Like he was still memorizing the fact that I was sitting there, alive, eighteen, sunburned on my nose, eating birthday cake with a plastic fork because Amber insisted cake tasted better that way.
At first, everyone was loud.
Then slowly, the night softened.
Dinner plates disappeared. The staff moved like shadows. Amber curled into one of the lounge chairs with her feet tucked under her. Regan poured herself a glass of something pale and cold. Edge leaned back, one arm stretched along the chair beside him, his face unreadable in the low light. Tarak’s cigar remained unlit.
The quiet made me nervous.
Quiet usually meant someone was about to say something that mattered.
I was right.
Tarak stood first.
My stomach dipped.
He didn’t make a speech. Tarak didn’t seem like the speech type. He crossed the patio and stopped in front of me, then pulled a small box from his pocket.
It was expertly wrapped.
Dark blue paper. Silver ribbon. Perfect corners.
The kind of wrapping that made me suspect Regan had helped or Tarak had hidden a shocking secret talent from the world.
“Open it,” he said.
I looked from the box to his face. “Right now?”
“No, next winter.”
Amber snorted.
I took the box carefully.
It felt heavier than it looked.
My fingers shook as I slid the ribbon free and peeled back the paper, trying not to tear it because something about the way he watched me made the whole thing feel sacred. Beneath the paper was a small velvet jewelry box.
My throat tightened before I even opened it.
“Tarak,” I whispered.
“Open it,” he repeated, quieter this time.
So I did.
Inside were diamond studs.
Real ones.
Not huge in a flashy way. Not the kind of earrings that screamed for attention. They were simple. Beautiful. Clear stones set in white gold, catching the patio lights with a sharp little fire that made my breath catch.
I stared at them.
“They were hers,” Tarak said.
The words moved through me slowly.
