Chapter 17 – Unspoken Words
Athena's POV
The music pulsed softly behind her, but Athena barely heard it.
Damon's simple "Happy birthday" still echoed in her ears, calm and measured, yet laced with something she couldn't name.
For a moment they stood surrounded by guests and soft laughter, the glow of the lights painting everything gold. Then he spoke quietly.
"May I have a word? Just outside."
She hesitated, fingers tightening on her glass. Every part of her wanted to stay where she was, but curiosity—and something else—pushed her forward.
She nodded once.
The late afternoon sun, already softening towards gold, cast long shadows across the manicured rose garden. Damon stood by the ancient sundial, feigning interest in the Latin inscription, but his peripheral vision tracked Athena's approach. Eight months. Eight long months since he'd seen her, not since that awkward, definitive conversation.
When she finally stopped a few feet from him, bathed in the warm light, a visceral jolt went through him. She wasn't just 'good.' She was breathtaking. The simple, elegant dress she wore, a deep sapphire that somehow intensified the blue of her eyes, clung in all the right places without being overt. Her hair, which he remembered as a cascade of dark waves, was now pulled up in a sophisticated knot, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face. He noted the subtle shimmer on her collarbones, the way her head was held. Higher than he remembered.
"You wanted to speak with me, Damon?" Her voice was steady, perfectly modulated, lacking the slight tremor he half-expected, half-dreaded. There was no warmth, but no outright hostility either – just a cool, practiced politeness that felt like a slap.
He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from the curve of her neck, the way the light caught the delicate slope of her shoulder. "Yes, Athena. Thank you for coming out." He gestured vaguely at the expanse of the garden, though he hadn't seen a single rose since she arrived. "I just... I remembered it was your birthday. Happy birthday."
A small, almost imperceptible tilt of her chin. "Thank you. Though I confess, I doubt that's why you asked me to leave my own party."
Her confidence was a new cloak, perfectly tailored. She wasn't avoiding his gaze; she met it, unflinching, her expression unreadable. He remembered a girl who, while strong-willed, had always softened around him, her eyes reflecting more of her inner world. This Athena was polished, self-possessed, and utterly captivating in a way that made a strange, dull ache bloom in his chest. Rejection. The word flashed, unwelcome, unbidden. No, not rejection. Regret? He immediately pushed it down. It was just surprise, that's all. She looked... different.
"No," he admitted, "not entirely. I just... wanted to see how you were doing."
She actually offered a faint, sardonic smile. "I'm doing exceptionally well, as you can see. Happy, thriving, celebrating. Now, if that's all, my guests are waiting." She didn't wait for a response. Turning on her heel, her sapphire dress swaying with a subtle elegance, she walked away.
Damon watched her go, the scent of roses suddenly heavy in the air, mocking him. He followed the straight line of her back until she disappeared around a clipped hedge. The ache in his chest sharpened, a familiar, unwelcome phantom limb sensation. Nonsense, he told himself, running a hand through his hair. She just surprised me, that's all. And she was always a little dramatic.