Of all the guests Belle expected at dinner tonight, Nikolai was not on the list.
Yet, when the Rivera family finally arrived, there he was—trailing quietly in their shadow, his hands gently guiding Fortunata's wheelchair. The elderly matriarch was leaning back, completely rapt, hanging on his every word as he murmured a story about himself and Ceres, living out different lives in different times.
To the rest of the Riveras, it was nothing more than a charming fairytale. They smiled indulgently, assuming Nikolai was simply weaving clever, harmless fictions to keep an old woman entertained.
Only Nikolai knew the crushing weight of those words. They weren't fabrications; they were the agonizing truth of a history he was forced to carry alone—and Fortunata, in her quiet, fading world, was the only soul he trusted to hear them.
