Athena helps me sit on the edge of the bed and turns on the light, then stands there, uncertain. She fiddles withher emerald bracelet as she looks down at me. Gone is the powerful casino owner, the mysterious neighbor. In her place stands a woman who has no idea what to do.
“Can I get you some water?” she finally asks, and the simple kindness in her voice undoes me.
A sob rises in my throat, unexpected and unstoppable. I try to swallow it back, but it’s like trying to hold back the tide. The dam I’ve built around my grief develops a crack, then another, then shatters completely.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, but the words dissolve into tears. Real tears, the kind I haven’t allowed myself since those first raw days after the accident. My body curls in on itself, protection against a pain that is unbearable. “I’m so sorry.”
The bed dips beside me, and then Athena’s arms are around me, pulling me close. I should resist—this woman is practically a stranger, and definitely dangerous in ways I don’t fully understand. But I’m so tired of being strong, of being alone.
“Let it out,” she murmurs, one hand stroking my hair. “I’ve got you.”
The tenderness in her touch only makes it worse, and two years’ worth of contained grief comes pouring out in great, wracking sobs that shake my whole body. I cry for Claire, for the future we lost, for the woman I used to be. I cry for the empty house and the untouched piano and all the phone calls I never returned. I cry until my throat is raw and my eyes burn, until my blouse is stained with tears and mascara.
Athena holds me through it all. She doesn’t try to shush me or tell me it will be okay. She just lets me fall apart, murmuring soft words in Greek.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper when the sobs finally subside a little. “I don’t knowhow to be alone. I’m on leave and the house is so quiet.” My voice cracks on the last word. “Everyone says it gets easier, but it doesn’t. It just gets…different.”
“I know,” Athena says softly, and something in her voice makes me believe she actually does know what I’m talking about. She shifts, spooning me, and strokes my shoulder. I’m embarrassed but too exhausted to care.
“Claire would hate what I’ve become,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “She wanted us to travel more, to have adventures. To start a family. Instead, I hide in my office and pretend the world doesn’t exist.”
“Grief isn’t linear,” Athena says, now stroking my hair. The gesture feels intimate. “It’s not something you can schedule or control, no matter how good you are at controlling everything else.”
A hollow laugh escapes me. “Control? I just fell asleep in your car and I’m having a complete breakdown in your arms. I’d say my control is pretty much shot.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” she whispers. “Sometimes we need to lose control to find ourselves again.”
I turn onto my back to look at her sideways, wiping at my face. I must look a mess—mascara streaked, lipstick smeared, eyes swollen. But when I meet Athena’s gaze, there’s no judgment there. Only understanding.
Exhaustion washes over me, the combination of wine, emotion, and release leaving me barely able to keep my eyes open. My body feels heavy, weighted down by the magnitude of everything I’ve been holding back. The sobs have subsided into occasional hiccups, but tears still leak silently from the corners of my eyes, tracing warm paths down my cheeks.
“You should rest,” Athena says, her hand still in my hair. The kindness in her touch almost breaks me again—how long has it been since anyone has shown me such tenderness? Since I’ve allowed myself to receive it?
I nod, unable to form words. My bed has never felt so inviting, the promise of sleep a blessed escape from the rawness of emotion.
Through half-closed lids, I watch Athena get up. She looks around the room and spots the cashmere throw draped over the reading chair in the corner—Claire’s chair.
She takes it and returns to the bed, spreading it over me. The soft weight of the cashmere settles around my shoulders, and I curl deeper into its familiar comfort.
“Thank you,” I whisper, though the words feel inadequate for what she’s given me tonight—permission to break, to feel, to be human again, if only for a moment.
She pauses at the bedroom door. “Sleep, Ruby,” she says, and I’m already drifting, caught in that hazy space between waking and dreams.
The last thing I register is the soft click of my bedroom door closing, followed by the distant sound of her shoes on the marble stairs. Then sleep claims me completely, pulling me under into blessed darkness where grief can’t follow.
TWELVE
ATHENA
Seated at my outdoor dining table, I struggle to concentrate, my gaze repeatedly drawn to Ruby’s house. No movement, no signs of life since I left her last night. The balcony where she usually takes her morning coffee remains empty, the French doors closed. I didn’t feel comfortable going into work until I knew she was up, but it’s almost midday now.
Zeus sits in the chair beside me, his massive frame upright, more like an Egyptian deity than a mere house cat. He follows my gaze toward Ruby’s house, then turns to fix me with those knowing eyes. We’ve long since established our peculiar détente—he refuses to act like a normal cat, and I’ve given up trying to make him one. My bed is his bed, my chair is his chair, and any attempt to assert dominance is met with imperial disdain.
“What do you think, big boy?” I murmur, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. He allows it. “Should we be worried?”
My laptop screen shows a dozen urgent emails from the Olympus—questions about tonight’s high-roller event, press requests about our latest expansion plans, and a marketingcampaign for me to sign off on. Mark has already called twice, and even Maria, my ever-efficient assistant, has started marking her emails with red exclamation points. They’re clearly worried because I’m not there, but the casino has survived without my decision making before.
Zeus’s tail twitches as a bird lands on the table, but he makes no move to chase it. His attention returns to Ruby’s house, ears pricked forward as if he senses something I can’t.
