CHAPTER 7
NINA MARCHESI
The words pop in my head like popcorn, and I suck in a breath through my mouth when their meaning finally hits me: his date tonight.
“Oh, Nero…” Apollo says. “Judging by her face, I think she’s trying to find a polite way to say no.”
I turn my head toward him as he speaks and watch him and Drako burst into laughter once again. I really wish I knew what those two find so funny.
I arrived at the party determined to behave like the adult I am, instead of the teenager I spent the entire afternoon performing as. I would greet the Fantastic Four when I ran into them and then simply go on with my night—just like every other guest.
Except I didn’t even get the chance to try.
The moment I stepped into the hall, three of the four of them surrounded me with smiles and conversation, making me wonder what alternate universe I’d woken up in. And even so, I found myself unable to pull away.
And although I started out very monosyllabic, talking to them turned out to be easy.
Apollo and Drako are perfectly capable of carrying a conversation on their own.
They don’t need help in that department, and between all the laughter they pulled out of me, I spent long minutes without needing to say a word.
Atlas is still more serious than the others, but even he has his moments. The adult version of me took control quickly, and within minutes I felt capable of talking normally—at least until Nero appeared.
The instant my eyes landed on him, the adult in me ran for her life, leaving me with nothing but an unjustifiably racing heart.
I turn my gaze back to the reason I’m struggling to remain rational and find his brows slightly furrowed—probably because I’m taking too long to answer.
“If you don’t want to, I—”
“I do,” I interrupt before he can misinterpret my reaction completely. “I’m just surprised,” I add honestly, and he smiles at me.
I’m certain there are butterflies beating their wings in my stomach. My face mirrors his smile, and Nero extends his hand toward me. I stare at it for two seconds before taking it, needing proof that this is real.
His touch is firm and warm, and I restrain myself from sighing. I feel ridiculous and foolish for how my body reacts to this man—but I can’t stop any of it.
“Gentlemen,” he says, turning ironically to his friends. “You’ve already monopolized my date for long enough.”
Nero gives me a wink that pulls a mortified giggle out of me before guiding us toward the bar, leading us away from the Fantastic Trio while all I manage is a hurried excuse me. They don’t seem to mind.
I tilt my head back, finally allowing myself time to absorb the details while trying to calm the skin still buzzing from Nero’s fingers intertwined with mine.
Impressive doesn’t even begin to describe the beauty of the association’s party.
Endless Christmas ornaments hang from the high ceiling, suspended meters above the ground, filling the spaces not taken by artificial snow on the windows and the many Christmas trees scattered throughout the hall with red and gold.
Tall cocktail tables gather groups around them while the buffet service moves endlessly between guests. Ribbons, twinkling lights, flowers—everything comes together in the most beautiful winter décor I’ve ever seen.
It’s almost as if we have real winter here. One of Khione’s most incredible features, no matter the season, is that our temperature never drops below twenty-five degrees Celsius. I sigh, enchanted.
“You like it?” Nero’s voice startles me, which is absurd because I haven’t forgotten his presence for even a second. I look at him to find his attention completely focused on me.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I answer, and his lips pull to one side of his mouth.
“What?” I protest, even though he hasn’t said anything—mirroring the movement of his mouth. “Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
Nero studies me for a few seconds, never breaking stride, before answering.
“No.”
My heart stumbles, losing what little progress it had made toward normalcy—but that makes no sense, because Nero couldn’t have meant what the muscle in my chest thinks he did.
“I can’t even imagine how much work it took to organize a party like this,” I say, filling the silence before I let it stretch infinitely while I spiral in my own head.
“A lot. But the community did most of it. The hardest part is organizing the auction.”
I can’t hold back a laugh as I remember the conversations I overheard in my mother’s shop earlier today. Nero raises a brow.
“I heard a few things about the auction,” I explain, but his eyebrow remains lifted. “Funny things.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh.
“Funny things?”
“You have no idea.” I laugh again, remembering the desserts no one ever buys. God, I’m a terrible person—but I can’t stop myself, even under his attentive, curious gaze.
“What kind of funny things?”
“If I tell you, I’ll be an even worse person than I already am for laughing.”
