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My mother is glowing, and it’s likely due to the tranquil asshat next to her.
“What are you kids doing here?”
Aha. Though there’s only a trace of antagonism in Zeus’s murmur, I’ll celebrate it. Aggravation loves company, even if it’s in the form of my father’s elegant smirk and matching attire. The guy’s tie is an exact duplicate of Mom’s shoes, while his ivory three-piece suit coordinates with her clutch purse.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I declare past clenched teeth.
“We’re…ermmm…just grabbing a quick drink,” Mom blurts with a breezy laugh. At least I think that’s what she’s going for. All of her syllables wobble as if Kara and I have come up on her and Z in their underwear.
In his dreams.
Only, by the way Mom ropes her hand around his elbow and hangs on like glue on a kid’s valentine, maybe her dreams too.
I barely stifle another growl. Maybe it’s time to refocus on the girlish gleam in my mother’s wide stare. Even the little smile teasing the corners of her mouth.
“In the mall?” I finally manage an awkward laugh. “Come on. It’s a valid point, right?” I usually bow to Jesse about all things high-end and boozy, but even I can look around and see nothing but a couple of casual coffee places and a gourmet boba stand.
“Actually, it’s nonsense,” Z states evenly. “We just stopped here, trying to decide between the winery or the whisky tasting room.”
“Which both sound amazing.”
As Mom gushes it, Z cants his head toward her. He smiles, looking past the point of smitten, before fingering one of her curls and tucking it behind her ear.
“Whatever strikes your fancy,agapi mou.”
This time, my larynx doesn’t stay cool about suppressing my snarl. It’s not a complete eruption, but enough to ensure my father snaps his head around and up. This time he’s more Geralt of Rivia than Gandhi on a good day, with his flashing eyes and a curled lip. And once again, I withhold from the mental confetti and fireworks. But barely. It shouldn’t feel so good to be making him forget his tender words for Mom, but it does. Maybe he’ll look deep enough to see it in my answering glower.
“We need to have a few words, son.” He jogs his head toward an alcove near a wall-sized abstract painting. “In private.”
“Great plan. After you.” While I sweep out one hand, I squeeze Kara’s with the other. “Be right back,” I husk, pressing a pair of reassuring kisses into her furrowed brow.
On the way toward my father’s side, I silently vow not to be the direct cause of her furrows after this. At least for the next nine months—or however long this is all going to take.
Also during my walk, I gaze up at a huge modern painting consuming the wall—and make yet another inward promise. This one’s for me alone. My brain isn’t going to keep emulating this furious explosion of paint across a house-sized canvas. I won’t keep doing this to myself, or to Kara. We both deserve bet—
The affirmation is severed between one stride and the next.
I’m no longer making resonant bootsteps on pristine white flooring. My feet are sinking into moss-covered ground that stretches between columns at the exact same placement as the support pillars for the mall. But they’re not gleaming acrylic poles with LED lighting. They’re formed of Grecian stone, similar to the look of Labyrinth’s architecture.
Though this definitely isn’t Labyrinth.
The beach club vibes are replaced by the most verdant forest I can imagine. Where Honey Bacchus’s realm was an elegant establishment that sprawled sideways, this is a multi-layered tower that pushes upward, similar to the mall’s architecture. The plants and trees encircling the bottom floor, where Z and I stand, are a shade of dark juniper.
Six floors up, the hues graduate to something more like a Palm Springs golf course. Along the way, there are hanging flowers in shades of pink, orange, and purple that seem to glow from the inside out. The same color theme is present in all the dining tables, each set for two. Every table occupies an intimate bower of its own. A few are positioned around an interior lagoon fed by a waterfall that’s twice my height.
The place is, in a word, breathtaking.
Though, right now, I’m not losing a molecule of oxygen over it.
Because I also notice that every private bower has a curtain across its backside. And I’m ready to bet that those curtains aren’t a polite way of hiding the servers’ stations.
At once, I round off to confront Daddy Dearest. “Is this your prelude to getting me tanked again, Pops? Because I promise not even the good stuff behindthisbar will make me forget what moves you’re pulling with Mom.”
Z glides a hand down his tie. “Fairly certain even you wouldn’t be able to handle the ambrosia in this place, my boy.”
“Which iswhatplace, exactly?”
He casually sweeps his hand. “Welcome to Oread.”
