Eva’s point of view
I take one step after him, then stop. The laughter and music spilling from the ballroom pulls at me, but not as hard as the weight in my chest.
No more running.
“Elias,” I call softly.
He halts, turning, confused. “What?”
I gesture to the fountain. “Sit with me. Just for a second.”
He hesitates, glancing toward the door, like he’s worried someone might catch him doing something as scandalous as talking to his sister. But after a second, he mutters, “Fine,” and flops down beside me again with a dramatic sigh.
“What now? Want to talk about your feelings more? Maybe braid each other’s hair?”
I ignore him. My palms feel sweaty. Me. Nervous. That’s new.
I clear my throat. “I’ve been thinking… about first steps. About being honest.”
He raises an eyebrow. “With who?”
“You.”
The word hangs in the air, heavier than it should be.
I glance at him, feeling stupidly awkward, like I’m about to confess I stole his bike or broke his favorite toy. “You know how i disa
