Too suspicious.
I narrow my eyes. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” she chirps, entirely unconvincing.
Her voice is breathless, flushed, not the kind that comes from baking. The kind that comes from nerves.
I know the difference.
I know her.
I step closer, scanning her face, the twitch of her mouth, the slight shake in her hands as she adjusts the cookie tray for the third time.
“Where’s Luna?” I ask, quiet now, trying to read between the lines.
She turns toward the counter, stacking cookies that don’t need stacking. “Nico took her home.”
My brows lift. “You weren’t going to tell me about them?”
Her whole body exhales. The tension drops from her shoulders so fast I nearly miss it. Her relief is too visceral.
So that wasn’t it.
Whatever she’s hiding, it’s not Luna.
“Oh,” she says, casual now, too casual. “They’re not a thing. Just… you know, hooking up.”
“Hooking up?”I echo, still watching her.
She heads for the living room, avoiding my gaze. “Yeah. You know, what you used to do before me.”
That hits harder than it should. I follow her, lips tugging into something faintly self-deprecating. “Dea, I didn’t know you existed.”
She shrugs, curling up on the couch like she didn’t just twist a knife in my ribs with that sweet mouth of hers.
“Should’ve predicted the future, Santo,” she smirks.
I stand there for a second, staring at her.
At the way she clutches that cookie plate like it’s armor.
At the flush still painting her cheeks, the slight tremble in her fingers as she bites into one but doesn’t taste it.
She’s definitely hiding something.
Not Luna. Not Nico. Something more. Something big.
She’s a terrible liar, but she’s stubborn. She won’t give it up until she’s ready.
I could push.
I probablyshould.
I decide against pushing. For now.
Whatever she’s keeping from me is making her nervous, and my Vasilisa doesn’t handle pressure well when she’s already on edge.
Instead, I move to sit beside her, pluck the plate from her hands, and set it on the coffee table.
