Turning my head, I orient myself by habit toward the other side of the bed. For a week straight, there was someone there. The faint scent of his cologne and roses. But Idris remains absent.
My hand reaches across the sheet despite seeing he’s not there. My fingers touch the cool linen. I imagine him there, smiling and stealing a kiss. I want him here, if only so I could ask him what heput in my pills.
I tell myself he’ll return at the right time. Then I can ask him then. Whenever that may be. I surmise handling the aftermath of my failed experiment takes more than a few days. But not for the first time, I wish I was there with him, helping him deal with the situation.
Taking a shaky breath in, I know he asked me to stay here, to accept the Song-Smiths’ help, and to trust him. I’ve done so for a long time. There’s no use in stopping now.
I reach for my glasses and sit up. When I check the time on Stan’s phone, surprise catches in my chest. I knew it was quite late, but it’s much later than I ever allow myself. Though, there was no alarm or any expectation waiting to pull me upright.
Kaye’s voice surfaces in my mind, replacing the last fragments of my nightmare. She told me to simplyexist.
I sit with that idea while dressing, moving slowly and allowing myself the unfamiliar luxury of unhurried motion. Although, my limbs hold fatigue, and my stomach carries some nausea. Taking Kys would help. But my mind wanders to the question only Idris can answer.Is it placebo?
But he’s not here. Not yet.
Since there’s no use dwelling, I redirect my attention and step into the hallway. With no immediate demands waiting for me, my day finds its structure through meals instead.
I’m late for breakfast, but there are still plenty of warm plates on the table. Toast thick enough to tear by hand. Eggs still steaming. Roasted vegetables seasoned well.
Soon enough, I’m wrapping my fingers around a mug of sugary ginger tea, letting the heat sink into my palms. Stan shares the drink with me.
Conversation drifts around the table. Kaye speaks with animated conviction. Elle listens, smiling. Sterling remains close to her side.Nil appears briefly before Stan drags him off to show him how he’d like to decorate the rooftop. As they leave, Nil offers me a smile and takes some toast with him.
Throughout the morning, I listen more than I speak. It feels natural to do so around them.
In the afternoon, lunch carries more energy. Voices overlap. Laughter fills the space. I remain content to observe. The experiment comes to my mind only briefly, framed through logistics, containment, and control. I remind myself that the Adels and Damon are managing it.
Elle’s birthday becomes the focus as the day progresses. Decorations, food, and guest lists are debated. Kaye argues for spectacle. Sterling counters with restraint. Elle mediates with ease. I watch the exchange with quiet interest, noting how disagreement exists comfortably alongside affection here.
By evening, I’ve grown accustomed to the mansion and its residents. In contrast, the ship feels more like a distant past, removed from the forefront of my mind. But my heart holds a heavier response.
Dinner, unexpectedly, brings a sense of ease. The table fills again. Roasted meat, rich and tender, appears beside steamed vegetables Stan calls bland. I objectively agree. Despite this consensus, the room holds warm company and vibrant conversation.
Nil notices my glass reaching half-empty and refills it. When I hesitate over a platter, he serves me more of the meat I’ve been enjoying. As I look down at my plate and prepare a forkful, I find myself smiling at his thoughtfulness.
Stan speaks from beside me, pride evident in his voice. “I’ve been busy fixing up the rooftop terrace,” he announces.
Kaye sounds suspicious. “Why? Elle’s birthday isnext week, in thegarden.”
Stan huffs, still sounding proud. “Oh, I know.”
I glance up while I chew, watching the two interact. Kaye looks as though she wants to say more, but her phone buzzes in rapid succession, rather persistent that she has to excuse herself. “Dae wants to webcam,” she says briskly. “Don’t ask.”
Elle and Sterling rise soon after, fingers entwined as they leave together. Sterling murmurs something to her that draws a quiet giggle from her lips.
Stan makes a dramatic gagging sound, shoving a finger into his mouth in an exaggerated retch. Nil lets out a reluctant chuckle, brief and restrained.
“Marriage,” Stan mutters fondly. “Am I right?”
He disappears into the kitchen. Nil takes the opportunity to look me over, and I meet his blue eyes to do the same. My eyes take in the features of his face, how his brows subtly furrow, looking focused. Every small detail about him files swiftly in my mind. He appears to be faring well, considering I stopped providing him with his doses. But eventually, the remnants in his system may wear off, so I decide from now on to keep a closer eye on him.
Before any more can pass between us, Stan reemerges carrying an entire tray of what appears to be tiramisu. The dessert is chilled, condensation forming along the glass, cocoa dust dark against pale cream.
Nil frowns at the dish, his disapproval immediate.
“I know what you’re thinking, babe,” Stan says. “But I asked for no liquor, only decaf coffee, and bastardized eggs.”
Nil narrows his eyes. “You meanpasteurized.”
