Chapter Twenty-Nine
At first, I cry uncontrollably.
Nero gently strokes my back and rocks me with every wail, sob, and sniffle—which makes me feel a fraction of a percent better.
When my voice goes, the sobs turn into hoarse gasps, and I squeeze Nero’s shirt with my last remaining strength.
He massages my shoulders and whispers reassuring nothings into my ear.
I don’t know how long we stand there like that, but when I eventually pull away, there’s a large wet spot on his chest.
Oblivious to it, Nero strides to the chair nearest me, pulls it away from the table, and gestures for me to sit with all the grace of a maître d' at a fancy restaurant.
I plop my butt down and wipe my face with my sleeve.
As if in one of my illusions, a glass of water appears in Nero’s hand. He places it in
