“For things this definitive.”
“I didn’t realize we were limiting ourselves to temporary things.”
“That’s not it… It’s just—” She looks back at me. “Forget it,” she asks, resting her forehead against my chest. I pull her even closer and kiss her hair.
“If this is about your dreams—about you worrying this island might become too small for them—nothing stops us from buyinga bed somewhere else,Little Fae. Or a couch. Or a nightstand.” Nina lifts her face from my chest and tilts her head to look at me.
“A nightstand?” she asks.
“Yes. A nightstand.”
“Why a nightstand?” I narrow my eyes, a small smile already forming.
“Do you have something against nightstands,Little Fae?” Nina laughs and shakes her head.
“No, Nero. I have nothing against nightstands.”
***
My phone screen remains as empty of Nina’s notifications as it’s been all day while I drive through Khione’s streets. No replies to my messages, no calls, no returned calls from the ones she didn’t answer. She hasn’t even seen the messages I sent.
This can’t be about the apartment—at least not yet. A mix of frustration and irritation at my own helplessness floods my veins, sparked by a problem I can’t even identify.
It’s a split-second decision. I take the turn toward Nina’s house instead of heading home, even though it’s already past nine at night.
It’s her day off, and Nina told me she’d be busy—but what could she possibly be doing that makes replying to a message impossible? I can’t imagine anything.
The worry in my chest is unfounded, I know that. If something had happened, the news would’ve reached me at lightning speed. Khione’s gossip spirit wouldn’t allow anything else. Still, I can’t force myself to turn around and go home.
I just need to see her, make sure she’s okay, and leave.
I reach her house in ten minutes. Through the windows, I see the lights on. I turn off the engine but don’t get out. I know it’s a pointless hesitation. Whether I knock or not, tomorrow Nina will know I was here—because once again, Khione’s gossip never fails.
Before I can open my door and head for the steps of the tall, white-walled house, my eyes catch—just a few meters away—the silhouette of a body I can recognize at any distance by now, walking slowly toward me.
That should be enough. I said seeing Nina would be enough.
But not only does it make no sense to drive off, the closer she gets—distracted—the more intrigued I am about her disappearance today, and how the fact that she’s out at this hour connects to it.
She said she’d be busy. Why didn’t she mention she’d be going out? Nina is carrying a backpack. Was she out all day?
The questions pile up, and coupled with the fact that I’m sitting in my car, parked at her door without plans, I feel like an obsessive stalker—but I can’t stop them.
Nina only notices me when she reaches her door. She startles, momentarily frightened by my car.
“Nero,” she says, startled.
“Hi,Little Fae,” I greet, opening the car door and walking toward her.
“I wasn’t expecting to find you here.” Even under the streetlights, I can see the apprehension on her face, which only multiplies the unanswered questions in my head. I don’t voice them. I extend my hand toward her.
She looks at my palm, hesitant, then turns her head side to side, as if checking for witnesses—and I remember. Discretion, right.
I let my hand fall back to my side, irritation boiling in my stomach at not being able to touch her.
I’m not irritated with Nina—I’m irritated with the situation. With the lack of information, with the doubts, with the unfamiliar ache gnawing at me.
She seems to sense that I need something and steps closer—still leaving a good foot of space between us. Her hand cups my cheek and Nina brushes our lips together softly.
