For the first time in years, he was doing exactly ashewanted. Tonight wasn’t about his father or some grab for power. It was about proving himself to Elara.
The girl he…
He couldn’t think that far ahead. Not yet.
She clung harder to his hand as the sky opened up. Held it still as the rain sluiced down the streets, pouring from the gutters into the now-raging Joyaux. It would help settle the fires, drive everyone inside where they’d be safe from the police.
According to his father, nothing like tonight was ever supposed to have happened again. And yet every moment from the interview to now had been a cataclysmic nightmare. Except Elara. Except the things he’d said to her. Declaring his feelings came with an unimaginable rush that made him feel as if they could take the entire city on by themselves.Except Nik wanted to lock her away from the dangers just as much as he wanted to follow her into battle.
Chantal was right. He had to prove he was different, or he’d lose her.
They turned down a forgotten alley near The Market, and he stopped before a vacant building, crumbling with the weight of another summer gone by.
“Why did you bring me here?” Her voice tremored.
He held up the recipe book. “This is the place your mother wanted to buy, right? The place you planned to fix up.”
“It’s a wasted dream now.” She crossed her arms as if to shield herself. “They’ll never make me Souverain after this. And I doubt they’ll even let me become a Directeur.”
She’d gathered too much power. Become a symbol.
Everything he’d warned her against from the beginning.
“Let me show you something.”
He shouldered the rickety front door open, the broken bell above clunking. Inside was muggy, and it smelled of soaked wood. The plumbing didn’t work and the electricity was shot, but it was dry on the first floor and secluded enough they wouldn’t be found.
“I’ve never been inside before,” she whispered. “It’s a wreck.”
“But the foundation is solid.” Nik shoved the door back into place.
He nodded for her to follow. The floorboards creaked, and somewhere a leak plinked against metal. Despite his best attempt at cleaning up, the floor was covered in dust, and cobwebs stubbornly clung to the beams overhead. He’d anticipated having more time to get it ready, but tonight had shown him tomorrows were never guaranteed.
“Here.”
He removed a rolled-up parchment from the counter where he’dstashed it last. Using the recipe book and a stray piece of wood, he pinned it flat for her to see all he’d tried to make real. For her.
Elara pressed her fingertips to the paper, drawing them back as if it might burn her. Nik studied her face, watched her eyes overflow with questions she directed right at him. He motioned back to the paper for her to keep looking, to trust in what he had done.
She devoured the blueprints, tracing the outline of load-bearing walls and arced windows. She might not understand the more technical work he’d done, but he hoped she recognized all the dreams she and her mother had poured into this place.
“This is Café Divin,” she said, voice a whisper. “The patio seating mother wanted, and the bar for late-night drinks and pastries. Even a meeting room for lectures. But the rest…”
“I took some liberties,” he explained. “The walls are in pretty bad shape, but that gives you opportunity to expand the seating in the dining area. If you halve the size of the kitchen, you can afford an extendable pantry.”
He removed the top sheet to reveal the second story, a loft above the café turned into a home with a bedroom and bathroom. “Modest,” he said, “but I think I can add a balcony or even a sunroom on the western side.”
The third sheet was of the roof with a full garden. “For the freshest produce, maybe a community garden.”
Elara breathed a fragile sound, caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
“I don’t want to change you,” Nik said quietly. “Not anymore. I made a promise to you in the beginning, and I intend to keep it. You’re going to win. You’re going to help Anespérer, and I want to be by your side when you do.”
Elara looked up at him with such painful doubt. “You can’t promise that.”
He couldn’t. But he could he try to be the man she deserved to help her.
He added another, rumpled paper to the plans. The chemical equation.
