I lower my gaze to the message glowing on my phone screen, unable to keep the smile off my face.
Nero / prince:
Good morning,Little Fae.
P.S.: This does not replace the call I promised.
I read the words again and again, just to be sure they’re really there. I conclude this must be some kind of very elaborate, very realistic dream. I’m almost certain of it. But please—don’t wake me up.
That kiss.
If you didn’t have the decency to wake me up before it happened—before everything inside me surged toward Nero’s mouth, craving more and more and more—then please don’t be cruel enough to wake me now. Let me dream a little longer. Just a little longer.
I type a reply.
Nina:
Good morning to you too, Nero.
P.S.: Good to know.
Not even the sound of the front door slamming is enough to wipe the smile from my face—but I regret not hiding it the instant my mother walks through the archway separating the entry hall from the living room. Her expression isn’t good, and it makes mine wither.
“What happened?” I ask.
She presses her lips together, clearly choosing her words—but after almost a full minute, she gives up on speaking and simply raises her hand. Only then do I notice she’s holding a newspaper.
My mother crosses the room in just a few steps and hands it to me. I frown, confused, but take it anyway.
The moment I open it, my eyes widen at the image revealed: Nero and me, in the association’s garden, last night. Someone photographed us, and my heart starts racing as I stare at the frozen moment.
We’re looking at each other. Smiling.
The framing makes it look as though the starry sky exists for no reason other than to surround us.
It’s a beautiful photo. A truly beautiful one.
My eyes remain fixed on it until my mother’s words force my attention away.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Nina.”
I lift my head, eyebrows already raised. My mother has always been my biggest cheerleader, no matter what I chose to do with my life—so these words are completely unexpected.
“Excuse me?” I ask, making it clear I didn’t understand.
“I didn’t say anything last night at the party, because what’s done is done. But one night, and you’re already on the front page, and people are already talking,” she tells me.
I wrinkle my nose, remembering exactly what made Nero take me to the garden in the first place.
“Khione has the highest concentration of gossips per square meter in the world, Mom. People will talk no matter what.”
I take two steps back and sit on the couch.
“Yes—but this won’t affect Nero the way it affects you.” My mother lets out a long sigh before joining me on the couch. “God knows how much I adore that boy. Not just him—every child who passed through my hands. But Nero, Apollo, Atlas, and Drako are special. I celebrate every achievement of theirs, ever since an achievement meant nothing more than managing to spend a single weekend away from the locked third-floor bathroom at the orphanage. That doesn’t mean I think any of them are right for you, my daughter.”
I blink, processing her words—replaying them in my mind, trying to give them any meaning other than the outrageous one I heard. No matter how many times I turn them over, the meaning doesn’t change.
“None of them are right for me?” I repeat, needing confirmation. “You don’t think I’m good enough for any of them. Is that it?”
