Past the railing and cliff, I can count more lights dotting the shoreline—other villas, hotels, residences, parties. Other older brothers and unrequited crushes. Isola Bella and its thin isthmus are little more than a dark, vague outline. No one is there at night. At least, no one who might require illumination. If it weren’t for the occasional rustling of the foliage, I would barely be able to make it out.

I sit on one of the many benches, Tiny curled at my feet. Perform undying gratitude for Kaede whenever she brings me her scavenged gifts—little rocks, leaves, dry sticks. In the distance, a boat cuts through the starlit water, leaving a hum in its path.

“So pretty,” I praise. Lucrezia is distributing lewdly rich slices of chocolate cake at the table, and I make a mental note to leave more room for dessert in the future. “I swear,” I tell Minami when I hear her coming to check on me, “I’m not letting your firstborn eat dirt. Well, maybe a bit of dirt, but what’s an immune system for, if not—”

I turn. Meet a pair of dark eyes, and my heart stumbles.

Chapter 9

“Are you lost?” I ask.

It comes out acerbic and angry, but for once I don’t mind letting my temper slip.

“Good night for stargazing,” Conor says as he joins me on the bench. He doesn’t sound like the guy who essentially told me to fuck off two hours ago, not as he distractedly ruffles Tiny’s mop, head tipped up and eyes fixed above. The strong muscles of his neck meet the sharp curve of his jaw. “Which one is Antares, again?”

I point at it, and he nods. His throat moves as he swallows. I feel…suspended. Unmoored. The stars are one end of the universe, the waves kissing the shore, the other. And then the two of us, floating somewhere in the middle.

“Is it still your favorite?” he asks quietly.

I let my head fall back, too. There are no clouds covering the smattering of stars, no smog rising like a blackout curtain. It’s breathtakingly easy to tease apart the constellations, in this southern sky. “Still makes my end-of-year wrap-up, yeah.”

“I can see why. Looks just like you said.” His lips twitch. “Glad I managed to get a good look before its inevitable implosion.”

Conor knows how much the stars mean to me, because I told him. I explained to him that Dad taught me. That we’d go camping with his telescope, and he’d teach me how to draw the shapes in the sky. That even after Dad was gone, the stars and the telescope were still there.

I told Conor, and he listened, like he always did, saying very little, the slow rhythm of his breathing anchoring me through the phone. It always sounded the same, whether there were thousands of miles of ocean between us, or just a handful of Austin streets. Conor would listen, and sigh, and never gave me the platitudes everyone else dished out so easily—not your fault, you couldn’t have prevented it, only twelve, just lost your mother, not your responsibility.