“Now you’ve only made me more curious. Come on. Tell me,” he urges, and I tuck my lips between my teeth before shaking my head.
“All right. I’ll tell you something that makes me a terrible person, and you tell me what you heard. Deal?”
My reaction is a laugh that forces me to lift a hand to cover my mouth.
“I seriously doubt you can tell me something that truly makes you a terrible person. I won’t make promises I can’t keep,” he replies, still trying to control his laughter.
“Very well. Last week, Apollo invented a last-minute trip,” Nero begins—and if he didn’t already have my full attention, he would now. “It was a terrible time to travel, but no matter how much I told him that, he refused to listen.”
I stop walking when we reach the side of the hall, too invested in where this story is going to keep moving without tripping.
“So I hid his passport. He missed the trip.”
I clamp my mouth shut, trying to contain the laugh, but it scratches my throat and bursts out of me, scandalous and loud.
“And that’s not the worst part,” he warns, his grin making it clear he doesn’t think any part of it is bad. “I don’t remember where I hid it. So now he’ll need to get a new passport.”
This time I let my laughter run free, not even trying to hide it. Nero watches me with a wide smile.
God, this man is beautiful.
“You don’t need to feel bad,” I manage to say after several attempts to steady my breathing. “From what I remember of your dynamic, Apollo would probably do the same thing.”
“I don’t feel bad,” he says. “I just know that doing this makes me a bad person. Your turn.”
“Now I think you’re a much worse person than I am.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he replies with a knowing smirk, and I bite down on my lower lip before finally looking around for the first time since we walked away from the Fantastic Trio—actually paying attention to the people around us.
Stolen glances and the impression of whispers make my smile fade as I frown.
“Are you trying to cheat, Nina?” Nero asks, pulling my attention back to him, and I set aside the strange sensation beginning to crawl up my spine.
I step closer to him, and his eyes narrow when there’s barely a step between us. I lift my hand, flexing my index and middle fingers between us, silently asking him to lean closer. Nero dips his head.
For a second, we share the same breath.
“I heard a lot of things about the auction today,” I say softly, my voice trapped between us—just like his gaze. “One of them was about Mrs. Eudora’s desserts. Five trays of baklava.”
My voice barely reaches a whisper, and Nero’s lips stretch into a wicked little smile.
“And what did you hear about that, Little Fae?”
I don’t know whether it’s his tone or the nickname that paints my cheeks red—but something does.
“That no one ever wants them, and you or your friends end up buying them at the end of the auction as a last resort.”
“A last resort, huh?”
“I’m not terrible enough to repeat the exact words I heard,” I declare firmly.
Then Nero throws his head back in an uninhibited, completely unexpected laugh. I blink, watching the way his shoulders shake and his entire face reacts to it, before he shakes his head and steps back.
“Well, would you look at that.”
“That I’m not that terrible?” I ask, offended.
“That this little fairy isn’t all colors and sweetness.”
I roll my eyes despite myself.
“I told you, Nero. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
***
“Thank you,” I say when Nero hands me a glass of champagne. I take a small sip, savoring the flavor spreading across my tongue and the sensation of the bubbles dancing in my mouth.
I lift my eyes from the glass to find Nero watching me, as he has for most of the night whenever we’re alone. His gaze is attentive, almost curious.
After our ridiculous exchange of confessions, I’ve discovered that being in his company is far easier than I ever imagined.
I spent so many years wondering what it would be like to talk to him. But all my imagination had to work with were stolen childhood glances and scraps of information from newspapers and magazines. My assumptions were far from the truth.
Nero may not have Drako’s charisma or Apollo’s lightness, but he certainly isn’t the cold, inaccessible man common opinion paints him to be. He’s funny, attentive, and just as much of a gossip as any other resident of Khione.
We spend the last hour discussing every bit of gossip I heard throughout the day, interrupted only by people who occasionally approach, seeking the attention of the association’s director.
Most of them ignore me, which is strange—just like the persistent sense of whispers around us.
But one thing tonight has made very clear about Nero Zanthos: he doesn’t like to share. Not in a bad way—it’s just that he’s magnetic enough that once he’s in front of you, it becomes impossible to want to focus on anyone or anything else.