Chapter 31 Nova
Nova
Saturday afternoon is quiet.
I’m on the floor, stomach down, textbook open in front of me. Something about territorial boundary laws and cross-House jurisdiction. The words keep blurring together.
Locke checks the clock on the wall. Third time in ten minutes.
Kyron drops down beside me. Too close. His shoulder brushes mine as he leans over to look at what I’m working on.
“You’re overthinking it,” he says. “The answer’s in the third paragraph.”
“I read the third paragraph.”
“Read it again.”
I huff but look down. He shifts closer, pointing at a line halfway down the page. His arm presses against mine.
Heat hits low and sharp but I’m not embarrassed. This feels like something else entirely.
My pen slips. I pretend it’s nothing.
“See it now?” His voice is low. Close to my ear.
“Yep. Got it. Thanks.”
He doesn’t move away.
Beckett’s pacing between the kitchen and the living room like he can’t decide where to land. Trey adjusts his shirt. Again.
The clock on the wall ticks past five.
I don’t notice at first—I’m still trying to focus on the words in front of me—but the energy changes. Restless, almost expectant as something shifts in the room.
“Maybe we should call it on homework, huh?” Vaelor’s voice from somewhere behind me.
“Nah, I wanna finish this.” I flip a page. “Just get it over with so I can relax, you know?”
“It’ll be there tomorrow, Nova.”
“I know, but I just wanna get it done.”
I hear footsteps on the stairs. Don’t look up.
“Nova?”
“Hmm?” Still reading. Or trying to.
Someone clears their throat. “Nova.”
Something in the tone makes me finally lift my head.
Rane is standing at the bottom of the stairs.
He’s… dressed up. Button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Hair actually styled instead of its usual mess. He looks good. Really good.
I sit up slowly. “What’s going on? Why do you look like that?”
His face goes red. Behind me, someone snorts. Someone else mutters something I don’t catch.
“Oh, well, I—” He clears his throat again. Shoves his hands in his pockets, pulls them out, doesn’t seem to know what to do with them. “I was hoping… maybe…”
He takes a breath.
“Nova… would you do me the honor of letting me take you to dinner?”
Someone groans from the couch. “Jesus, Rane, did you black out and wake up in a regency novel?”
“Shut up,” Rane mutters, ears going pink.
I blink at him.
“Don’t we usually eat here?”
A noise from behind me—Kyron choking on something, Locke’s low laugh, Trey’s muttered “oh my god.”
Rane’s blush deepens. “Well, yeah, but I wanted to—I guess—take you out to dinner.”
“Why?”
“Well, you know…” He shifts his weight. “On a date.”
Date.
That word I know.
The pressure of it hits me all at once. Rane, standing there in his nice shirt with his styled hair, asking me on a date. In front of everyone. While I’m lying on the floor in sweatpants with a textbook.
“Um.” I scramble to my feet. “Yeah. Uh. Okay.”
His whole face lights up. Relief and something warmer flooding his expression.
He’s still smiling. Like I just gave him something he wasn’t sure he’d get.
A date. I said yes to a date. My palms are sweating.
Why do I want to impress him so badly?
“Smooth,” Kyron says behind me.
“Very romantic,” Beckett adds. “Really swept her off her feet there.”
“Shut up,” Rane and I say at the same time.
More laughter. I look down at myself—old t-shirt, joggers, hair in a messy knot on top of my head.
“Um. Give me ten?”
“Sure.” Rane’s still smiling. “Take your time.”
“White,” Beckett says without looking up from his book. “Trust me.”
I pause at the bottom of the stairs. “How do you—”
“Just trust me.”
I bolt for the stairs.
Ten minutes. I can do this in ten minutes.
I dig through my closet until I find it—the white outfit. The one Zoe made me buy. Leather pants, lace and leather top, the silver chain choker.
I stare at it for a second.
It’s just dinner. It’s just Rane.
But it’s not just anything. It’s a date. A real one. And I want to look like someone who deserves to be taken on a date.
I put it on.
The leather slides on smooth. The lace settles against my skin. The chain is cool at my throat.
I grab the makeup bag—everything Mira suggested at the counter. I don’t have time to overthink it. A single shimmer on my lids. Mascara. The lip gloss that smells faintly like vanilla.
I look in the mirror.
I don’t look like someone who sleeps in alleys anymore.
I look like someone who belongs somewhere. I look like someone who could be wanted. Who could walk into a place and not get thrown out the back. I look… like I belong.
Deep breath.
I head back downstairs.
The living room goes quiet.