The feelings churning in my chest aren’t exactly welcome, but I don’t know how to avoid them as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, admiring the long dress with its structured bodice and flowing tulle skirt.
The terracotta color warms my skin, makes my hair—pulled into a medium bun that leaves only my bangs framing my face—look even darker, and my eyes even bluer.
Until yesterday, I thought the dress was perfect. Now, I find myself insecure about it. But I know it’s not really about the dress—and it’s insecurity in general that I don’t like.
I exhale slowly until all the air has left my lungs, then draw it back in just as slowly.
It’s going to be fine, Nina. You just need to go to the party, accept the reality that kindness isn’t interest, and let this Christmas madness pass.
Maybe my mother is right and I really do need a friend.
I turn away from the mirror and take a good look around the room. I wrinkle my nose.
I need to redecorate.
The teenage style—with posters plastered all over the walls, pink furniture, and stuffed animals on the shelves—definitely doesn’t suit me anymore. After Christmas.
After Christmas, I’ll deal with it. Especially because the unopened suitcases by the door tell me I need to do much more than get rid of my teenage bedroom—I need to start unpacking, for one thing.
I square my shoulders and bend my neck, preparing to leave the room as if a war awaits me on the other side.
The thought alone is enough to make me laugh at myself.
Don’t be silly, Nina. Nothing big is going to happen tonight.
CHAPTER 6
NERO ZANTHOS
I adjust the cuffs of my shirt beneath the tuxedo jacket as the driver pulls up in front of the house with white walls and white steps. The entryway is dark, as are the windows and the small antechamber by the door, which makes me frown before opening the door beside me and stepping out of the car.
I climb the steps toward the door knocker. The crease between my brows deepens the closer I get, and the impression that the house is empty starts to feel more and more like a certainty. What the hell?
I raise my hand and lift the knocker, striking it against the wood. For a second, I hesitate—but since I’ve come all this way, I decide to see it through. I knock three times. No response reaches my ears, even after nearly five minutes of waiting.
I turn, surveying the deserted street below and all the surrounding houses, just as dark as the one behind me. Everyone is at the association—or on their way there, of course.I’m on my way there myself. I just hadn’t expected to do it alone. I let out a quiet laugh at myself.
Inviting Nina was an impulse. Seeing the last remaining piece of the few good moments I had in my childhood, after so many years, sparked a sudden urge to prolong the moment.
I couldn’t keep the woman standing at the association door forever, so declaring that she was my guest simply leapt from my mouth. I regretted it afterward, of course—especially after her reaction to our goodbye.
Nina practically fled, and the last thing I wanted was to intimidate her. I remember thinking her eyes were huge when we were children.
What I wasn’t able to see back then was that they’re also incredibly expressive. Or maybe they weren’t. It doesn’t matter. They are now. And the torrent of emotion that crossed them during our brief encounter was nothing short of intriguing.
***
I step out of the car again, and now the scene before me is nothing like what greeted me the first time tonight. Lights are everywhere, illuminating the association building exactly as Christmas demands, and I smile, satisfied.
I slip a hand into my pocket and let my eyes roam over the decorated pine trees scattered along the sidewalk and the fairy lights glowing against the building’s windows. A feeling that rarely visits me tightens in my chest.
I don’t usually let myself remember what this place used to be. When I demolished the orphanage, I took the opportunity to bury most of the memories it stirred. And yet, on Christmas nights, they always insist on visiting—no matter how unwilling I am to host them.
I shake my head, pulling my thoughts back to the present—where there are three idiots who need to explain why they haven’t replied to my messages.
I enter the association, and the shift in posture among the people still in the lobby is immediate.
No island residents are working tonight. All service staff come from outside so the locals can attend the party as guests. They’re the ones who look at me as if I were some kind of deity—and that’s just one more thing I’ve learned to stop fighting, even though it makes no sense to me.
