Page 107 of Inside the Sun

It's suffocating. I'm trapped, really, really trapped. And there’s not even a sliver of a way out.

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By 4:30 pm, I’m ready. I put on the chiton Anzo’s servant brought me, let my hair fall loose, and place the golden laurel wreath on my head. I glance at myself in the mirror. I actually look good.

A bunch of shady men who hang out with Anzo will run their eyes over my body while filthy thoughts crawl through their minds. Just the thought of it makes me shudder.

A few minutes later, the same servant returns. I follow him without a word. He leads me to Summer’s room, and right on cue, the door opens. Summer steps out, dressed almost identically to me: another Greek-style chiton, just a smaller version.

His caramel-gold hair is down too, and unlike mine, which stops around mid-back, his spills all the way down to his waist in thick, silky waves. He’s also wearing a gold laurel crown and delicate gold sandals on his small feet.

His mismatched eyes flick over me, but he doesn’t say anything. He just lowers his gaze.

In silence, we both head outside toward the garden.

This day has no intention of ending anytime soon.

RAGNAR

For Anzo’s party, the head butler, Roberto, asked me to move some of the decorative planters along the lawn edges to make it easier for guests to walk around, and to shut off the sprinklers.

Naturally, I wasn’t invited to the event itself, but I came up with an idea of how I might get into the inner part of the grounds with something that I thought sounded believable.

Technically, the party’s outside my regular work hours. I usually start my day at 8 or 9 am and finish around 4 or 5 pm.

At 3 pm, I head over to Roberto and say, "I’ve got a few big planters with blooming oleander in the outer garden. Might be nice to bring a few over and place them near the stage, it’d add a bit of exotic charm to the whole setup."

I can see he likes the idea. He hesitates, but then nods, looking pleased.

"Fine. Go ahead and take care of it. Just make sure you’re done before 5 pm, that’s when the first guests arrive."

"Of course," I say with an innocent smile.

I take one of the small electric carts we use to haul dirt and stones around the estate and load the first planter onto it. I don’t rush. I move each one at a calm pace, unloading them just as lazily.

One by one, the planters circle the stage. It actually looks pretty decent—not that I give a shit. I’m not here to pour my heart into making mafia banquets look nice.

I time it so I can haul the last planter around 4:45, so at 4:30, I’m still delivering the second-to-last one.

As I’m placing it beside the stage, I notice the glass doors leading from the western part of the estate slide open. Three figures step out; one short servant and two people in Greek chitons.

I’m crouching low, mostly hidden behind the stage, which gives me a perfect vantage point to watch them without being seen.

The taller one is Sun.

And the smaller figure next to him… my heart lurches hard in my chest…

That’s my little brother, Summer!

So he’s alive!

Fuck, he’s alive!

A wave of relief crashes over me, so strong I drop from a crouch to my knees, gripping the edge of the planter. He’shere. There’s still hope I can get him out.

My guilty conscience I’ve developed over failing this mission for so long eases a bit as I stare at him, careful to keep myself hidden behind the oleander leaves.

Summer’s delicate face is sad, downcast. He and Sun—who, I should mention, looks just as grim but very sexy—head toward a small sofa placed across from the stage. It’s isolated from the rest of the setup. Interesting that they have such a lonely spot, like they’re really not a part of the other guests’ space.

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