oraya stood still for a moment, letting the enormity of the house sink in. The guest suite was larger than her entire apartment in Brooklyn. The balcony doors were thrown open, letting in a breeze scented with pine and rosemary. From where she stood, the redwoods stretched endlessly, their rust-colored trunks glowing under the afternoon sun. It was serene. Too serene. Almost like it belonged in a storybook.
Zara flopped onto the plush chaise lounge with a sigh. "Can you believe this place?"
Soraya raised an eyebrow. "Honestly? No. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up on the plane."
Zara laughed and tossed a pillow at her. "Shut up. You always say that when you're overwhelmed."
Soraya sank onto the bed, kicking off her shoes. "Well, this is a lot to take in. You're really living the princess life now."
Zara stretched out, resting her head against her arm. "It still doesn't feel real sometimes. Like… I keep waiting for it all to disappear."
That tugged at something in Soraya's chest. She knew that feeling. That instinct to brace for loss. A reflex burned into them both after years of uncertainty, of people walking away, of homes never really feeling like home.
"It's real," Soraya said softly. "You made it real."
Zara sat up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You think so?"
"I know so."
There was a long pause, filled only with the rustling of wind through the trees.
"Come on," Zara said suddenly, jumping up. "I want to show you the rest of the house. Erik had it renovated last year. There's this insane library. You'll love it."
As they walked through the halls, Zara pointed out little touches she had added—a portrait here, a velvet reading chair there. The house, for all its size, did carry echoes of Zara's warmth. She'd softened the edges of what might've been a cold, impressive fortress. There were pictures of her and Erik, her and Soraya from college, a dried bouquet pressed into a frame from the first time Erik brought her wildflowers.
"This is your forever place," Soraya murmured, running her fingers along a carved banister.
Zara nodded. "That's what I'm hoping for."
They ended their tour in the kitchen, where the chef was already prepping appetizers for the welcome dinner. Zara handed Soraya a glass of rosé and clinked hers against it.
"To best friends," Zara said.
"To brave beginnings," Soraya added.
They sipped in silence, watching the redwoods sway beyond the kitchen windows.
Soraya didn't want to dampen the mood, but a small voice in the back of her mind whispered, Can love really live in a world this perfect? There was something about the perfection that made her nervous. And it wasn't just the grandeur—it was what came with it. Influence. Power. Expectations.
"You okay?" Zara asked, eyes sharp despite her smile.
"Yeah," Soraya said quickly. "Just tired. And maybe a little overwhelmed."
"You'll feel better after the welcome dinner," Zara said. "Everyone's excited to meet you."
"Everyone?" Soraya teased. "You mean everyone in this... glittering palace?"
Zara rolled her eyes. "Not everyone is glittering. Just... polished."
Soraya raised a brow. "Ah. Polished. Can't wait."
They both laughed, but neither missed the slight edge in Soraya's voice. And deep down, Zara wondered if she'd made a mistake pairing Soraya with the kind of people who wore polished smiles and carried silver knives behind their backs.