Valerie took the loonie out of my hands with a smirk so smug Luca could have lent it to her. She was about to put it in a pocket, but apparently, women's clothing isn't designed to carry around the bare essentials of a girl's life.

You know, just the basic stuff that goes into a girl's purse. Wallet, smartphone, lip gloss, two shades of lipstick, eyeliner, concealer, headache medication, taser, a year's worth of receipts, breath mints, keys, three sets of earrings, toothbrush and toothpaste, a couple of snacks...

Come to think of it, why are cargo pants a guy thing? They don't even use the five pockets their jeans come with.

"Oh come on," I said. "Val, you're a fashion designer! You don't have a single pocket?"

"Functionality is the first casualty of fashion, darling," Valerie replied as she set the loonie on the table. "But what you're wearing right now isn't fashion. It's style."

"What's the difference?" I asked.

"Oh darling," Valerie said with a sad shake of her head. Like a teacher trying to convince a student that two and two isn't twenty-two. "Fashion is a seasonal expression of your fidelity to your culture. By being fashionable, you express your commitment to other people's tastes and sensibilities."

"Wait, isn't fashion about these absurd costumes that you strut around in on a runway? A bunch of crap no one would ever buy?" I asked.

"Also true," Valerie conceded. "But that is fashion's way of trying to expand what is fashionable, so that it casts a wider net. So that more people can fit in without having to change who they are."

"Wait, what?" I asked, shaking my head in confusion. "You encourage people to conform to an ideal with a constantly-shifting goalpost so that people who don't fit-in end up becoming fashionable?"

"Precisely. Fashion is a way to help get prejudiced assholes to appreciate difference," Valerie summarized. "Plus it's an excuse to make people look fabulous. Now, while we wait for Luca, and since we've done just enough talking to pass the Bechtel Test, how about you help me make a shirt for him."

"I'd help, but I know less about fashion than I do about relativity," I pleaded, shaking my hands.

Valerie frowned at me. "Darling, you fly a spaceship. Relativity is literally part of space travel. Now come here, and tell me what I keep on getting wrong about Luca."

I frowned as I sat down, and tried to make sense of the blueprint sketched out on the computer. It was difficult to imagine a full picture, but it looked like Valerie was making a button-down of some kind. Only the material was practically metallic, and somehow embossed with an intricate design of a wolf's head. And had enough gold wire and diamond buttons to buy a spaceship.

"That looks..." I began to say.

"All wrong?" Valerie admitted. "Luca's always been hard to figure out. The man thinks diamonds are a racket made up by the diamond industry to sustain an intrinsically worthless product."

"Spoken like a true bachelor," I scoffed.

"He's right, though. Diamond engagement rings are a custom made up by the wedding industry, and diamond mining still helps finance terrorism and genocide," Valerie said in an off-handed sort of way, like she was just talking about the weather.

"Are you serious?"

"Yep. Every woman who forced their fiancé to spend three months of their salary on a worthless lump of carbon was financing warlords, billionaire orgies, global warming sceptics, anti-vaccination campaigns and flat-earth societies."

"What? We still have flat-earthers? Are you fucking serious? I've literally flown around the Earth a thousand times!" I shrieked incredulously. I was appalled and ashamed, flabbergasted and frickin angry. "Good thing I'd want a bigger spaceship as an engagement present anyway."

"But you aren't Luca," Valerie said as she tapped the computer screen with her finger. "And I can't figure out why it just doesn't seem right on him. Any other rich billionaire would be happy to flaunt his wealth."

"But that's not really Luca," I concluded for her. "If I've learned anything about that disgustingly rich man, it's that he genuinely doesn't give a shit about other people's opinions unless he respects them. And you don't flaunt your wealth at people you don't respect."

I was surprised at what came out of my mouth. It actually sounded kinda wise.

"Oh," Valerie said, and her hand came up and smacked her forehead so hard I was worried she'd give herself a concussion. "Right, damnit, I have this all wrong. He's not saying 'I'm rich'. But what is he saying?"

