Page 242 of Eternal
“My mom tried to kill me,” Zanae says. “I thought she was dead. She left when I was a baby, and when I saw her again last year, she said I was the biggest regret of her life.Sometimes... I wonder what it feels like to grow up with a loving one.”
She sets her cup down gently, not looking at me, giving me the choice to answer or not.
For a second, my throat locks, everything inside me wants to shut down, push away, pretend I’m fine.
But instead, I quietly say, “I don’t remember my mom smiling.”
Zanae just nods, not surprised nor judging. “That’s okay,” she says. “You can smile for her now.”
We sat there for a while longer, watching the little girl picking flowers, and the sun creeped across the floor. After a while, she stands, brushing her hands off on her jeans.
“Come on, Voron,” she says, tossing me a quick smile, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
I get up too, slower. I glanced at her properly this time. Her amber eyes catch the light, warm, bright without even trying. Inflamed with so much life.
They suit her.
I hope she knows it.
I clear my throat, shrugging my jacket back on. “Call meAzra,” I say.
She just nods, like she knew that already. “I will.”
69
AZRA
“Lover You Should Come Over” by Jeff Buckley
Present
Zanae left me in the penthouse. She thanked me for today, like I wasn’t the one who should be grateful. Like she didn’t just show me how to be a person for a few hours, then came the texts.
From the pakhan, and from the Don.
Elijah
Thank you, Voron. See you tonight at the gala.
Nikolai
Hope you got yourself an outfit. I’ve got some people I want you to meet.
Not stressful at all.
I took a shower, let the water wash the day off my skin, and slipped into the emerald dress Zanae picked. She said it was perfect, so I believed her.
I poured a glass of wine, because that’s what people do when they’re getting ready, right?
But it made me think of another time. When I had to look pretty to be destroyed. When I needed more than wine to survive the night.
Vodka maybe, whiskey, if we’re being honest, or both, music hums through the penthouse, Jeff Buckley’s voice dripping through the speakers like honey over an open wound.
Too young to hold on… and too old to just break free and run…
I hum along, my hands work on autopilot, doing my makeup like a mask I’ve worn a thousand times, liner, mascara, and a little blush to fake softness.
And then I see her.
