27. Luna
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
LUNA
I hear his footsteps pause just outside the door. I stay where I am for a moment, my heart racing from his kiss. It was sudden and so out of character for him. He’s never been known to show affection, but perhaps it was his way of thanking me for caring for Amara.
Taking a deep breath, I move toward the door. When I step into the hallway, he’s there, his back to me, one hand braced against the wall. His shoulders are tense, and for a man who carries the world on his shoulders, he looks vulnerable.
“Nicolai,” He turns just enough for me to catch his profile, and something in his expression makes my chest tighten. There’s a heaviness in his eyes I can’t name, but it’s there. I wonder if something happened that he’s not willing to tell me.
Without thinking, I close the distance between us, sliding my arm through his. His body tenses at first, but then I feel him relax. He doesn’t look at me, but his hand finds mine. A lifeline, disguised as a touch.
“Let’s go to dinner,” I say. I don’t know if he notices the tremor beneath my calm, but he doesn’t let go. We move together down the hallway, our steps falling into rhythm like we’ve done this a hundred times before. The soft clatter of dishes is the only sign of life beyond the two of us.
I glance at him as we approach the dining room. His jaw is set, but there’s a softness in his eyes now, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
Nico steps ahead to pull out my chair, and I take my seat. Feeling the warmth of his presence as he pushes the chair in gently before settling next to me. His fingers briefly trace the edge of his glass, as though chastising himself, before his eyes meet mine.
“You look beautiful.” The simplicity of it catches me off guard, because of the way it rolls off his tongue.
“Thank you,” I reply, as I adjust the napkin on my lap.
The servers set our plates down in front of us with effortless precision. Reminding me how much Nico thrives on control. He barely acknowledges them because he’s focused on me.
“You're quiet tonight,” he says.
I pause, my thoughts churning. “I guess I have a lot on my mind,” I admit. His brow furrows slightly, wanting me to continue. “Amara. The cellar. And everything else.”
“Everything else,” he echoes. “Sounds like you’re worrying more than you’re letting on.”
His gaze is intense, forcing me to take a breath before answering. “I’m wondering what happens to her and the others?”
The hint of vulnerability I’d seen earlier returns. “Where it goes is up to us,” he says, and though his words should sound reassuring, they carry a significance that makes me wonder if he’s not just talking about Amara or the cellar, but something more.
I tilt my head, studying him. “You always make it sound so simple,” I murmur.
“It’s never simple,” he admits. “But sometimes simplicity is the only way to move forward.”
I trace the edge of my napkin, anything to keep my thoughts from rushing out too fast. He’s watching me again, the way he always does. It bothers me, but I don’t look away. I can’t.
“What would moving forward even look like for them?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended. I glance at my plate, though the food is the last thing on my mind. “For Amara. For the others and us?”
“For some, moving forward means finding a way to survive. For others,” His voice trails off as his gaze lifts to the chandelier overhead. “For others, it means realizing survival isn’t enough.”
“And for you?” The question escapes before I can think, but I hold my ground. “What does moving forward mean for you, Nicolai?”
“It means doing what needs to be done,” he says. “Regardless of what it costs.”
I let his words sink in. “Even if the cost is too high?”
“If you’re asking if I regret my choices, then no,” he replies, leaning forward, daring me to challenge him. “But if you’re asking whether I think about them, then yes. Every damn day.”
His honesty catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. The man sitting close to me feels familiar yet foreign, and that contradiction keeps me tethered to him.
“Nicolai,” I say quietly, “you don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.” The words pour out before I can stop myself, but it’s too late now.
He doesn’t answer, just taps his fingers against the table, unsure how much of himself he’s willing to share. Finally, he looks at me, and it leaves me breathless.
“You don’t know the half of what I carry, Luna,” he says. “And if you did, you’d hate me for it.”
“I already know enough to make that choice. And I haven’t.”