Chapter 7 #2
A waitress walked on by, and he called them over to grab two of the shot glasses I’d avoided earlier. He handed one to me. “Drink to us.” And he shot it back.
I lifted the little glass to my nose, assaulted by the stench of petrol-soaked apricot, and screwed up my nose.
“It’s pálinka,” he assured me with a light laugh.
“I’ve never had it.” And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“Never?”
I shook my head and had another whiff. Yep. Still strong.
“It’s tradition,” he said and stepped closer to me, looking down at the shot glass, his nose nearly brushing my forehead. My pulse jumped. “But for your first time, you shouldn’t shoot it. Take a sip.”
I lifted it to my lips, inhaling the fruity fumes again.
“Let it sit.”
I did as I was told, blinking at the hot burn on my tongue, the warmth of apricot jam taking my senses.
“Hold it,” he demanded, his voice thick and low, and I gripped his wrist, trying not to tug his hand to my body. “Don’t swallow yet.”
It softened from harsh to soft and silky, the sweetness blooming across my tongue.
“Swallow.”
I did, jerking at the burn of my throat and opening my eyes to see his face inches above mine.
“Good girl. Now breathe.”
An absolute sucker for praise, I inhaled, and somehow the taste grew richer, the burn heated my chest.
His hand fell to my hip. “Thoughts?”
“It’s—it’s really good,” I said. “Not sure I could shoot it without getting heartburn though.”
He smiled and squeezed my hip. “You can taste it off my tongue if you’d like.”
I laughed, hand on his chest, and took another sip of the drink, following the steps he’d told me.
He watched me swallow, and my skin heated, overwhelmingly aware of the fact that he looked starved and I wanted him to eat me alive.
I cleared my throat. “Are we going to your house? For the two days?”
He shook his head and stepped back as the old ladies walked the steps into the house, throwing us daggers.
“Do you have anything else to wear?”
“I can pack for two days—”
“No. For now.”
“Who’s getting protective now, huh?”
“Why white?” he asked, looking my dress over again.
“Black and purple is a bit too dramatic,” I laughed. I hadn’t expected Zoltán to care about fashion. “It doesn’t give garden party. And this is pretty.”
But he looked at me, somehow knowing my laugh was strained, though I doubted he’d heard it more than a handful of times.
I straightened the skirt of my dress. “Maybe… maybe I wanted to look like someone worth noticing.”
I wanted it to come out cocky, but the words fell broken.
He cocked a brow, looking me up and down. “Other men?”
My laugh was back. “No. My… my grandmother is here. I haven’t seen her since the last time I was in Hungary.”
Zolt’s eyes softened, and he reached for my arm, pulling me flush against him. We were half-hidden behind the pillar.
“I didn’t know that,” he said quietly.
“Why would you? I don’t talk about my family. It’s… I’m a bit worried, if I’m honest.” The blush burned my cheeks. It grew hotter when he stroked one with his thumb.
“I… I want her to look at me and think I’ve done something with my life.”
That one glass of champagne had gone to my head. Luca always called me the biggest lightweight. I should feel awkward, but his expression was so sincere.
He blinked. “You have. You don’t need to look like you have.”
“Yeah, well… she always thought I’d be an actress. Translating isn’t as glamorous. And… I wonder if she’ll remember that. I wonder if I’ve been missed or… if I ever belonged here at all.”
His thumb brushed my cheek again, as his eyes bore into mine, soft and steady. “Zsófia, you belong wherever you decide to stand.”
My breath stuttered.
“You belong here.”
Having Everly with me meant I always had someone to fight in my corner. With Luca, I had someone to tell me if I was right or wrong in the kindest of ways.
With Zoltán by my side… I felt seen.
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and forced another laugh before I said something I’d regret. “Careful,” I said, my voice unsteady. “If you keep talking like that, I might start to like you.”
Of course, I liked him. He couldn’t come out with things like that, almost sounding sincere, and expect me not to develop something gross like feelings.
“Zsófia,” he said, but he said my name without his usual playfulness. He was serious. Like he was about to warn me that I shouldn’t get attached, and I was not about to let that ruin my mood. “I need to talk to you—”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No talking. Drinking.”
I pressed off the pillar, fingers dancing over his shoulder as I sauntered into the grand house.
Grinning over my shoulder like a cat who really got the cream, I nearly missed my footing and fell into a man.
Imre.
He steadied me, and I forced a smile through his touch, though my arms tightened at my sides.
In my heels, I was an inch taller than him, and he looked so happy and young as he beamed at me.
I hadn’t seen him in a suit. Ever.
“Zsófia,” he said — his breathless, joyful voice jolting pity into my heart like a defibrillator. “I’m so glad you made it.”
“It’s a fancy party,” I told him, gesturing vaguely.
Fuck, I hadn’t even noticed all the peonies up the staircase. Or the chandelier and log ceiling that went up through… were there three floors?
He was doing something other than tinkering with spanners.
My dad didn’t even own a place like this, and he’d been the director of a team.
I looked past him to see if Everly and Luca had gotten far. If they ever settled down and decided on a country to stay in for longer than a month, they could probably afford something similar.
