KNIVES AND HEARTSTRINGS

CHAPTER 13: ANDRONIKOS

Letting Adira leave after that kiss was probably the dumbest but wisest decision I’ve ever made. She was right, we shouldn’t have been kissing, but we did anyway. I was this close to losing myself in her. Literally. Her lips, her taste, the way her breath hitched when I sucked on her tongue, maddened me.

Fuck.

I knew having her close to me would be dangerous, but I didn’t account for how addicting her presence would become. It’s now something I can’t control and to be honest, I don’t think I want to control it. She invades my thoughts, my dreams and it’s a problem, one I can’t afford, not with everything on the line. The stakes are too f*****g high for distractions and that’s exactly what Adira is—a distraction.

Feeling the need to clear my head, I leave the kitchen, the lingering warmth of her kiss still burning against my skin. It didn’t make sense to stay there, not with the memory of that moment eating at me. I needed to feel something else, something to drown the fire that Adira had lit inside me.

As I stepped into the flower garden—the one Baba had planted for Selene—I was greeted by the familiar riot of colors that had become its trademark. Peonies, Selene’s favorite, stood proudly amidst the towering sunflowers, while delicate hydrangeas and roses of every conceivable shade, littered the garden, making it any florist’s dream come true.

During the day, the garden is a kaleidoscope of beauty set against a backdrop of lush greenery. Bees hum tirelessly from bloom to bloom, the air thick with the heady scent of fresh flowers. Yet at night, an unease seemed to settle here. Like the garden was waiting for something, or someone. Waiting for her.

I always feel like I’m trespassing in a place that’s both sacred and cursed anytime I walk these winding paths. A place that remembers her, even when I desperately want to forget. Selene loved this garden. Day after day, she poured her soul into every flower bed, every trellis, every meticulous pruned hedge. This was her baby, her escape. But now, every petal and leaf seemed like a hollow echo of the life that once thrived here. The garden, a poignant relic of her absence, no longer radiated the brilliance it once did. No one can cater to it like she did.

The vibrant colors blur in my mind, tainted by the memory of her pale face and cold unmoving hands. At times, if I listen well enough, especially when the wind rustles through the leaves of the surrounding tress, I think I hear her voice, faint and haunting, like a whisper carried on the breeze. Contrary to the popular saying that grief dulls with time, my grief hasn’t had time to heal. Here in this place, time stands still. The peonies bloom, they die, and they bloom again, a continuous cycle that feels mocking in its constancy. And I? I wander these paths, taking the steps she once took, making myself relive her death.

I know Mama avoids this place, hates it even. It’s because this garden is a reminder of what she lost—the daughter she couldn’t say goodbye to and the husband who couldn’t handle living without his little girl. On the other hand, this place, in a twisted way, comforts me. It’s the only place I can be close to my baby sister. And even if it hurts badly, I won’t stop picking at the scab over my heart for just a feel of her—of what I’ll never have again.

As I gazed at the peonies, illuminated by the soft moonlight, memories of that night assaulted me. No matter how hard I try to bury it; to forget, it always claws its way to the surface when I’m weakest.

I still remember it like it was yesterday. A perfect evening. One filled a sunset that painted the sky in shades of orange, pink, and red, all splayed out across the horizon like a perfect brushstroke. Selene, ever the lover of nature, insisted we go down to the lake. I recall thinking it was a good idea at the time, just us, sitting side by side at the bank, watching the day melt into night. The lake below, as still as glass, mirrored the sky and for a fleeting moment, everything was right in the world.

But that moment shattered when Selene—only 9— decided to go for a swim. I didn’t think much of it as my sister was a good swimmer, but I should have trusted my instinct. All it took was me turning my back for a second and everything I thought couldn’t go wrong, went wrong. I heard the splashing too late and by the time I looked up, she was gone. Beneath the surface. I tried to get to her but I wasn’t fast enough. She was gone before I could even get close.

