“He’s not here?” I ask. Drako assured me Nero would be here, but he could’ve stepped out for a meeting or something while I was on my way. Icarus looks away, uncomfortable, and alarm bells ring in my head.
“He is, ma’am. He’s just not available to see you.”
“I don’t mind. I can wait,” I say, already stepping back to sit in one of the armchairs in the antechamber outside Nero’s office. Icarus clears his throat, answering before my body reaches the cushioned surface.
“I think you didn’t understand. He won’t see you. Not now. Not later.”
My lips part—the only sign that I heard what Icarus said. I remain still, almost like a statue, for several long minutes.
“He’s refusing to see me?” I ask, and Icarus nods, swallowing hard.
The first tear travels quickly from wherever it came from to my eye and spills over. I press my eyelids together, hearing loud and clear the sound of my heart shattering. That’s it, right? There’s no more denying the undeniable. There is no explanation. It was all true. Nero wants to be rid of me.
That insistent little voice speaks up again. Now it suggests that maybe Nero is being deceived. What if Lysandra put on that whole performance just to convince Nero that I went through with the abortion?
If I felt pathetic before, now there isn’t a word strong enough to describe the level of self-inflicted humiliation I’m willing to endure if it means I won’t have to face a reality in which Nero isn’t the man I was certain he was.
I need to talk to him. All I need is to talk to him and we’ll sort this out. We’ll fix everything.
But that’s not what I say to Icarus.
I nod in agreement instead, then make my way out of the exporting company and stop on the sidewalk.
Half the day passes as I wait for Nero to finally walk out of the building, but I don’t go anywhere. People move around me. Shops stay open. Cars keep grinding their tires against the asphalt.
Everyone goes on living their lives, telling their stories, sharing their laughter—while I feel every piece of my world cracking until, inevitably, it collapses.
My legs ache after the first few hours. My stomach complains of hunger, and I blame myself—because I know standing in the sun, hungry and thirsty, is incredibly irresponsible with my baby—but I’m doing this for him too. He needs his father. I need his father. We need him.
“Nero!” I practically run toward him when he finally appears.
The skirt of my flared dress sways, and I drop my hands to keep the fabric from flying too high. At the sound of my voice, Nero freezes.
His eyes lift slowly from the phone in his hands to meet mine, and when they do, I feel as if the air in my lungs has turned to ice—the coldness I find in the blue irises of my child’s father is absolute.
He says nothing. He just stands there, staring at me, as if he’s waiting—no, as if he wishes—to never see me again.
“I’ll give you credit for the sheer audacity,” he finally breaks the silence, after what feels like an eternity. “How can you be so low?”
I hear his voice, and all I hear are the words that played in the back seat of that car. The same tone. The one I was sure didn’t belong to the man I knew. The same tone, thrown at me here and now, live and in full color.
“We need to talk,” I try.
“Talk?” He laughs with scorn. “I keep my quota of interaction with whores to a minimum—and unfortunately for you, the time we spent together already exceeded it. I hope I never have tolook at your face again.” He announces it, starting to walk again, ready to pass me by and continue on his way as if I were nothing more than a stone in his path—one small obstacle Nero swiftly and easily steps around.
I beg that voice to whisper a justification for this too. Any one. I would accept anything, no matter how absurd, pathetic, or impossible to believe. I would accept it. But I get nothing but Nero’s back as I turn my body to follow his steps with my eyes.
“Why are you doing this? I—I…” The words leave my lips almost as a whisper, but it’s enough for Nero to hear. He stops again and turns to face me.
“Why?” he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Why? Don’t you ever get tired of this little act, Nina? It won’t work anymore, fuck!” He explodes, raising his voice and making me flinch. Tears spring to my eyes and spill down my face in a flood I can’t contain. Nero looks at them and his expression sinks into even deeper contempt. “Doesn’t surprise me, actually. I believed it the first time, didn’t I? And the second… I won’t believe it a third.”
“Nero!” I hear his name before I see Atlas approaching from somewhere behind me, placing his hands on his friend’s shoulders. His voice is low when he continues. “You’re crossing a line.”
“Crossing a line?” Another scornful laugh cuts through the air and lodges straight into my heart. “I’m crossing a line? And what exactly was she doing when she spread her legs for God and everyone while wearing my ring on her finger?” He spits the words, and my eyes widen as my mouth falls open, unable to form a sound. He’s saying I did what? “What was she doing, Atlas, while she pulled the oldest trick in the book on me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I manage to whisper after minutes of nothing but a relentless buzzing in my ears. Panic presses down on my body, and breathing is so hard. I don’t think I can breathe anymore. “You should—” I start, but air fails me before I can finish. I struggle, with everything I have, to make my lungs work again. “You… you should… s-stop,” I sob, barely aware of what’s leaving my mouth. “You should stop before you say something you can’t take back.”
“The only thing I wish I could fix is the day I met you. I wish I could erase it from my story so completely that you wouldn’t even be a shadow of my past. In the end, you’re still the same wide-eyed little girl, aren’t you? Your greed never disappeared—it was just hidden behind practiced smiles and deceptive words.”
