Dark Hearts (Light in the Dark 3)

I laugh. “Have to make Daddy Dearest look good. It’d be unfit if his kid didn’t know how to dance or properly hold a fork.” I snort.

Nova’s fingers tighten around my shoulder. “I’m sorry things were bad for you. I know you haven’t told me much, but I understand.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” I admit. “At least, when my mom was alive.”

“I wish I could’ve met her,” she breathes, her brown eyes wide and doe like.

I sigh. “I do too. She would’ve loved you.”

My mom would’ve welcomed Nova into her life with open arms. She would’ve been the daughter she never had. It makes me sad to think about what could’ve been if she hadn’t died, but she’s gone, and I can’t change that.

I twirl Nova around the dance floor and we grow quiet, lost in our thoughts.

The ballroom is decorated in blacks and whites with large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The floor is shiny black and white marble and it’s so clean that I can see my reflection in it when I look down.

“Confession—I dream in black and white.”

I look down at Nova at her words. The irony of them, when I was just thinking about the black and white room, isn’t lost on me.

“Color is overrated,” I whisper in her ear.

She shivers and her body moves closer to mine.

I breathe in the scent of her shampoo—lavender and something else that’s entirely Nova.

“Your turn,” she says, as I spin her around.

I think for a moment. “Confession,” I begin, “I used to think happy endings were overrated.”

“And now?”

“I’m looking at mine.”

Her cheeks warm at my words and she pillows her face on my chest, over my heart.

This girl has singlehandedly turned my whole world upside down. It’ll never be the same again, and neither will I, but it’s all for the better.

We dance to another song before everyone’s called to the tables to eat.

I groan as I find our place at my father’s table.

I wish I could avoid him all evening, but it’s an impossibility.

Thankfully, he’s tied up beside some politician buddies of his so Nova and I end up a few seats away from him.

When we’re seated, Nova’s nervousness returns. She seems jumpy and almost like she’s looking for someone. It makes no sense.

Our meal is served, and with my father across the table it makes it difficult to talk to her about it, but I know something is going on.

The meal seems to drag on forever, and by the time we’re finally served dessert I’m ready to make a dash for the door.

My dad tries to drag me into the conversation any chance he gets, because apparently looking like a family man makes him more desirable or something. I don’t fucking know.

“This is my son, Jacen,” my father introduces me.

“Nice to meet you,” the man holds his hand out to me. He’s tall with black hair, speckled with gray at the roots. “I’m Harry Mitchell.”

“No,” Nova gasps beside me.