Azalea Faye Larau - The sweetheart socialite with a fire underneath and an up and coming ballet dancer in London striving to stay afloat in an ocean of sharks, all the while dealing with heartbreak and loss.
Harlan Emeric Marchetti - The Italian Maf...
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- A Z A L E A - F A Y E - L A R A U -
Celine's voice drifted over me like a soft lullaby as she recounted stories that were at once familiar and foreign.
I listened, trying to piece together the fragments of a history I never truly knew. She spoke of my mother with laughter in her eyes as she described how she would dance barefoot in the gardens during summer evenings when she was younger, since they were good friends.
There was a wistfulness in Celine's expression and I couldn't help but wonder if those memories were tinged with sadness.
"Your mother was always the brave one," Celine said, her gaze turning to the window where the moon cast a silvery glow across the garden, "She had this way of making everyone feel safe, even when we were the ones who were supposed to protect her."
"I wish she could be here." I whispered softly when Celine reached for my hand and squeezed it, her touch warm and grounding.
"What matters is that you're here now. We've lost so much, Azalea, but not everything, and that's why you and Jamie are so important to us." The way she said it made my heart flutter with an odd mix of pride and anxiety.
Important.
The word felt heavy, like a crown placed on a head too unsure to wear it. A knock at the door broke the moment, and we both turned to see Alain peeking in.
"Pardon me, Madame Celine," He said, nodding deferentially, "Monsieur Raphael wishes to speak with you and Mademoiselle Azalea."
Celine's expression shifted subtly, a flicker of apprehension shadowing her eyes before she smoothed it away.
"Come, dear. It's time we face the next part of this night." She stood, offering me a reassuring smile.
We left the room, the hallways feeling even grander under the soft glow of wall sconces. As we walked, I caught sight of paintings, some of which bore faces that seemed familiar now—features mirrored in Jamie, Raphael and even more faintly, myself.
This was a place steeped in legacy and I was only beginning to realize just how deep those roots ran.
Raphael stood in the hallway, his posture rigid and arms crossed over his chest and dressed in the same clothes from tonight. He turned as we walked towards him, his eyes landing on me with an unreadable expression.
Jamie was there too, pacing anxiously to a side, his hair tousled as if he'd run his hands through it a thousand times as Raphael wordlessly gestured for us to follow him.
Jamie's eyes darted between Raphael and Celine before landing on me when I shrugged and we both followed them. I felt the tension coil around us and even though I was tired, every nerve in my body was alert.
