Standing behind his three friends, Nero is the only one wearing a full suit and tie instead of the association uniform. I let my eyes travel quickly and discreetly over his tall body, even stronger than the others’. His arms are crossed, his expression stoic, as if he’d only stopped there to supervise the work.
His skin is the fairest of the four, as is his hair—just a shade lighter than the twins’. His beard is a little fuller too. But it wasalways his eyes that held my absolute fascination, ever since he was a boy.
Blue. Exactly like the sea surrounding our island.
And if my heart had already shifted its rhythm before, now my breath catches in my throat as I observe—closer than I ever have—the imposing man Nero has become. After all, our paths stopped crossing the moment he left the orphanage.
My hands slip, and the box crashes to the floor with a loud bang, snapping me out of my daze. I mentally roll my eyes, realizing that even though I left my childish crush behind, all it took was laying my eyes on the four of them together—once, just once, after years—for me to look like a lovestruck teenager all over again.
I shake my head and finally thaw from the spot, picking up the box and feeling ready to move toward any door that will take me away from the entrance hall and far from the men whose presence leaves me dizzy. But I take only one step before one of their voices sounds directly at me.
“Well, well, well… what do we have here? Are my eyes deceiving me?” Drako asks as I’m halfway through my second stride.
I look behind me, searching for anyone else he might be talking to—because my peripheral vision showed that he, and now the other three, are staring at me. To my misfortune, behind me there’s only the open door to the street.
Seconds pass without anyone around me stepping forward to answer the question, further confirming what I feared most.
He’s talking to me.
I take advantage of the fact that my face is hidden from his view to briefly close my eyes, gather my courage, and turn back toward the four friends.
“That depends,” I say. “What do you think you’re seeing?”
Drako’s grin widens as he starts climbing down the ladder. The other three watch me with a mix of raised brows and mouths that can’t decide what shape to take.
“Someone who, judging by the box in her hands, hasn’t broken the habit of feeding vagrants,” he replies, jumping from the third rung straight to the floor and walking toward me. When he’s close enough, Drako sticks a hand into the box, pulls out one of the ornament balls, immediately opens it, and starts unwrapping the cookie inside. “Hi, Nina.” He pauses, looking me up and down playfully. “You grew up.” The understatement of the century. I roll my eyes, even as heat floods my skin. Of course I grew up, for God’s sake. “But old habits die hard, right?” he asks, bringing the fully unwrapped cookie to his smiling mouth and devouring it in one bite.
“Nina Marchesi!” This time it’s Atlas, stepping closer. He immediately takes the box from my hands, and I flex my arms instinctively. He tilts his head toward Drako in reproach. “Better this way,” he says gently—and just like that, he steals my first smile. Why is my heart racing, my God? “Sorry about that. Drako has always forgotten his manners when he’s hungry, which is to say—always.”
“And that hasn’t changed, then?” I tease.
“Oh, my dear, that definitely hasn’t changed,” Atlas replies, and we laugh together. My stomach flips.
“You’re not the wide-eyed little girl anymore, are you?” Apollo chimes in. I lift my gaze to him just in time to see him deliberately bump his shoulder against Nero’s—who has also stepped closer, but is the only one still silent beside him. “Don’t you remember her, Nero? She’s not the awkward, scrawny, big-eyed kid anymore—but you can tell it’s her.”
Awkward, scrawny, big-eyed kid? Someone please shoot me and put me out of my misery.
I stop myself from swallowing hard before tilting my head up to meet Nero’s gaze. He’s the tallest of the four, and I barely reach the height of his chest.
Up close, the blue of his eyes seems even more vivid, and suddenly I start to disagree with Drako. Maybe I didn’t grow up. Maybe I’m still a foolish teenager and this is just one of the many dreams I’ve had about the four of them. Because that’s the only explanation for how my heart starts pounding in my chest, struggling to knock my breathing off balance simply because I’m standing so close to Nero.
“Of course I remember,” he says—and I don’t need a mirror to know that the faint blush warming my skin has just turned into something far more intense. “How is your mother, Nina?”
“Fine,” I answer too quickly, afraid of answering too slowly. Then I count to three before continuing. “Just very busy, so she asked me to bring the cookies.”
“Thank you for that,” he says, his expression softening slightly from the one he wore when I arrived, and I nod.
“Nice nails,” Drako comments, his eyes fixed on my hands, a wide grin on his face. It makes me smile before I can stop myself.
I love my nails this week. Actually—every week. Some people say talking is therapy. Others say doing dishes is. I paint my nails. The more colorful and decorated, the better.
“Cats are cute,” I reply, and this time he’s the one who laughs.
“So? How was college?” he asks, stealing my surprised attention—but it takes only a second for me to understand.
“My mother,” I murmur to myself, already dying of embarrassment over whatever she might have said—or worse, how many times she might have said it.
Since I got the scholarship, every other topic seems to have vanished from my mother’s lips. She decided there was no need for new ones. Telling every living soul that her daughter had gotten into university—the first in the family to earn a degree—was enough.