I remember how cold the lake was that evening, the numbness setting in as I dove after her and all I could think of was: “Not in this darkness.” But I was too late. It seemed the deceptively calm lake hid something unexpectedly dangerous—a loose net. Probably left behind by one of the cleaners, I found it tangled around her small legs. I never saw it, not until I was pulling her lifeless body from the water. Several failed CPRs later and I couldn’t save her. I knew she was long gone before I started the procedure, but I tried regardless. What saddened me more was that something so mundane, so careless as a damn net, drowned her. And I—I—couldn’t protect her.

I was 22 at that time, old enough to know the risks, old enough to be her unfailing protector and yet, I failed her. I failed my baby sister and I can’t escape it. It haunts me daily. From recurring nightmares to random flashes in my mind, she haunts me. I see her, her lifeless corpse afloat on the lake, her voice, her cheerful laugh turned screams, calling out to me, but I’m never able to reach her. And my inability to save her—one Baba never forgave me for— is a guilt I don’t think I’ll ever shake off.

That’s why I’ll never let anything happen to Adira, no matter how much of an enemy she or her family is to mine. Oh, I’m still going to exact my revenge upon them but I’ll do it while protecting her. I have to. Because, just like Selene, she’s mine now. And I don’t like scratches on my toys.

******************************************

Adira stormed into the living room, her footsteps echoing against the floor as she spotted the mountain of bags arranged in the living room. Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What are all these bags for?” she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

Oops. Guess I forgot to tell her. My bad.

“We’re going back to America this evening,” I said, as nonchalantly as if I’d told her the weather forecast. “Go pack your bags and whatever you’ll need and say goodbye to your cousin. Remember, we have work to do.”

Her expression didn’t change for a moment. Then, it hit her.

“Work? Work?!” Her voice went up an octave, and I could practically see the steam rising from her ears. Oh, here we go. This was going to be good.

“Are you aware, you f*****g idiotic, egoistic, buffoon, that I’m currently on vacation right now? That I’m meant to be taking a much-needed break from the stress that is my parents and Abara Inc.?! That, oh, I don’t know, maybe your stupid ass has managed, beyond all doubt, to royally screw up my meticulously laid-out plans? Huh?”

Theé mou, that fire. She was incandescent, practically glowing with fury. I knew I should feel bad, maybe even grovel a little, but instead, I found myself mesmerized. Her hair framed her face, curls tumbling every which way like a lioness ready to pounce. Her yellow summer dress clung to her in all the right places, accentuating curves that could’ve made a saint lose his way. And those eyes—honey brown pools now blazing like molten amber.

Don’t look at her lips, don’t look at her lips you dumbass.

My eyes dropped anyway. Big mistake. Images of last night crashed into my mind with the force of a tsunami. I wonder if she was quiet or a screamer.

“Are you even listening to me?!” she screamed, snapping me out of my entirely inappropriate daydream.

Yup, definitely a screamer.

“Of course I am, Flogítsa mou.” I replied with a teasing smirk on my face. She bristled at the nickname, which only made my grin widen.

“Ai sto diálo, i dikí mou zoí!” she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was trying to physically restrain herself from strangling me. (f**k my life.)

“You could’ve at least given me notice,” she continued, her voice rising again. “I need to inform my parents! I wasn’t supposed to be back home until next week, you fucktard.”

“Then hurry up and tell them,” I replied, lazily flicking my wrist like I was shooing away a fly.

“Ugh…You are so f*****g annoying,” she snapped, throwing her hands up before turning on her heel to storm back upstairs.

“My pleasure, darling,” I called after her, chuckling as her retreating form gave me a very emphatic middle finger.

This was why I loved winding her up. The drama, the fire, the theatrics—she was entertainment gold. And if we were going to be stuck on a transatlantic flight together, followed by who knew how many days of work, I was going to enjoy every single second.

As she disappeared up the stairs, I leaned back on the couch, a self-satisfied grin spreading across my face. This trip was going to be very, very interesting.