I thought for a moment, remembering the first time I had met him. That self-assurance of his, that very sexy self-assurance, wasn't something that suited advertising. When he stood on Mars, he was standing on his land, his territory, his world.

His domain. Like being the only lord under the sun. Which, on Mars, was precisely what he was.

"He's a Space Lord. The Space Lord, because it's not like anyone else owns their own world," I said to Valerie.

"So I should make him a military uniform with lots of medals he didn't earn?" Valerie asked with an amused chuckle.

"Ew." I shuddered. "No, let's try for exactly the opposite. When you have no master, when you're the alpha of an entire world, how would you dress?"

I had thought it was an unanswerable conundrum. Or at least a challenging puzzle. But Valerie started working on that computer almost immediately, and took to it like an entire pot of coffee had hit her system all at once. "Oh, darling, this is perfect!" she said.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Okay, cotton. Just cotton, but the stuff with that absurd thread count. Oxford button-down, sterling silver buttons, don't bother with the top two, he'd never use them anyway..." Valerie muttered to herself. She tweaked with her design on the computer for a few moments, then hit the print button with a triumphant cry.

Just as she hit print, a flatulent roar sounded from just behind me. I turned to see a shirtless Luca step through a vanishing portal, the arrogant grin a permanent fixture on that uncomfortably handsome face.

He stopped when he saw me, his grin fading a little in an inscrutable way. He looked down and up once, settled on my cleave just long enough for me to know he was ogling me, and then looked back up at my eyes and smiled.

"Well?" I asked, hands on my hips. "What do you think?"

"Always loved those poufy pirate shirts. You can see just enough of your cleavage to wonder how much of that is air, and how much of that is you. And I always love a good mystery," Luca replied.

"Really?" I asked. I crossed my arms and frowned at him. "That's all you see?"

Luca chuckled, and the mischief in his smile faded. He stepped up to me and raised his hand to trace where my googles held my hair back. "You look like you," he whispered, and I could feel his breath on my cheek.

"More than that, you look like who you want to be," Luca said, and his fingers dropped down to trace the collar of my coat. "And that kind of confidence and honesty is the most beautiful thing you could ever hope to see."

Oh dang, hearing that made me all kinds of squishy inside. My eyes began to droop, and I hung expectantly on the moment when Luca would pull on my collar and bring his mouth down hungrily on...

"Valerie." There was small whoosh of air as Luca stepped away from me and sat down beside the fashion designer. "Thank you for doing that for her. That look, it suits her so well it's almost unnatural."

His sudden absence jerked my rather fragile emotional state hard. To be that close to him, to that glistening body and that confident passion had left me warm and happy in a way I wasn't used to feeling. The absence of that warmth, of his body heat and the potential of his intimacy, left me so cold I actually shivered.

Absence. The feeling of not seeing a nice set of abs anywhere. Gotta remember that one.

I also needed to decide how mad to be at Luca.

"Oh, once she got honest with me, it was easy. She's got a lot of heart, that girl," Valerie said. "And a lot of leg."

Luca nodded and made a sound similar to the noises I make enjoying chocolate.

"But try this on, and let me see how I did," Valerie said. She reached over to the printer and pulled a black shirt out. She waved it in the air a couple of times and tossed it over at Luca. "Careful, it's still warm."

"Ooh, it has that 'fresh out of the dryer' feel," Luca said happily as he pulled his arms into the sleeves.

I watched him put on that shirt, and was only slightly bitter to see those abs covered up. The shirt, a simple black dress shirt, seemed like exactly the right sort of thing for him. Nothing gaudy, no effort at pretence or showiness. He didn't need any of it. He was Luca Cardego, lord of an entire world, and the richest man in history.

If a man didn't feel secure with himself after accomplishments like that, no amount of diamonds or glittery gold or little blue pills would help.

