Page 32 of Roses in Summer

12

Seraphina

“Sera, you have to go. Ava is going to be so pissed if you bail on this tonight, and I am in no mood to deal with the theatrics, okay? She’s the most dramatic person I know.”

Rolling my eyes at Bianca’s tone, I cast an eye at her over my shoulder, unable to keep the disbelief from my expression. “I know that you, Bianca Gregori, are not claiming that Ava is more dramatic than you. You remember the time you staged a hunger strike because your eighth-grade science experiment didn’t win first place, right?” I turn, looking at her more clearly. “Or when you told your boss that if he forced you to work a double shift on St. Patrick’s Day, you’d write a bad Google review.”

“In my defense, corned beef and cabbage is my favorite meal. Mom makes it once a year, and I couldn’t miss it.”

“Leftovers exist, B.” I laugh, shaking my head. “But I have a lot of laundry to catch up on, and I need to start on some reading for my class.”

Bianca, fully dressed in a tight orange dress and heels, throws her body on my bed, bouncing as she lands. “Stop being such a geriatric. No one is reading a goddamn textbook on a Friday night. Get yourself together, and let’s go.”

“B—” I start, but my sister cuts me off with a shake of her head.

“No. I know what you’re doing, and I won’t allow you to get away with it. Don’t make me call Liv to have her deal with you.”

“She’d probably agree with me,” I mumble, knowing she picked up an extra shift at the bar to avoid going out with Bianca, Rafe, Ava, and Ava’s friends. When Ava invited us to her and Greyson’s place to celebrate their engagement with their friends, Olivia called her manager.

I’d have to be blind to miss how they circle each other when they’re in the same room and how Rafe always tries to approach, but Liv retreats, fearful of anyone other than me or B getting too close. I can see my brother’s frustration, but he never pushes and forces Liv to acknowledge him, even though I can see how his eyes track her.

It’s not brotherly, like how he watches me and my sisters to make sure we’re safe, but it’s also not with lust. It’s with longing, as though the small glimpses of Liv in the background of our FaceTime calls sustain him. Now that we’re all back in New Jersey, I’m not sure what’s going to happen, if they’ll be able to coexist, or if there will be some explosion between them.

In any event, if B were to call Liv and tell her that I’m planning on staying home instead of joining everyone, I think she’d fully understand.

“Ser.” Bianca breathes, drawing my attention back to her sprawled out on my bed. “Ava wants us there to celebrate her and Grey. I know you don’t want to see him, but you need to do this for Ava. Put your insecurities aside for a few hours and be there for our sister. We’ll leave early, but we need to be there.”

Grimacing, I take in her words and turn my attention to the mirror before me. I’m nowhere close to ready, especially since my sister ordered us to “dress to impress” for a gathering at her home, but Bianca’s right. As much apprehension as I have about potentially seeing Lincoln tonight—because there’s no way he’s going to miss a celebration for two of his closest friends—being there for Ava and not being a selfish jerk is more important.

Sighing, I meet Bianca’s stare through the mirror. “Fine. I need thirty minutes.”

“Make it twenty; we’re already running late.”

“Fine,” I huff. “Now go. You’re distracting me.”

—

Twenty-five minutes later, lipstick in hand, Bianca and I are nestled in an Uber and driving toward Grey and Ava’s townhouse.

Looking into my compact, I bring the red lipstick to my lips and almost touch my flesh when the driver hits a bump, causing my arm to jostle and red to stain my white ribbed tank top.

“Dammit,” I mumble, looking at the streak above my left breast.

“That’s what you get for rushing and not getting dressed when you should have.”

Shooting my sister a death glare, I wait until the driver stops at a red light to finish my makeup, fold my compact, and tuck it and my tube of lipstick into my clutch. Admitting that Bianca is right isn’t an option—at least not out loud.

“It looks like you got shot in your tit.”

“Will you please stop talking?” I groan, looking down to see that she’s not entirely wrong. Pulling my hair over my left shoulder, I thank God that I keep my hair long and that the thick veil hides the damage.

“You’d be fucked if you had a pixie cut.”

“Bianca, please, stop talking.”

A soft huff of laughter greets my ears, and I look up to see the Uber driver staring at us in his rearview mirror. There’s an entertained expression on his face, and I look away quickly, not appreciating this man’s amusement at my expense.

By some miracle, Bianca closes her mouth, casts a furtive glance between the driver and me, and turns her head to look out the window.

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