Atlas steps back, and Nero looks at me with an expression I don’t recognize before moving closer. Finally, he takes two steps forward—and unlike the others, he doesn’t just kiss my cheek.
One of his arms wraps around my waist first, and I only keep breathing because I already haven’t been for a while. Which reminds me—I should go back, right? It would be good for my brain to get some oxygen. But I simply can’t deal with that demand right now.
“It was a pleasure seeing you again,Little Fae,” he says—and I smile, instantly losing all the progress my skin had made toward its usual paleness when I hear the old nickname for the first time in almost a decade.
“The pleasure was mine. Thank you for the help,” I say, turning away immediately after he steps back, giving one last wave to each of the other men around me.
I’m perfectly aware that this looks a lot like running away—but that’s because it is. I need air.
I pass through the door with the most controlled steps I can manage—which, honestly, isn’t much—and when I reach the sidewalk, my eyes scan my surroundings without settling on anything.
They don’t linger on the whitewashed buildings lined up along the street, nor on the cobblestones, nor on the iron café tables across the road announcing the presence of a small café.
And yet, they take everything in as I draw a deep breath, flooding my lungs with exactly what they needed.
Home.
I’m home.
Even if it has never looked as bright as it does in this exact moment.
CHAPTER 5
NINA MARCHESI
“We’re done!” my mother declares, clapping her hands together.
The hours that passed after I returned home from delivering the cookies to the association felt like a triathlon. First, we tidied up the shop until it was ready to reopen in two days, after the Christmas holiday.
Then we crossed the back corridor that connects it to our house and prepared it for Christmas night—even though we don’t plan to spend it here, because it would be absolutely dreadful to have to do all of this tomorrow. Once everything was finally in its proper place, we headed to the kitchen, and that’s where the work truly never seemed to end.
Cookies, doughs, and roasts enough to feed a battalion were prepped for tomorrow’s lunch—even though we don’t intend to host more than five people. But when it comes to food, my mother is the embodiment of excess. So when I lift my hands tothe sky, I truly thank whatever powers may be for the fact that we’re finally finished.
“All right. Go get ready,” she says, untying her apron.
I bite my lip.
I hide my hands behind my back and tilt my head, testing the ground.
“I think I’d rather not go,” I say very slowly.
My mother literally freezes mid-motion. She’s bent over the kitchen counter and lifts only her head to look at me.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t think I want to go.”
“Youthink?”
“I’m sure.”
“Since when?”
Since this afternoon—but I don’t say that.
The truth is, I wasn’t ready to face the Fantastic Four. I knew they weren’t boys, no matter how much people insisted on calling them that. I’d seen photos, damn it.
I also knew they’d be at the party and I was excited to go despite that—but I didn’t expect to have to interact with them. I thought I’d observe them from afar, the way I did for most of my life.
