“He is.” I bite my lip and release a deep breath before broaching the subject that’s been consuming me since the first moment I laid eyes on my son. “I think at some point I’ll need to contact Nero to tell him Kael was born, right? I can’t hide forever. He’s his son too.”
Making that admission isn’t easy. Nothing involving Nero has been easy for a long time.
My mother and I left Greece with nothing but the clothes on our backs, our phones, and our documents. We knew that the moment we put luggage outside, the island would do what it does—and we’d risk not getting out before Lysandra or Nero found out.
Starting over wasn’t easy. The drastic change of city, climate, temperature, and environment was hard to adapt to. And although the money my mother had saved her entire life to buy her house became our emergency fund, it wouldn’t last forever.
We managed to get established, replace some of what we left behind—from clothes to furniture—and get by for a few months until we were both employed. But there was a baby on the way and three mouths to feed long-term. That, in truth, is still a constant worry.
We’re not on the brink of starvation, but the sense of urgency—the need for constant guarantees and a plan B, C, and even D—never leaves me. Still, things could have been much worse, of course, because our move wasn’t made up only of bad moments.
There were many good ones too. Small things—near-miracles—when we desperately needed something and suddenly got it. Renting this house, for example.
When we arrived in town, we stayed in the home of an elderly woman who rented out rooms—just one, for my mother and me.
We knew we’d need to move quickly to prepare for Kael’s arrival, but finding a landlord willing to rent without signing a contract isn’t exactly easy—and having our names on any housing document was a risk we weren’t willing to take, knowing Lysandra Zanthos might be looking for us.
We searched for a house for at least three months when we received a call from the owner of this one. He’d turned us down before—but changed his mind. And here we are. I like to call moments like that small miracles.
We chose Pienza as our temporary home based on nothing more than information we found on Google. The small town in the Italian countryside is compact enough that we didn’t feel displaced after years in Khione, has a hospital, and a reasonable cost of living.
Those were our main criteria, and we didn’t expect much beyond that—but the town was a pleasant surprise. Pienza has a sense of community as strong as Khione’s—stronger, actually.
After seven months here, it’s clear to me that the people care more about their neighbors’ well-being than about turning others’ lives into entertainment. And that definitely earns them a lot of points with me.
My mother looks at me as if weighing whether to tell me something.
“I know you think I shouldn’t worry about Nero, Mom, but I’m not thinking of contacting him for his sake—it’s for Kael. He deserves to have a father in his life.” My mother moistens her lips before letting out a deep breath.
“Atlas called while you were being prepped for surgery,” she says—and my eyebrows lift, because she never tells me that.
I know she’s been a source of information for Atlas about Kael and me ever since we left Khione. He calls at least once a month, but since our meeting at the airport, I’ve never spoken to him again.
I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t. But I also know it wouldn’t be fair to deprive the only person who reached out to help of something as basic as knowing that I and his godson are well.
So I pretend I don’t know he calls, and my mother pretends he doesn’t. It was our unspoken agreement—until now.
“I’m telling you this not to hurt you, my daughter,” she continues, “but because I don’t want you to make a decision in the heat of the moment and regret it later.”
“Telling me what?”
“I was nervous when I answered Atlas’s call. The eclampsia scare rattled me, you know—but the boys were talking in the background, and I couldn’t help overhearing.”
“Overhearing what, Mom?” She swallows and blinks at me.
“Nero is engaged.”
CHAPTER 51
NERO ZANTHOS
ALMOST FOUR YEARS LATER
I open my eyes knowing this is one of my last days in this place. It doesn’t feel like home. It never does. I shove the duvet off my body, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and stand.
The automated blinds around the bedroom begin to retract, just as programmed by the penthouse’s AI, while I cross the room.
Exhaustion hung over me like a second skin. Even though I’ve just woken up. I cut through the walk-in closet to reach the bathroom beyond it. The shelves and rails, nearly empty, bring a measure of relief.
