His laugh is pure sunshine and sin. God, happiness looks good on him.
As we stroll toward the little ice cream shop on the corner, I marvel at how much has changed in so little time. The rigid, rule-bound Anastasia of a week ago feels like someone else entirely.
Nyxx reaches for the door ahead of me, his fingers brushing mine—barely a touch, but it sends a spark racing up my arm.
And as we step inside, I steal another glance at him, at the sunlight haloing his wild hair and the flicker of amusement in those mesmerizing eyes. I realize I’m not just breaking free of my old constraints.
I’m falling—headfirst, fast, and terrified.
The question is, am I brave enough to let myself fall?
Chapter Twelve
Anastasia
The sunset bleeds a thin ribbon of scarlet across the horizon as we settle into the gazebo, Chinese takeout containers scattered between us. Garlic, ginger, and night air mingle—sharp, earthy, perfect.
“I still can’t believe I did that,” I say, shaking my head.
“What? Liking bacon maple ice cream?” Nyxx grins. “Or performing without a safety net?”
“Both,” I admit, laughing.
“You didn’t just play,” he says, voice softening. “Youfelt.That’s the difference.”
A warm glow spreads through me, and it’s not just from the spicy noodles. “It felt… liberating. Like I was finally playing for myself, not for anyone else’s expectations.”
“That’s exactly what it was,” Nyxx nods, his expression softening. “You found your voice today, Anastasia. Your real one.”
We eat without speaking for a while, the chirping crickets and rustling leaves providing a soothing backdrop. As twilight deepens, the air grows cooler, and I find myself unconsciously scooting my chair closer to Nyxx.
“Can I ask you something?” I venture, setting aside my empty container.
Nyxx leans back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Shoot.”
“Your eyes…” I begin, then hesitate. “I mean, they’re beautiful, unique, compelling, but I was wondering…”
A shadow passes over his face, and for a moment, I curse myself for being foolish enough to bring it up. But then he takes a deep breath and meets my gaze.
“They’re the reason my old man left,” he says quietly.
My heart clenches, and my palm unconsciously touches my throat. “What?”
Nyxx runs a hand through his wild hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as a sign of discomfort. “Yeah. Turns out dear old dad was superstitious. Thought my eyes were a sign of the devil or some bullshit.”
“But that’s… that’s ridiculous! That’s like something from the 1800s,” I sputter, outraged on his behalf.
A bitter laugh escapes him. “Tell me about it. He stuck around for ten years, always looking at me accusingly, like I was some kind of freak, like I was born this way just to spite him. Then one day, he just… left. Didn’t even say goodbye.”
My breath catches. The hand holding my fork tightens until it shakes. “You were just a kid,” I manage.
He turns his hand to lace our fingers, a sad smile playing at his lips. “It was rough. I don’t think I handed in a single school assignment for the rest of the year. Mom told me later that she pulled some strings and played the pity card to get me advanced to the next grade.”
He looks into the darkness as though he’s reliving some of that pain. I feel guilty for having brought it up.
“But you know what? It made me who I am. If people were gonna stare, I figured I’d give them something worth staring at.”
Suddenly, so much about Nyxx makes sense—his rebellious attitude, his need to stand out, even his larger-than-life stage name. “So… you changed your name because of that?”