Me? I’d have to dream on.
“It’s a beautiful home,” I said into the silence where he was just staring at me.
A home I might have spent more time in if things were different.
A home I may have had a bedroom in.
“Isn’t it?” Zoltán said behind me, his hand on my lower back. “Imre, I’m sure you’re busy.”
Then I was ushered through the light hallway into the open doors opposite. “What was that?”
“You clearly don’t like him,” he said, but kept his hand on my back. “You’ve made multiple comments.”
It hadn’t felt unpleasant. Not something I had to be saved from, anyway.
“And he should tell you—”
“Yes, but—”
This was not a garden. This was an event. The backdrop was a small lake, leading into the canopy of vibrant trees, but what stopped me mid-step was the setup.
A hundred chairs waited patiently, facing the lake and a flower arch.
I turned to Zoltán, mouth open, ready to tell him, “Oh my god, this is a wedding.”
But he knew. He was wincing.
And watching my reaction.
I pushed off his touch and pointed a finger at where we’d just seen my biological father because… because… no.
“Zoltán, tell me right now this isn’t… this isn’t Imre’s wedding.”
The concern in his eyes — soft, genuine — made it worse.
My chest heaved in the white silk dress.
My dad was getting married? And I didn’t even know?
And I was wearing white. Fuck, that was why everyone was glaring at me, wasn’t it? I felt my face bleach of all colour, nearly as pale as the silk in question.
“You knew.” My voice cracked, and his eyes widened, his arm reaching for my waist, but I dodged him. “You knew, didn’t you? And you didn’t say.”
He looked wrecked, just as he had in the pit lane a couple of weeks ago, his skin ashen. But I couldn’t feel sorry for him.
He stumbled over his words. “It wasn’t — it wasn’t my business to tell you. Imre was going to… I tried just then—”
Just then? When I was already here?
“But you’re my…” I turned, shaking my head. He was my absolutely nothing. This proved that. “You should have.”
I bit down the ache and let the anger rise, standing tall. I wasn’t going to get sad. I was going to get angry. “You let me walk in dressed like the bride.”
And now I was about to meet my new step-mother, dressed as if I was trying to show her up. Shite.
He frowned at my new expression, as if taken aback by the swift change in me.
“I told you to wear purple.”
The rage was growing. Something dark and twisting in my stomach, something tightening in my chest, something stinging in my eyes.
“You hid my father’s marriage from me, and your best excuse is the dress code?”
A waiter came past and, following my sister’s lead, I grabbed one of the glasses and downed it.
The music picked up, and a whole orchestra was on a boat on the lake.
It made sense why Imre had invited me and why this place was so grand. It wasn’t his house; it was his wedding venue.
Benedek appeared under the arch, calling out in Hungarian, then English, for all the guests to find their seats.
Zoltán stroked my shoulder. I was too stunned to push him off.
“If you want to go, just say the word. I’ll drive you wherever you want.”
I went to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. Was this his apology? A getaway car?
But my sister grabbed my elbow, storming me back into the house. “You know, right?” she said. “We’re going. No one’s setting you up for this shit.”
I pulled free. “I’m not going. I’m going to sit there and smile. I’m going to ask him what the fuck he’s playing at. And then see my nagyi.”
Her eyes closed as if she were in pain. She said through her teeth, “You’re wearing white.”
“That’s what they get for not telling me.”
She huffed and grabbed us both another glass before gesturing for Zolt to keep walking with her foot, nearly kicking him out of the way. “Get out of my sight.”
He didn’t. He sat right beside me in the back row as if he could protect me from what he’d trapped me in.
Luca was armed with two drinks and handed me his spare, looking at me with concern.
And I hated it all.
The pity.
The anger.
The silence.
My father was getting married, and I didn’t know.
He found someone he loved, and he hadn’t introduced me to her.
I hadn’t been given an invite that was probably foiled in gold like this whole venue.
The air was thick with humidity, and all of my confidence and excitement evaporated in its heat.
I finished another drink and put it down, looking over heads, trying to spot my nagyi.
Everly held my hand despite how clammy we were, and I bit down so hard on my lip that I would smudge my lipstick all over my teeth, but at least it would be better than letting my mascara track down my face with my tears.
A slower song played, and we all stood, looking over as an elegant woman in a floor-length white chiffon gown walked out of the building by herself. She held purple peonies to her waist as she grinned, on top of the world.
Her sights were on one man. Imre.
When she got to the arch and her near-husband, they didn’t hold back, immediately going for a crushing hug.
They really loved each other.
He spoke a language I didn’t know for his vows, and she dabbed at her eyes before speaking of finding love later in life, but feeling blessed that her family was growing in the best way, by not just one person but two.
Everly squeezed my hand.
What did she know about me? About my relationship with her husband? Had he told her the truth or some twisted version where my mother was to blame?
Was I going to seem like a child for holding this grudge?
I knew I should’ve been warned. I should’ve been told. But watching him there, hands trembling around hers, I couldn’t summon anger. I could only sit there, in my accidental white dress, the hem sticking to my legs from the humidity, thinking: At least he found someone who made him happy.
Even if nobody had the decency to tell me about it.