I raise my brows and widen my eyes for a second as he reminds me of the impossible-to-understand invitation.
“You really need to work on your communication skills. That invitation was awful,” I tease, now that the tension of seeing him again has completely drained from my body—replaced, quite literally, by the pleasure of his company.
He lets out a low chuckle and lifts a hand to scratch his beard.
“I’ll remember that next time. I promise.”
I tilt my head, carefully analyzing his words, unwilling to give my already-calmed heart anything to race over unnecessarily—but before I can say anything, a woman wearing a pencil skirt and tailored jacket instead of a long dress approaches us.
“Excuse me,” she says—becoming the first person all night to address both of us. I acknowledge her with a nod.
“Yes, Daphne,” Nero replies, recognizing her.
“We have a situation, Mr. Nero Zanthos,” Daphne says, glancing at me as if unsure whether she should continue in front of me. “Your parents are—”
Nero lifts a hand, stopping her before she can finish.
“Where are they?”
“Near the fountain.”
A long sigh leaves my date’s lips as all the good humor on his face is replaced by a much more severe expression—one that suits far better the Greek heir the media loves to talk about.
It’s a good thing we’ve already agreed that I’m not a good person, because in some strange way, I like this. I like imagining that some part of this man is reserved only for me—even though deep down I know that’s nothing more than my imagination.
After all, in every way that matters, we’ve just met.
He turns to me and dips his head.
“Would you mind waiting here? I won’t be long. I’ll take care of this and come back to you.”
“Of course not. It’s fine,” I assure him.
He nods, though his face doesn’t look entirely convinced. Nero takes a step forward, then stops and looks back at me. I nod again, telling him without words that it’s all right. He mirrors the gesture before finally walking away.
I sigh and blink several times, feeling a little incredulous about how this night is unfolding.
As the minutes pass, I let my mind replay every moment since I came down the stairs at home. This definitely isn’t the night I expected to have—but I’m certainly not complaining.
Alone in the hall, the whispers around me seem to grow louder, almost directed at me. I take another small sip from my glass and let my eyes scan the room, searching for my mother. I’ve only seen her a few times since we arrived separately. The party is enormous—and packed.
I don’t find who I’m looking for. Instead, I stumble upon what feels like a million sideways glances aimed at me.
The discomfort spreads over my body like a second skin, and I turn my back, positioning myself behind the pillar next to the cocktail table where Nero and I had stopped.
I lower my head, telling myself I only need a minute to deal with this feeling. Just a minute.
Khione is a gossiping island. I know that. I can’t even exempt myself from that guilt—after all, less than thirty minutes ago I was happily gossiping with Nero myself.
Still, I was stupid enough not to consider that accepting his invitation would turn me into the next target of the ever-hungry rumor mill.
I don’t want to consider it yet. I want to believe the weight settling in my stomach is nothing more than paranoia.
But as if the universe needs to prove me wrong, I hear it.
“Just imagine! With so many interesting women in Khione, and he chooses to parade around with the grocer’s daughter?”
An old female voice says it without bothering to lower its volume. After all, what are the chances someone hears something they shouldn’t amid the cacophony of sounds in the hall?
