Claiming His Luna

Cercei’s POV

“How has your day been?” Mamà inquired, gently placing her bag on the couch and pouring herself a glass of wine. She had just got off work.

“Fine,” I replied quickly, avoiding her gaze.

“You don’t have to work, you know. You can stay here and relax, watch some TV,” she suggested, studying me closely. We had been living here for two months now. Mamà had found a job at a local coffee shop, while my Aunt worked at a casino. My Aunt usually came home very late, whereas Mamà would return at 8 in the evening.

“I don’t enjoy being idle; besides, I don’t even understand the TV. I don’t speak Greek,” I gestured toward the small television set in our apartment. I, too, had found a job as a dishwasher at a small restaurant down the street. Initially, I intended to apply as a waitress, but being unable to speak or understand the local language caused a challenge. Being a dishwasher, however, required minimal conversation. I simply excelled at cleaning, a skill I had honed throughout my life.

“Is there something you wish to share with me, Cercei?” My mother approached me, and I met her gaze without saying a word.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’ve seemed truly down since we arrived here,” she remarked, her eyes filled with worry. I noticed that she had aged a bit, with wrinkles etched on her face and bags under her eyes, likely due to the stress of running away from her obsessive boss.

“Am I expected to be happy?” I retorted with a hint of sarcasm. There wasn’t a single thing happening at the moment that warranted a smile. I was weary of being so powerless, constantly on the run from people who would stop at nothing to ruin my life. Feeling insignificant and helpless, mere pawns in the hands of monsters.

“You know what I mean,” she sighed. She was right-I had been feeling incredibly low ever since we arrived here. Every day, every minute, I couldn’t help but think of him. He invaded my thoughts even as I scrubbed plates. His corrupting presence permeated every fiber of my being, making it difficult for me to function.

“There’s no reason to be happy,” I stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh, mon cherì,” she tenderly patted my head. Tears welled up in my eyes as I heard the nickname Papà used to call me. It had been a long, long time since I had heard those words. I embraced her tightly, seeking comfort in her warmth.

I had thought that I had exhausted all my tears from incessant weeping, but it seemed that the pain only intensified. Crying didn’t offer any relief; it only deepened my pain. Papà used to tell me that shedding tears would make everything better, but it didn’t. Each day blurred into the next, a monotonous cycle of waking up, working, and sleeping. There were moments when paranoia crept in, a nagging fear that Monsieur’s henchmen were lurking nearby, ready to seize us.

Despite growing up in a challenging environment, I had always clung to optimism. Yet, in this current state, I couldn’t understand the purpose of waking up at all.

“I miss Papà,” I confessed through my tears, and Mamà’s eyes welled up in response.

“Me too, me too,” she whispered, her voice trembling, as she continued to stroke my hair while I rested my head on her chest.

“I just wish he were here,” I continued, my voice choking with emotion. If he were here, everything would be different. I wouldn’t be engulfed by this overwhelming sadness. Papà always had a way of bringing smiles back to our faces.

Mamà remained silent, tears streaming down her face silently, as she often did.

After our little crying session, Mamà cooked dinner, and we shared a meal together. Aunt Melanie couldn’t join us tonight as the casino was a busy evening, especially during the weekend.

After dinner, I retreated to my room and freshened up. Standing on the tiny balcony, I gazed at the twinkling city lights. Greece was undeniably beautiful, almost ethereal. Its culture, people, and architecture held a mesmerising charm. This place would have easily become my favourite if it weren’t for Dinan.

The next morning arrived, and I found myself falling into the familiar routine. Breakfast, followed by heading off to work.

Loneliness enveloped me; I longed for the presence of a friend. I missed Maria, I missed Claire. As much as I yearned to make new acquaintances, communication proved to be a barrier. Mamà and Aunt Melanie had attempted to teach me Greek, but it wasn’t the easiest language to grasp. I knew a smattering of basics, enough to pass certain situations or extricate myself from trouble.

“Viasteíte, katharíste kai aftó [Hurry up, clean this as well],” one of the girls who worked there, Anastasia, snapped at me as she dumped a mountain of dirty dishes on the counter. Her words were incomprehensible to me, but her demeanour made it clear that she wasn’t the friendliest person. Rolling her eyes, she walked away, leaving me with the towering stack of plates.

I let out a weary sigh, gazing at the precarious heights of the dishes, taller than me. I had been trying so hard not to break any, and on one occasion, Anastasia had reported me to the manager. Surprisingly, he didn’t get angry with me, and it clearly infuriated Anastasia.

That’s why I kept my distance from her. I didn’t want any more conflicts in my life. I already had enough chaos to contend with. She could hate me all she wanted and make me clean countless dishes. I wouldn’t complain. After all, it was my job.

The restaurant closed earlier than the others, at 7 pm. I stretched my sore back and arms, my entire body aching from the day’s work.

“Are you heading home already?” Nicholas’s voice startled me from behind. He was the manager, and fortunately, he spoke English, although his accent sometimes made it challenging to understand him.

“Yes,” I replied, glancing around to see that most of the other workers had already left, leaving only a few people to finish up their tasks.

“Let me give you a ride home,” he offered kindly.

“Thank you, but it’s alright. I don’t want to trouble you,” I said shyly. Nicholas had been exceptionally kind to me ever since I started working here. No matter how many plates I accidentally broke or when Anastasia complained about me, he always showed understanding. I truly appreciated his support.

“Oh, please, I insist. I live in the same apartment block,” he insisted, flashing a warm smile.

“Okay,” I eventually agreed. I didn’t want to offend him; truthfully, I was too exhausted to walk home anyway.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Put this on,” he handed me a helmet. I fumbled with it, trying to figure out how to secure it when he stepped forward and deftly fastened it for me.

“There you go,” he said with a smile, which I returned, albeit wearily.

Nicholas was likely in his early twenties, managing the restaurant because he was the owner’s son. I could tell he was good at his job-so far, the restaurant had received rave reviews for its excellent customer service. He was also genuinely kind and friendly.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to befriend him. Besides, he was one of the few people I had been conversing with besides my family.

“Thank you, Nicholas,” I expressed my gratitude as I removed the helmet, handing it back to him when we arrived at my destination.

“My pleasure,” he replied with a warm smile.