I snicker, shaking my head and sobering as his grin softens. “Thank you for being here tonight. It’s a nice change of pace to see you outside a life-or-death situation.”
“Didn’t have a choice, really.”
“Ah.” My gaze briefly flits to Circe, who’s also watching us. “Were you dragged here by the balls?”
He shrugs, lashes downturned. “Something like that.”
“We’ve been through hell and back, haven’t we? Could you look at me while I’m talking to you?”
His eyes anchor to mine, their gunmetal depths unreadable as I take his hand and hold it between my palms.
“A year ago, I wouldn’t have ever guessed I’d be friends with you. But I also never would’ve guessed the thousand other things that have happened since then.” I swallow thickly, suddenly battling an onslaught of emotion. “Thank you for helping them save me and my parents, Nik.”
His lashes grow wet. The tears are gone in a blink, but it’s enough to make my nose sting. “What are friends for?”
I squeeze his hand. “Let’s catch up soon,hai?”
“Da.I’d like that.”
I turn to join Brontë, but he’s occupied with Jezebel.
Who should be back at the manor.
With my parents.
“Ota ome,darling.”
Mama hugs me before I can register she’s there, pecking me on each cheek. She’s as lustrous as stardust in her white lace kimono. Her smile is more dazzling than I remember ever seeing.
I squint.Why the hell is she in such a good mood?
Better question:Why is she here?
I don’t remember the last time I celebrated a birthday with my parents.
Papa steps out from behind her. I’m convinced my heart is going to explode the moment his wintry gaze freezes me to the spot. “Poppy.”
“Papa.”
“A word?” He gestures to the kitchen, where Kahula is belting out a Halsey song playing over the speakers. “In private.”
I lead the way, casting a final glance over my shoulder. Mama spares me a nod as she lingers by Brontë, chatting low. The motion seems to say:Now is your chance.
My purse grows heavier than gravity.
I shoo Kahula from the kitchen and pivot toward Papa. “Um, what’s up?”
By the fucking stars.Did my voice justsqueak?
“Your mother suggested there was something you wished to speak about but weren’t entirely comfortable sharing at home.”
So much forwhen you’re ready…
Dread spears my guts and sweat pebbles my brow as fear twists my insides into noxious knots.
I’m still not ready.
“Poppy.” His tone is brisk. “Speak.”