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Zachary
Onthefirstdayof the holidays, my parents send out their formal invitation to Theodora’s house.
They don’t question me about it—which is surprising—but it’s clear they are more than a little intrigued about meeting the mysterious girl who’s been stopping me from being top of all my classes throughout my entire academic career.
On the third day of the holidays, Iakov comes to stay. When he turns up at the door, dressed all in black with snowflakes sparkling on the black spikes of his buzz cut and melting on the shoulders of his leather jacket, I stare at him like he’s a ghost.
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “Your thorny sister.”
“Zaroinvited you?” I stand aside, and he walks in with his black duffel bag. “I thought she hated you.”
“She does.”
“Ah, Iakov!” A voice exclaims from behind me. I turn to see Zaro come down the stairs, looking radiant in an excessively flouncy dress and beaming at Iakov as if he’s her oldest, closest friend. “Did you remember my macarons?”
With a grunt of acquiescence, Iakov pulls out a pink and gold Ladurée box from the pocket of his leather jacket. Zaro takes it with a wince.
“Really? You thought of no better way to carry it than your pocket?”
He shrugs. “Rode the bike here.”
“I hate that thing,” she replies. “I would’ve sent the limo out if you needed.”
“I’m good.”
“Since when are you two friends?” I interrupt them.
“We’re not,” Iakov says immediately.
“We’re not friends,” Zaro says at almost the same time. “But my actual friends and I are doing New Year in Paris, so we need him to come along.”
“To Paris? For New Year? Why do you need him? I thought you wanted me to—” I pull a face and gesture. “Call off my dog.” I nod at Iakov. “Sorry, Kav.”
“No, yes, I did ask that, of course.” Zaro doesn’t exhibit so much as an ounce of shame as she shrugs and opens her box of macaroons. “But it turns out your dog made my friends feel safer when we go out clubbing, so we decided to keep him around.”
“He’s not an actual dog, Zaro.” I stare at her in complete disbelief. “And he’s not your bloody bodyguard either. He was just looking out for you as a favour to me.”
“And now he’s looking out for my friends as a favour to me—he doesn’t mind, do you, Fido?” With the giggle of a mischievous tyrant, Zaro reaches on the tip of her toes to pat his head.
Iakov’s expression the entire time is completely blank as if he couldn’t care less regardless of the situation. When she pats his head, he lets her, and when he does, he does remind me of a dog. A black Doberman Pinscher, muscular and intimidating and almost regal.
The kind of dog that might guard the gates of hell—or rude aristocratic brats, in this case.
Later,Ispeaktoboth of them separately. Since we are both too old for me to climb onto her balcony, I catch Zaro in the pavilion, where it’s her habit to hide while she smokes.
The pavilion is hidden from view from the rest of the house by the semi-circle of oaks and willows which surround our lake, and it has a small firepit in the middle to keep her warm.
“You can’t speak to Iakov that way,” I tell Zaro as soon as she looks up at me.
She rolls her eyes and exhales. I wince, avoiding the poisonous wreath of smoke to stand with one shoulder against a pillar.
“He doesn’t mind,” she says with a careless wave of her hand. “It’s not like he gets offended.”
“That doesn’t matter, Zaro. He’s still a human being, and he deserves to be treated with the same respect and courtesy we should treat everyone with—not just the people we deem worthy of our respect.”
“You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is.”
