I turn my head at an angle to blink at him. “Wait, all this jewelry belongs to Damianos? This isn’t stuff we’re planning to buy?”
The rep laughs as if I’ve told a delightful joke. “Of course not. Mr. Drákon has the most extensive collection of jewelry in all the world as far as I know. Some of the pieces in his vault date all the way back to the Minoan Bronze age, but don’t worry every item has been catalogued. You’ll never have trouble finding an appropriate piece to match any outfit again.
“Okay, well, damn then,” I say to Henri, before making arrangements to try both pairs of earrings on. I’ve got to admit the little girl in me that used to wear Disney princess dresses until I got too big to fit into any of the ones they sold in stores is jumping up and down.
I still don’t know what this special day is all about, but it’s clear I’m going to look like straight-up royalty. Better than a princess, actually.
A queen. I’m going to look like a queen.
There’s only one problem.
Chapter Sixteen
After a day filled with wardrobe decisions, I go to find Damianos and my son.
At least, I try to find them. After almost 30 minutes of searching, I realize there’s a good chance I might never locate them on my own in this big-ass castle.
“Where are you guys?” I push into the ether, hoping Damianos is close enough to hear me.
“In the garden,” a voice answers, direct and to the point.
I follow my instinct to the back of the house, but dude, Damianos calling the situation going on in his backyard a garden is some kind of understatement. In fact, yard? Ha! More like back hectare.
The place has got levels that extend at least halfway down the other side of the island. There are a ton of grottoes. And, like, six different waterfalls too, because I guess all the fountains shooting huge spigots of water just weren’t majestic enough? There’s also, a huge sitting statue that may or may not be Damianos himself. And don’t even get me started on all the flowers. It’s a technicolor dream from the back of the house all the way down to what appears to be a stone receding wall at least twelve feet tall. No wonder Thalia couldn’t just bike on up in here.
So garden? No. Serious competition for that Nebuchadnezzar guy’s hanging gardens of legend? Getting closer.
But the seventh wonder of a garden isn’t what has me blinking, unable to believe my eyes when I reach the collection of reflecting pools on the garden’s second level.
Damianos is standing at the edge of the largest pool with his shirt off. I’ve never seen him topless under direct sun before. His skin is pale with a blue undertint, and his muscles are so big, they cast shadows. He looks, in a word…breathtaking. But that’s still not what stopped me in my tracks.
Bazzi…our son…he’s also shirtless and standing on stubby little legs with his little baby arms flexed, his wings nowhere to be found. There’s a look of utter concentration on his face that would almost seem comical if it wasn’t so very, very weird.
Shocked face emojis spew out of my eyes. “Our newborn can stand fully on his own now?” I ask Damianos. “I know I say this a lot, but, what the Fenrir Wolf?”
Bazzi visibly startles when I speak, and his wings pop out with an audible zwick! Apparently his highly impressive balance was also highly precarious. He teeters and falls as soon as the wings come back out.
“Bazzi!” I call out, rushing forward.
But no need to go to him. He pops right back up from the ground and comes flying toward me.
“You all right?” I ask with a little laugh when he lands in my arms.
Bazzi coos and pats my cheek with a chubby little baby hand, as if to say, “Oh, silly mommy, of course, I’m alright.”
Love…so much love. It feels like it’s flowing out of me.
But I missed one of the most important milestones of what’s apparently going to be a super short childhood.
“Poor timing,” Damianos says beyond Bazzi’s shoulder. But as it turns out, he’s not referring to the fact that I found them after he taught our son how to stand on his own.
“I have been working with him all day and only jusssst now had he managed to retract his wingssss,” Damianos complains.
I narrow my eyes at the sound of his voice. It’s taken on a distinctive hiss. “Did you take off your tongue cap?”
“Yesssss. Our native language issss incredibly hard to sssspeak with a tongue cap.”
“So you’re teaching him a long dead language along with how to put away his wings?”
I realize my mistake as soon as the light in his golden eyes dims.