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Pirate Lover
Zachary
Thenextfewdaysare long and full of exhausting social events.
First, there’s the Christmas Eve party, where all the guests wear couture and dance awkwardly to Christmas music, and everyone drinks too much champagne.
There’s always a tipping point at some point in the evening, usually a little after midnight, where the mood shifts from jovial to feral, a sudden edge hanging in the air like an invisible guillotine.
This is usually the moment I make a discreet exit, and this year is no exception.
Catching Theodora’s waist with one arm and Zaro’s shoulders with the other, I usher us out of the ballroom. Theodora has a little flush in her cheeks but seems mostly sober; she goes with me without protest. Zaro’s eyes are glassy, and she complains the whole way.
“The Duke of Bridehall was inviting me to spend a weekend on his yacht,” she whines at me as I drag her down the corridor. “I didn’t even have the time to say yes.”
“You’re not spendinganyweekend on Bridehall’s yacht,” I say, not missing the little frown Theodora gives Zaro.
“Isn’t the Duke of Bridehall in his fifties?” Theodora asks.
“Yeah.” Zaro giggles. “Hot, right?”
Theodora laughs, sounding more surprised than amused. “I wouldn’t say hot, no.”
“Nor would I.” I glare at Zaro. “I would even go as far as to say that’s repulsive.”
“It’s a little sinister,” Theodora says with more kindness. “Zahara, you’re young, smart, extraordinarily beautiful. Don’t you know how much better you can do?”
“If I could do better,” Zaro mumbles, “don’t you think I would already have?”
I frown at her. “You’re sixteen, Zaro—what’s the rush? You’ve all the time in the world.”
She sighs and slumps against me with her head on my shoulder, almost knocking me into Theodora. “But I’m lonelynow.”
Theodora and I exchange a look, neither of us knowing what to say.
It never occurred to me that Zaro might be lonely. Social media tells me she has a small army of friends she spends her time with—even in Spearcrest, despite having been there for only a term. And Zaro’s never struggled to make friends.
Not that friendships are a guaranteed shield against loneliness.
We walk Zaro to her bedroom, and I watch from the doorway as Theodora helps her into bed. Taking off her heels, opening her blankets for her, even wiping the make-up off her face before letting her head rest on the pillows.
Once Zaro is tucked into bed, Theodora kisses her cheek and straightens herself, but before she can walk away, Zaro grabs her wrist.
“Don’t go,” she mumbles. “Stay. Read me a story.”
Theodora looks at me, eyes wide in a silent plea for help as Zaro pulls her down, and I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter.
Theodora narrows her eyes and then says to Zaro, “Don’t worry, we’ll stay.Zachis going to read us both a story.”
She gives me a look like slapping a glove in my face. Since Theodora has never offered me a challenge I’ve not declined or embraced, I push off the doorway where I’ve been leaning and close the door behind me. Zaro’s got a small set of bookshelves near her desk, so I take a quick look at her books, pushing aside the delicate garlands of her string of hearts plants.
“My god, Zaro.” I wince at her books, searching for a single title that doesn’t sound outrageous. “You have the literary palate of a horny spinster.”
“Stop judging people for what they read,” Theodora interjects immediately from where she’s settled herself at the foot of Zaro’s bed.
Her head is propped on one of Zaro’s decorative cushions, the strands of hair escaping from her elegant updo glittering like pale gold in the soft lights of Zaro’s pink lamps. Her legs are draped over Zaro’s legs. Her silver heels lie abandoned on the floor by the bed; her toenails are painted the same dusty blue shade as her fingernails.
It’s a rare occurrence to see Theodora so off her guard and relaxed, and I can’t find it within myself to be annoyed with her.
