“Are you telling me you’re in love with Nero?” she asks—and I widen my eyes as I realise I’ve just backed myself into a corner.
Oh. Shit.
CHAPTER 33
NERO ZANTHOS
Stepping out of the walk-in closet, I extend my arm, staring at the hanger in my hand, unsure whether I want to take this shirt to the apartment or not. I decide I do, because an extra shirtwon’t hurt—and that makes me laugh. I think Nina’s inability to choose between options is rubbing off on me.
Nina still hasn’t managed to decide which of the décor projects the architect sent us she likes best, which means I still don’t have furniture. I’ve been keeping a few clothes on a rack, because ever since we christened my bed weeks ago, we’ve been sleeping in it almost every night.
It’s only when my indecisiveLittle Faecan’t spend the night with me that I come back to my parents’ house.
The sound of my bedroom door opening makes me glance over my shoulder, and I find my mother walking toward me after entering without knocking. That never used to bother me, but lately it’s left a constant impression of intrusion.
Lysandra looks at the hanger in my hand, then her eyes go straight to the already closed bag on the bed, next to the garment case where I intend to put the shirt I’m holding. The expression twisting her face is enough for me to know where this conversation is headed—again—before she even opens her mouth.
“Maybe we should put up a sign in front of the house.” She raises her hands in front of her body and then opens them, one to each side. Dressed in black trousers and a black blouse, Lysandra looks like an orchestra conductor. And, well, given her absolute mastery of being dramatic, maybe she really is. “Hotel Zanthos. Or should it be Hostel Zanthos?” she says with irony. I make a conscious effort not to roll my eyes.
“Hi, Mom,” I greet, finishing my walk to the bed and placing the hanger inside the case.
“You’re never home anymore, Nero. You spend more time out than in. Maybe it’d be better if you just moved out already.”
“If that’s what you want, just say the word. I can arrange it tomorrow,” I answer curtly, feeling very little patience for the scheduled display of distress this afternoon.
Ever since I started sleeping out, I’ve heard this same refrain every time my mother runs into me at home. Lysandra never had an issue with it before, but since she realised Nina is the only constant in my absence, she’s decided that tormenting me over it is her life’s mission.
My mother gasps audibly at my response. I don’t need to look at her to know her hand has flown to her chest, as if my words had somehow physically wounded her.
“I’m just worried about you,” she laments, her voice trembling. “You’ve always been such an exemplary son, but lately, Nero… lately you don’t even care about me or your father anymore. It’s not fair that you treat us this way because of that little gold-digger.”
My teeth clench to the point of pain—and then beyond—without me having any control over it.
The gratuitous insult toward Nina enrages me on a visceral level, and I decide we crossed this line a long time ago. I turn to Lysandra, making sure she can see how serious I am when I speak my next words.
“It’s long past time you learned to respect Nina, Mom. I’ve put up with a lot of your condescending behaviour toward her, but that ends now. I won’t tolerate this anymore.”
“Tolerate?” she asks, offended, her face contorting into fake tears meant to soften me. “Is that how you talk to me now? You tolerate me?”
“When you choose to speak or act in ways you know I don’t agree with, I can’t think of a better word. Things are changing, and you need to deal with that.”
Tears roll down her cheeks, and she doesn’t make any move to wipe them away.
At another time, I would have comforted her. I would have dropped whatever argument we were having or whatever position I was defending just to keep her from suffering—even if it was an act.
I’ve always known my mother used her tears as a form of manipulation, but my gratitude toward her was so immense that I never had a feeling big enough to rival it. No matter what I wanted or believed, my love for Lysandra and my gratitude for everything she and my father gave me were always greater.
Every step I took in my life—ever since I understood adoption could be something good—was guided by that feeling. From the clothes I adopted as my style to the degree I chose in university, everything I did or didn’t do was an attempt to repay, however small, everything this family did for me.
I believed nothing could ever change that. But now I realise that’s no longer an absolute truth. I still love my parents just as much as before, but there is finally something beyond them and beyond the need to compensate them that makes my heart beat. Something I need to fight for, even if it costs my mother a few of her crocodile tears.
“What changed?” she asks, still crying.
“I did, Mom. I changed because nothing and no one has ever made me feel the way Nina does. She’s in my life to stay, and since you are too, it would be great if you made an effort so we can maintain a healthy relationship. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to make some adjustments I’m sure you’ll find inconvenient.”
“What kind of adjustments?” she asks, her tone shifting from tearful to alarmed in a split second. I look at my mother, studying her.
“I meant it when I said Nina is in my life to stay. It’s up to you whether you’re part of what I intend to build with her—or not.”
