
“Yes.”
“A lot.”
Warmth spread through Stratt’s chest.
Grace continued quietly.
“When you walked into the room earlier, I forgot what I was going to say.”
She blinked.
“You did?”
“Completely.”
“You seemed fine.”
“I said you looked really nice.”
“You did.”
“I had better words.”
“What words?”
Grace thought.
Then shook his head.
“No.”
“Coward.”
“I enjoy living.”
“I won’t kill you.”
“That is not comforting.”
Stratt moved closer.
Grace looked down at her.
“What were the words, Ryland?”
His heart stuttered.
“I thought you looked…” His thumb moved against hers. “Devastating.”
Stratt’s breath caught.
“Devastating.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“I know.”
“You’re a high-school science teacher.”
“Was.”
“You should not describe women as devastating.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She laughed.
Grace smiled.
And there.
That was it.
His eyes lit up.
Behind the stupid gold-rimmed glasses.
Under the absurdly romantic lighting Ilyukhina had somehow arranged.
His tie was covered in tiny constellations.
One piece of hair had fallen forward again.
His hand rested securely against Stratt’s bare back.
Eva Stratt had organized humanity’s response to an extinction event.
She had built an international scientific dictatorship from legal loopholes and sheer force of will.
She had overseen the construction of an interstellar spacecraft.
Apparently, one man in a well-cut suit could destroy her in under three hours.
Grace’s expression changed.
“What?”
Stratt realized she was smiling.
“Nothing.”
“That’s my line.”
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Very.”
“About?”
She looked at him.
The song was nearing its end.
She could hear it in the arrangement.
“I spent most of tonight trying not to look at you.”
Grace blinked.
“Oh.”
“And failing.”
His hand tightened slightly at her back.
“Oh.”
“That is all you have?”
“I am trying very hard not to ruin this.”
“By saying ‘oh’?”
“Yes.”
Stratt almost laughed.
Grace looked at her carefully.
Then, quieter, “I’m glad.”
Her chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been doing the same thing.”
For once, Stratt had no immediate response.
Grace smiled.
The one just for her.
The song softened further.
Stratt’s hand slid from his chest to his shoulder.
“Ryland.”
“Yeah?”
“You can take me to dinner.”
Grace stopped moving.
Entirely.
Stratt nearly walked into him.
Someone behind them had to adjust course.
Grace stared.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re asking me out?”
“I am telling you to ask me out.”
“That is the most Eva Stratt possible way to do this.”
“Do you have a problem with it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“No problem at all.”
“Then continue moving.”
Grace started dancing again.
Badly.
He nearly stepped on her foot.
Stratt laughed.
“Pull yourself together.”
“I’m trying.”
“You were competent ten seconds ago.”
“Ten seconds ago you had not told me I was allowed to take you on a date.”
“Your emotional regulation is poor.”
“You were jealous of Lena.”
Stratt’s eyes narrowed.
Grace grinned.
“You admitted it.”
“I can rescind the invitation.”
“Nope.”
“That is not how invitations work.”
“Too late.”
“I control this project.”
“You don’t control dinner.”
“I control most things.”
“I believe you.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Never.”
The final notes began to linger, the violin carrying the melody for just a moment longer before the piano followed.
Around them, couples slowed.
Grace’s hand remained at her back.
Stratt looked at him.
His glasses had slipped again.
She sighed quietly and reached up, nudging them back into place with two fingers.
Grace went very still.
Her hand stayed there.
Without really thinking it, her fingertips drifted from the bridge of his glasses to the warmth of his cheek.
His expression softened.
“Eva.”
The ballroom had gone strangely quiet.
Or maybe she had simply stopped hearing it.
“Your glasses are annoying,” she said.
Grace smiled.
“I’ll get them adjusted.”
“Good.”
“Anything else?”
Stratt glanced down at the little silver constellations scattered across his tie.
“The tie can stay.”
His grin widened.
“Knew it.”
The last note faded.
Applause began somewhere across the ballroom.
Neither of them moved.
Grace looked at her with the same hesitant expression he’d worn all evening.
Stratt closed the last few inches between them.
The kiss was soft.
Tentative for all of half a second before Grace melted into it with a little laugh against her lips/
His hand slid more securely around her waist as though he’d been wanting to hold her like that all night, and Stratt reached up instinctively, threading her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.
He tasted faintly of champagne.
She wasn’t entirely sure who leaned in farther.
She only knew that somewhere in the middle of it she smiled against his lips.
Grace smiled too.
From somewhere near the edge of the ballroom came Ilyukhina’s unmistakable voice.
“Yes!”
Grace pulled back just enough to laugh, his forehead coming to rest against hers.
Yao muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Keep your voice down."
Shapiro laughed openly.
DuBois applauded twice.
Stratt closed her eyes for a brief, long-suffering moment.
“I’m going to kill her.”
Grace laughed softly, the sound rumbling in his chest as his arms settled a little more securely around her.
Stratt let him.
Surrounded by donors and scientists and diplomats and seventy million euros worth of people she was supposed to impress, Eva Stratt stopped paying attention to all of them.
Instead, she rested her cheek against Ryland Grace’s shoulder.