CHAPTER 10
NINA MARCHESI
I lower my gaze to the message glowing on my phone screen, unable to keep the smile off my face.
Nero / prince:
Good morning, Little Fae.
P.S.: This does not replace the call I promised.
I read the words again and again, just to be sure they’re really there. I conclude this must be some kind of very elaborate, very realistic dream. I’m almost certain of it. But please—don’t wake me up.
That kiss.
If you didn’t have the decency to wake me up before it happened—before everything inside me surged toward Nero’s mouth, craving more and more and more—then please don’t be cruel enough to wake me now. Let me dream a little longer. Just a little longer.
I type a reply.
Nina:
Good morning to you too, Nero.
P.S.: Good to know.
Not even the sound of the front door slamming is enough to wipe the smile from my face—but I regret not hiding it the instant my mother walks through the archway separating the entry hall from the living room. Her expression isn’t good, and it makes mine wither.
“What happened?” I ask.
She presses her lips together, clearly choosing her words—but after almost a full minute, she gives up on speaking and simply raises her hand. Only then do I notice she’s holding a newspaper.
My mother crosses the room in just a few steps and hands it to me. I frown, confused, but take it anyway.
The moment I open it, my eyes widen at the image revealed: Nero and me, in the association’s garden, last night. Someone photographed us, and my heart starts racing as I stare at the frozen moment.
We’re looking at each other. Smiling.
The framing makes it look as though the starry sky exists for no reason other than to surround us.
It’s a beautiful photo. A truly beautiful one.
My eyes remain fixed on it until my mother’s words force my attention away.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Nina.”
I lift my head, eyebrows already raised. My mother has always been my biggest cheerleader, no matter what I chose to do with my life—so these words are completely unexpected.
“Excuse me?” I ask, making it clear I didn’t understand.
“I didn’t say anything last night at the party, because what’s done is done. But one night, and you’re already on the front page, and people are already talking,” she tells me.
I wrinkle my nose, remembering exactly what made Nero take me to the garden in the first place.
“Khione has the highest concentration of gossips per square meter in the world, Mom. People will talk no matter what.”
I take two steps back and sit on the couch.
“Yes—but this won’t affect Nero the way it affects you.
” My mother lets out a long sigh before joining me on the couch.
“God knows how much I adore that boy. Not just him—every child who passed through my hands. But Nero, Apollo, Atlas, and Drako are special. I celebrate every achievement of theirs, ever since an achievement meant nothing more than managing to spend a single weekend away from the locked third-floor bathroom at the orphanage. That doesn’t mean I think any of them are right for you, my daughter. ”
I blink, processing her words—replaying them in my mind, trying to give them any meaning other than the outrageous one I heard. No matter how many times I turn them over, the meaning doesn’t change.
“None of them are right for me?” I repeat, needing confirmation. “You don’t think I’m good enough for any of them. Is that it?”
Now it’s my mother’s eyes that widen. She recoils slightly, visibly wounded by my words.
“No! For the love of God, Nina! That’s not what I meant at all! What I’m saying is that Nero isn’t the little boy I used to bake cookies for.”
“Time passes for everyone, Mom,” I reply, looking away.
“Don’t play dumb—you’re not. You know perfectly well that’s not what I’m talking about.
His family owns this island, Nina. You walked around with him for a few hours during one party night, and the next morning you’re on the front page of Khione’s main newspaper with the headline ‘Greek Heir Hooked?’ above your head! That’s what I’m talking about!”
My eyes return to the newspaper in my hands, only now really noticing the headline.
I almost laugh.
“Seriously, Mom? You just said it yourself—I walked around with Nero for a few hours. It’s not like I’m planning our wedding or picking out our children’s names. I understand that people are curious and dramatic—but you too?”
“What I’m saying, my daughter, is that the rope breaks at its weakest point.”
“Then I guess I’m lucky there’s no rope to snap in this case, right?”
“I saw when he brought you home, Nina.”
“Were you spying on me?” I ask—and now it’s me who leans back.
“Absolutely!” she exclaims without the slightest shame, and my jaw nearly drops. “You’re my daughter, living in my house again after years away. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t spy on you?”
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” I say honestly.
My mother lowers her head before releasing another long sigh.
“Your life is yours, my daughter. I’ve always known that, and I’m not about to forget it now. You can do whatever you want with it—including ending up on newspaper covers, if that’s what makes you happy. My role here is simply to ask whether you’re considering all sides of this situation.”
I bite my lip and tilt my head, looking at my mother’s face—and I’m completely disarmed by the concern written there.
“It was just one night,” I say, because it’s true—even though over the last few hours I’ve imagined a thousand different scenarios that could grow out of it.
“And was it the last?” she asks.
I look away.
“I hope not,” I admit, honestly, then look back at her. Now it’s her eyes that avoid mine. “But that doesn’t change anything, Mom. I came back here with a goal, and it won’t be one night—or ten—that convinces me to abandon it. You’ve always done everything for me. I want to give that back.”
I take one of her hands and squeeze it between mine. A moment passes before she rolls her eyes.
“If you work hard enough for that, I’m sorry to say you won’t have any kind of life. You owe me a fortune. Raising you was very expensive, so we don’t need to exaggerate, right?” she jokes—and it works, because I laugh. The tension immediately eases.
“I understand your concern, Mom. I really do. But you don’t need to worry. I just want to live. Have experiences.”
“And I’ll always support you in them. I’m just telling you to be careful where you step, Nina. Some paths—no matter what we say—simply don’t have a way back.”
I roll my eyes at her maternal drama.
“So dramatic, Rosa Marchesi,” I tease with a small laugh. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
She presses her lips together.
“No matter what happens, I have a plan. And that’s not going to change.”