Chapter 10 Neve
Neve
Zelda was already arguing with Paolo before I reached her stall.
It was the same routine as always. He spotted a woman walking by and threw out a catcall loud enough to rattle his display, just to get Zelda’s attention. She never disappointed. The two of them could probably fight through an earthquake.
Paolo leaned over his crates of tomatoes the second he saw me heading toward them, like my arrival was his cue to turn the volume up.
“Bella! You come to me today, yes?” he called out.
He wasn’t even looking at me. His eyes were locked on Zelda, waiting for her reaction. She folded her arms, her whole face twisting in irritation.
“Oh, shut up, Paolo,” she snapped. “You flirt with every woman who breathes near your stall.”
His grin widened. He loved this, lived for any sort of attention Zelda was willing to give him.
The market noise was loud today, vendors calling out specials, tourists asking prices, children whining for sweets, but Paolo’s voice rose above all of it. He seemed to think louder meant more charming.
Zelda’s glare could kill a man twice his size, but Paolo just tilted his head and leaned on his counter like he was posing for a painting no one asked for.
And despite myself, I felt a small flicker of amusement.
Their arguments were predictable, loud and dramatic, but underneath all that noise, there was something so obvious to anyone paying attention.
He wanted her. And she pretended not to want him back.
“I don’t flirt with every woman,” he shot back. “Only the beautiful ones.”
“So all of them?” she deadpanned.
A few people nearby snickered. Paolo’s chest lifted a little, like he’d somehow won a medal. He pretended not to notice the attention, but his grin gave him away. Zelda paying him this much mind was probably the highlight of his week.
I pressed my fingers to my mouth, trying not to laugh.
They’d been going at it like this since the day I first walked through the market and met Zelda.
Paolo talked like he was performing for an invisible audience.
Zelda rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they hadn’t gotten stuck.
And every time, she walked off flustered, muttering under her breath while Paolo watched her leave like a kicked puppy.
He lived for this ridiculous ritual.
But today, something shifted. People stopped walking. Heads turned. A small crowd gathered, waiting for the next punchline like they were watching a street performance, or a very bad rehearsal for Romeo and Juliet.
Of course they were. Everyone in this market knew these two. Half of them probably kept coming back just to see how long it’d take before one of them cracked.
I moved closer and touched her arm lightly, lowering my voice.
“Zelda, maybe we should go inside.”
She scoffed. “Why? Because he’s being annoying?”
“No,” I murmured, flicking my eyes around us, “because half the market is staring.”
Paolo heard that. His smile slipped, like he didn’t expect the reminder. For the first time today, he looked… disappointed. Not at me, but at her. He cared more than he pretended, and everyone but him and Zelda seemed to know it.
Zelda clicked her tongue and waved him off. “We’re going inside. You keep your voice down, you peacock.”
Paolo instantly perked up again. “Peacock? That’s…”
She cut him a look that shut him up instantly, then clamped her hand around my wrist and started dragging me toward the tent before he could get another word out.
We hadn’t even taken two full steps when it hit me.
A quiet, wrong feeling—like a breath on the back of my neck, slipping under my skin. The air shifted, turning thin and electric, and my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
The world seemed to hesitate. Sounds dulled. Movement blurred. For half a second, everything felt suspended, like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn’t see yet.
My head snapped to the side.
I didn’t see anything—but I felt it. That heavy, deliberate pressure of being watched. Not the casual glances of people passing by. This was different. Focused. Intent. It pressed between my shoulder blades, making my spine tighten as if someone had placed a hand there and refused to move.
Plenty of eyes were on me. Market vendors. Tourists stealing looks. Strangers letting their gaze linger too long. But none of that mattered.
This one did.
It cut through the noise. Cold. Measuring. It didn’t skim—it studied, taking me apart piece by piece, as if it was deciding something I wouldn’t get a say in.
I searched the crowd, heart knocking too hard against my ribs. Faces blurred together. No one stood out. No one looked guilty.
And yet I knew.
Someone out there had locked their attention onto me.
Zelda tugged my wrist again. “You coming?”
I forced myself to nod. My gaze dragged away from the crowd, slow and unwilling, as confusion knotted inside my stomach. Before I stepped into the tent, I glanced back one more time—frowning, searching for the reason that caused my blood to curdle.
I stepped through the doorway, and the fabric fell shut behind us, cutting off the crowd.
