Chapter 6
“ S unny,” my eyes widen in bliss. Stars are shining in them. I am happy. I am more than happy. I died and went to heaven, and this is it. “They have a water fountain !”
The party is in full swing.
People are talking to each other, drinks in hand, live music is on, fairy lights curve over the top of us (I’m not sure how they did that), and right in the middle of it all is a large water fountain carved from granite stone.
When the invitation said rooftop, I thought an average rooftop somewhere with live BBQ, not this.
I bounce with excitement. My hands clasped together in front of me while I turn back to look at Sunny, who’s holding her dress with both hands and actively shooting daggers at me. “Fuck the water fountain, I can’t move in this dress.”
A dark blue long-sleeved hourglass dress falls off Sunny’s shoulders. It hugs her body and curves in a way I envy. On top of that, she used one of my Adelaide Mikael original hairpins to throw back one side of her hair .
Did I force her to wear the dress? Yes, but she looks beautiful. Sacrifices needed to be made.
“Sunaira Farsi,” I mirror back a glamoured glare. “You are glowing in that dress. If I hear another bad word out of your mouth, I’m going to tell Azar about your yoghurt incident.”
“Nova,” she drops her hold on the dress and points a finger at me. “Don’t you dare.”
Mimicking a half-hearted shrug I say, “You know I don’t back away from dares.”
“You will when I kick your ass.”
“In that dress?” I smirk. “Honey, you can’t even move.”
It takes us less than a second to break out in a laugh before I extend a hand. “Take it, my dear queen . Before you fall and embarrass yourself in front of my colleagues.”
She grabs it and shakes her head at my fake British accent. “You don’t even work here.”
The comment digs into my rib. I don’t know why, but it does. I’ve heard it too often, repeated it every day, but it’s never bothered me before.
“Nova, you made it!” An older woman passes the four musicians playing live music and all but runs over to me. Sunny moves to the side when Mrs. Vuk bombards me with a hug.
She’s a short Iranian woman with a chiffon scarf draped over her head. Pale skin, grey eyes, and a soft smile. She reminds me of fluffy pillows and fresh laundry. Azar’s her only son that seemed to catch onto some of her genes. Both of them have the same vibe to them. Fun, loving, and loud .
“Let me look at you, arus .” Her thick Persian accent has subsided over the year I’ve befriended her, but I’m learning that she doesn’t care whether she succeeds at perfecting English or remains wholly herself.
Still not sure what arus means. But Azar laughs whenever she says it. Either it’s really sweet or she hates me.
Mrs. Vuk feels like what my mother should have been like.
She pulls me at arm’s length to eye me up and down.
The deep red halter dress stops right at my calves.
It’s made from the softest silky material and feels like second skin.
The neckline is deep enough to bring attention to myself but remains appropriate for the event.
The thick straps holding my dress up tie back in a delicate bow around my neck, which was the only indication for putting my hair in an updo.
I put effort into today and by the glow in her eyes, I succeeded.
“ Farshteh ziba ,” she pats my cheek. “You can be wearing a shorts and you still shine.”
“It’s you could be wearing shorts and you’d still shine, madar jan .
” Azar walks up to Mrs. Vuk and hugs her from behind.
He’s wearing an all-white tuxedo, but instead of his usual gelled back style that he has to do for work, his hair is ruffled.
Girls are ogling him. That says enough about how good he looks.
The woman’s head dwarfs between her son’s huge arms. “I thought you were working on your English.”
“ Pasar ahmagh , get away.” She smacks Azar’s arm, and he laughs while letting her go.
“I am not stupid.”
“He is,” she looks at me but refers to her son. “No words.”
I laugh at that. Whenever Sunny and I go to Azar’s place for our monthly K-Drama Watchathon’s, Mrs. Vuk is there. Albeit she lives with Azar, but hers and his relationship ends up being more entertaining than the shows themselves.
She says something in Persian to Azar before pressing a kiss to my cheek and walking away .
“Your mother is the woman I want to be when I grow up,” Sunny starts. She snatches herself a lemonade from one of the waiters and turns to us with a hair stuck to her lips. She struggles to blow it away. “Fuck, man. Can’t a girl just live?”
I chuckle but make quick work on pulling the hair off of her lip.
“You dragged the devil to this party and expect her to be normal? Since when has that ever worked?”
“Since I dragged your ass out of the porta potty,” Sunny raises an unimpressed brow at Azar.
The two have been bickering since the first minute they met. At first, I sensed some chemistry. But after a day, there was no chemistry. Just two idiots being idiots together. Siblinghood , in other words.
“It was once,” he groans. “I told you it was because that girl thought I was robbing her of her Jimin photocard.”
“You did rob her,” I noted.
“That’s not the point, Nova.” He leans his head back with a groan. “She was a little bitch.”
“She was nine.”
“Exactly,” Sunny raises her glass. “A pre -bitch.”
They fight, then they’re friends.
Make it make sense, please.
We let music intervene our conversation.
“Mm,” Sunny swallows her drink quickly. “Did you know this one’s going on Love? Check! ?” She gestures her glass towards me.
“Ain’t no fucking way.” Azar’s eyes widen. “What the hell do you mean she’s going on Love? Check! ”
Sunny and Azar share a look.
