It was a beautiful festival. Hundreds of lanterns gracefully ascending into the night sky like fairies dancing among the stars. It was unlike anything Olivia Nevrakis had seen. Typically she would feign disdain while secretly enjoying the magical sight. At the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to do either of those things. Her mind was still back in the family vault, fixated on the fact that her parents had essentially sold her to the highest bidder while she was busy playing tea party with her dolls. Realizing she had been nothing but a commodity to two people who should have valued her the most was a tough pill to swallow. Knowing that her ‘supposed’ husband was behind the attacks that had shook their small country to its core made her physically ill. His actions had killed Constantine and almost killed not only Olivia but Riley as well.
Though the night air was still warm, a shiver rippled through Olivia. She rubbed her arms, wondering if anyone would notice if she sneaked back to her room. If she explained things to Riley, she knew the other woman would understand. Not ‘the other woman’, she reminded herself, but her friend. Riley was right. They had been through too much together to not call themselves friends. And that made what Justin, or Anton or whatever the hell his name was, had done that much worse. There was also the matter of her aunt’s role. Olivia had spent her whole life trying to make the Nevrakis name, the Nevrakis legacy, something to be proud of, only to have Lucretia swoop in and destroy it all. What Olivia didn’t understand is what Lucretia had hoped to gain out of it all. It wasn’t as though Olivia sought her council or felt a familial connection with her mother’s younger sister. They were strangers, she and Lucretia. So what had the older woman hoped to gain? Certainly not the love and affection of her only living relative.
“Olivia?”
Reluctantly, Olivia glanced up to see who had interrupted her thoughts. Maxwell stood there with an unusual taint of concern in his perpetually cheerful blue eyes. “Maxwell,” she murmured.
He hesitated for a moment before sitting next to her. “You know, if you ever need to talk, I’m a great listener. Despite what my brother and the rest of the court think, I do know when to be serious.”
Olivia lowered her head. Had her life really come to this? Had she really become so pitied that even life of the party Maxwell was offering to channel his serious side? “I am perfectly fine, Maxwell. No need to be so dramatic.”
A myriad of emotions flickered across his face. “When my mom died, I said I was fine,” he said slowly, “but I wasn’t. I felt like I was dying inside. I hated the way people looked at me, like I was some circus monkey on display. It got to a point where I said fuck it. If they wanted one of those little monkeys that danced around clapping its hands, that is what I would give them. People seemed more comfortable with me after that.” He shot her a look, his bright blue eyes meeting hers. “I guess what I am trying to say is, it can be exhausting trying to be okay for other people and you ever need to not be okay…I won’t judge you or look at you like you’re a circus monkey.”
Swallowing around the lump that had formed in her throat, Olivia rapidly blinked her eyes. The last person she would have expected to approach her and offer empathy was Maxwell. Yet there he was, sitting by her side, telling her that he understood, that he didn’t expect her to pretend to be alright if she wasn’t.