Zelda dropped into her chair with a long exhale and shook her head hard enough to jostle her gold dangly earrings.
“That man,” she muttered, meaning Paolo, “is going to drive me insane.”
“You like him,” I remarked before I could stop myself.
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“He only annoys you because he wants your attention. And you only yell at him because you like that he wants it.”
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Then she scowled at the table instead of at me. “You’re wrong.”
“You’re in denial,” I countered.
She grumbled under her breath and reached for her scarf, adjusting it even though it didn’t need adjusting. “He’s obnoxious. Loud. Pushy. Always trying to get a reaction out of me.”
“You’re impossible,” I muttered, sliding into the seat across from her. “Don’t you think he does all that because he’s interested in you?”
“Me?” She squeaked so loudly she startled herself. She shot me a look, but there was no real fire behind it, just embarrassment and something that looked almost like guilt for liking the attention.
She cleared her throat and stood abruptly, brushing off her skirt. “Anyway. Enough talk about me. I should read your cards.”
“No.” The word is instant, automatic.
“Yes.”
“No.”
She lifted her chin, stubborn. “You haven’t let me read for you in weeks.”
“Because nothing you’ve ever predicted has come true,” I pointed out.
“So what?” she argued. “What’s the harm? They’re just cards. If they’re wrong, nothing changes. If they’re right… well…”
“I don’t want to know,” I whispered.
Her expression softened. “Neve…”
“I don’t,” I repeated, firmer now. “I’m finally settling in to my life. I don’t want promises or warnings. They don’t matter.”
Zelda’s frown pulled her whole face into it, like even her freckles were worried. She leaned across the little round table, bangles clinking, dark eyes perceptive beneath all that kohl and mystery she liked to pretend was effortless.
“What happened to you, Neve… in your past?”
I lifted a brow at her, slow and lazy. “Wow. No hello, no how are you, just straight to emotional excavation?”
“You’re sitting right here in front of me, looking perfectly fine. So…” Her gaze narrowed. “What happened?”
I tilted my head, letting a smile curl at the corner of my mouth. It wasn’t a nice one. I was definitely trying to be difficult on purpose.
“If you were actually good at your job,” I remarked sweetly, “you’d already know.”
Her lips twitched despite herself. “Oh, don’t start.”
“I’m serious,” I went on, tapping one finger against her tarot deck.
“You’re the all-seeing oracle, remember?
You’ve got cards for heartbreak, betrayal, and mysterious strangers with bad intentions.
Somewhere in that mess of cardboard, there should be one that says girl gets her life wrecked in three easy steps. ”
Zelda snorted. “You’re dodging.”
“Of course I’m dodging. Trauma is expensive. You don’t get it for free.”
She reached for the deck anyway, shuffling it with practiced hands. “Fine. Let’s see what the universe has to say.”
“Not today, Zelda,” I added. “I’m in too good a mood for you to ruin it with your ridiculous, ominous predictions.”
She shot me a look, but I could see the smile tugging at her mouth as the cards slid against each other. For a second, the weight in my chest eased just a little. Not because things were better—but because with Zelda, I could at least pretend I wasn’t bleeding all over the place.
“Fine. No cards today.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Relief settled in, but so did something else. A tight twist of nerves I couldn’t explain.
Outside, Paolo’s voice boomed across the market again. Footsteps passed the tent. Someone bargained loudly with a vendor. Life went on as if nothing was wrong. As if the world hadn’t tilted under my feet.
But the unease didn’t leave. I could still feel those eyes on me—slipping through canvas walls, cutting through voices and footfalls, following me into the tent like a shadow that hadn’t decided whether to smother me or claim me.
Cold. Staring. Sinister. A presence I couldn’t see but couldn’t outrun either. I shook my head hard, trying to force the image away, to convince myself it was leftover nerves or paranoia or the adrenaline from earlier.
Zelda watched me with that unreadable stillness, her hands hovering over her cards as though she was waiting for the moment I told her I wanted my cards read after all.
“You feel it too,” she murmured.
My breath hitched, but I said nothing. Putting it into words felt like inviting it closer. I already knew it anyway—knew it in that quiet, animal part of me that never gets it wrong.
Something in the air felt wrong.
The canvas rippled as a breeze slipped through, and a chill crawled over my skin. It wasn’t going to stay out there in the crowd. It was here, and it wasn’t going anywhere.