"This is that 3D printed cotton, the stuff with the thread count so fine Egyptian cotton feels like rope. Good choice, and I love the colour," Luca said as he rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. "Missing the top two buttons."

"Have you ever used the top two buttons?" I asked with sardonic slyness.

Luca opened his mouth to retort, then realized I was right and closed it. "Touché," he replied sexily.

"Okay then," Luca said after a moment, as he finished buttoning his shirt. "This should be perfect. Magnificent work as always, Val. And good to see you."

"Are you actually going to wear that shirt out in public?" Val asked, astonished. "You mean you'll actually cover up those..."

"Yep."

"Booyah!" Val exclaimed in a manner distinctly un-fashionista like. She threw her hands in the air, dashed forward a few steps, and slid on the polished floor while air-guitaring with so much enthusiasm even Bill and Ted would have approved.

"At least until the next pool party," Luca added sardonically.

Valerie's enthusiasm faded, but not entirely. "It's still a win." She shrugged.

"It is," Luca said as he took out his portal remote. He pointed it at an empty area nearby, and with a single click, another portal appeared. "Hopefully the board will let me wear it for more than a couple of hours, they seem to think that the stock value plummets every time I cover up my abs."

"It does," Valerie replied. I looked over to her with a raised eyebrow until she started to explain. "Every time he wears a shirt, some conspiracy theorist announces it's because he's gotten fat. At which point, the hedge fund managers all panic and sell his stock because their wives and mistresses start weeping over the loss."

"That's ridiculous," I exclaimed.

"That's Wall Street. Don't even get me started on negative interest rates, short-selling, or speculative investments. Putting two per cent of my company on the public market was the worst decision I've ever made."

"Why did you?" I asked.

"The government made me, when they agreed to leave my portal monopoly alone," Luca said with a shrug. "Anyway, you ready to go mingle with a coven of bloodsucking fiends who feel no remorse about being parasites living off the blood and tears of better people?"

"Ooh, are we going to see a bunch of vampires?"

"No no, rich folks. We're going to see what is widely seen as the most exclusive performance of the renowned Cirque de Étoiles. Really it's just their rehearsal, but I charge millions of dollars a ticket."

"Wait, they pay millions to see the rehearsal? You charge twenty bucks a ticket for the actual show, with free portal transportation. Heck, it's free for anyone with a disability, first responders, the military, anyone over seventy, or anyone who's ever had cancer, measles, or appendicitis. Why would any idiot pay way more money for a rehearsal?"

"Because they can, which means it's super exclusive," Luca said with a snide sneer. "That way you can see it exclusively in the company of other people who can afford a ticket, and don't have to rub shoulders with the unwashed masses."

"Pretty sure 98% of the solar system's population now bathes at least once a week," I replied.

"I never said they were rational. And odds are that even with that impressively hot getup you're in, they're still going to dislike you. Are you ready?" Luca asked.

"Remind me why we're doing this again?"

"To see if Fabulo Lorenzo will tell us anything more about his plan. Like what ship the Brotherhood's on, how close he is to Mars, what he's after when he gets there, that sort of thing," Luca explained.

"You really think he'll tell you anything about that?" I asked.

"Nope. He probably won't tell me a thing," Luca said. He turned and looked at me, and that gaze of his gave me goosebumps in the best possible way. It was luxuriating, enjoying what it was seeing, and the shrewdness behind that sexy passion just made him look even hotter. "You, on the other hand, have exactly the right assets for this. He'd tell you his bank routing information just to try and impress a girl away from me."

"Please tell me you're not expecting me to pump him for information," I said warily.

"Rather doubt you'll need to do more than bat your eyelashes," Luca said. "But hey, if you want to."

"Ew, no. You heard that guy on the phone, he sounded like an irredeemable creep," I said, shuddering in disgust.

"He does have fabulous hair," Luca said. He gestured to the portal and flashed me a wolffish, I mean wolfish smile. "Shall we?"

I took his arm and grinned. "Let's."