“It’s not like I’m going yet,” I muffle the last part into an empty—now fogged up—glass
“Nova,” Azar scratches the space between his brows. “Dating shows are performative. They’re not for genuine people like you.”
“That’s what I told her,” Sunny adds while looking around the room.
Azar pushes my cheeks together. My lips purse forward and I’m sure I look like a blobfish. “You are a cute little bunny who can’t survive swimming with sharks.”
I swat his hand away. I’m used to this. Being the underestimated one.
The one who needs to stay where she’s comfortable being because she’s never been outside before.
The protected one. This is why I didn’t want to tell them.
I knew they’d act like this. Sunny already gave me the biggest lecture before, saying that it’s stupid to go on a dating show right now.
Imagine if I told my sisters.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
“It can be for genuine people.” I shrug out of Azar’s hold, “Look at Liana and Malachi.”
“They found each other, but you might not.”
“I’m going for the experience.” The orchestra begins performing a rendition of Espresso .
“Maybe I’ll find my person.” I smile with all of my teeth showing. “And I’ll come back grossly in love.” Highly unlikely .
“Anyone with your mommy and daddy issues won’t touch love with a ten-foot pole,” Azar shakes his head.
Fair point.
I can’t tell him about the debt I’m in. Knowing Azar, he’d tell the whole world about my problem. Instead, I say, “Just think of it as me going on a trip for fun.”
From the corner of my eye, Sunny looks at me odd. I ignore it.
“How long will you be gone for?” Azar asks.
“Eight weeks,” I beam. “I’ll come back with a handsome beau that’ll put you and your looks to shame.”
“First of all, nobody says beau anymore. Secondly,” Azar rolls his eyes. “Impossible.”
“More like very possible,” Sunny fakes a cough.
Azar glares at Sunny and I’m glad for the quick shift in tension as they move to Sunny teasing Azar about Victoria Lauman—famous popstar and Azar’s supposedly worst nightmare. Though, the term dream works better for him.
Other than needing to find someone to be with, I get to go to one of the most beautiful and picturesque cities in the whole world. Even if I don’t find someone and get paid half of what I need to pay off my library debt, it’ll still be worth going and meeting new people in Switzerland.
At least that’s what I’m hoping for.
A sharp sounding microphone screeches over the orchestra. They halt their performance and glance in its direction.
As does everyone else.
The glass in my hand is forgotten as the swarming swirls of warmth simmer through me like the champagne decided to transform itself into breadths of tangible somethings.
Dean stands with one of his hands tightened around the microphone and the other unearthly stiff beside him.
“Oh god,” Azar mutters under his breath before drowning the remaining liquid in his drink. It’s nice knowing only one of us needs alcohol to survive (me, of course).
“Welcome everyone!” Azar’s boisterous voice bounces off the skyline and back onto the roof. I think the ground vibrated. “We are excited to have you join us for Vuk Securities' fifth anniversary.”
He continues on about how amazing it is to have all of these people here to celebrate, but I can’t drag my eyes away from Dean who seems to have the same idea as I do.
There’s a vicious moment that has me locking my toes into the ground so I can’t move. Those willow eyes bolt into me and I can’t look away.
Everyone’s looking at Azar now, they’re smiling because he’s easy to talk to and he knows how to work a crowd.
But something tells me if Dean was given the chance, he could too.
The hand holding the microphone follows suit with his other one and now both are to his side. There’s a tick in his jaw, I think. I can’t really tell standing from here.
I swallow hard, then look away when everyone starts clapping.
It’s like resurfacing and all the sound whooshes back into my ears.
“Congratulations,” a man says to Azar and shakes his hand.
Others do the same.
Do these people not know the person whose hand they should be shaking is standing mere feet away from them?
Don’t count me as someone who knows the history of Vuk Securities, but I’m pretty damn sure that this company may have been founded by Callahan and Azar, it was Dean who took care of all the dirty work behind the scenes.
“Where are you going?” Sunny asks when I give her my glass.
I don’t know.
My feet are dragging me and apparently Dean’s gaze is the yellow brick road to Emerald city.
I’m hypnotized and berating myself as the minute passes, but I’ve been raised to be a smart, educated young woman who can take care of herself. I will, that is, take care of myself if I can somehow stop moving in the direction of the one man who seems to intimidate the living crap out of me .
Oh, too late.
He’s in front of me.
Or well I’m in front of him.
He didn’t even move a muscle and here I am.
Chokehold, anyone?
“Congratulations, Mr. Vuk.” I extend my hand out to him.
He stares down at me.
At me. Not the hand.
Which is starting to feel vulnerable.
“Thank you,” he grumbles.
Just as quickly as he shakes my hand, the warm callouses of his tattooed one burst through me, he rips it away and looks down with betrayal.
“Did you feel that?” I gaze up at him, widened eyes and an obnoxious smile sitting restlessly on my lips. “It was like one of the science projects you do in grade three with the balloon and rubbing it on your head?”
I’m pretty sure that isn’t the right example to use, but it’s all electricity right?
Dean scowls. “Have a good night, Miss Rivera.”
Without another word, Dean walks away with a trail of his musky and earthy scent following behind him.
Okaaay then .