Page 41 of Roses in Summer

“You’re not fine. I saw you run in here. Do I need to call Liv or Rafe? He should be on his way by now.“

“Bianca, I said I’m fine.”

“And I said you’re not. Look…” She pauses. I can hear her frustration like a tangible thing that wraps around her words. “I ordered us an Uber. Liv should be back from her shift at the bar in an hour. We can put on pajamas and binge-watch that weird show about the fake psychic detective.”

Rolling my eyes at the last part of her statement, I cross my arms over my chest. “Psychis not a weird show. But okay. Let’s get out of here.” Standing from the closed lid of the toilet, I slide the lock, disengage it, and walk out of the small stall. My sister’s shoulders deflate the moment she sees me.

“Fucking finally. Listen, if you want to take up the role of dramatic sister, just let me know, and I’ll step back. There can’t be two of us here, you bitch.” Bianca reaches for my hand and pulls me behind her, making me stumble from her effort.

“B, let go of me. I need to wash my hands.”

“You didn’t even use the bathroom. I have hand sanitizer in my bag that you can use in the Uber.” Her grip tightens, genuinely hurting me now. “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight or my hold after you locked yourself in a bathroom stall for fifteen minutes, you’re nuts.”

Looking down, I relent and allow my sister to pull me along and weave through the crowds of people having the time of their lives in the upscale restaurant and club. I expect Bianca to pull me right, toward the main exit and past the table where Ava and everyone else are, but instead, she tugs left and flings open a door I didn’t realize was there. We exit into a long, bright hallway that smells of vinegar.

Wrinkling my nose, I see rows of neatly stacked linens, crates of barware, and serving platers arranged against one wall on neat metal shelves.

“B, this looks like the kitchen entrance.”

She doesn’t respond; she keeps moving us down the hall toward another door at the end. I almost say something, ask how the hell she knows this was back here or the layout of the building. But I don’t.

I keep my mouth shut and allow her to drag me out to the side alley that seems to have been made into an outside break nook for employees. Turning toward the street, she pulls me to the sidewalk and leads us to a small red Camry with an Uber sticker on the windshield.

Knocking on the window, B waits until the man inside rolls it down to speak. “Are you Bill?”

“Yes, Bianca?”

“If you kill us and throw our bodies into the Hudson, just know that our parents are some of the best lawyers in the tri-state and will make sure you room with a psycho clown until you take your last breath.”

“Bianca,” I grind out. Leaning to the side, I make eye contact with the driver, who looks nauseous from her threat. “Sorry about her. Yes, she’s Bianca. Can you take us back to West Elm? She gets a bit hostile when drunk.” I nudge my sister with my shoulder, causing her to let out a pained yelp. “Open the damn door,” I mumble under my breath.

Unlike most instances, where she purposely ignores me or does the opposite of what I ask, she follows my demand and opens the back door, sliding to the middle of the bench seat. Once settled, the driver, Bill, merges into traffic and starts the drive home.

He keeps his eyes trained on the windshield, his mouth shut, and his radio silent. It’s oddly comforting after the heavy beat in the restaurant and the memory of Lincoln’s voice in my ear.

Biting down on my lip, I lean my head back against the headrest, trying not to think about how good he looked and how grown up he was. I always knew he’d be a success in whatever it was he chose to do. Lincoln is driven, focused, and intense; there’s no way that if he wanted something, he wouldn’t achieve it.

I allowed myself to wonder—to hope—for a fraction of a second if, four years after meeting, the timing was finally right. But it was foolish to think of such a thing. After all, a man like Lincoln doesn’t stay single. Or, if he were single, I’m sure he wouldn’t be hurting for company.

As soon as Gemma was introduced, I knew that any juvenile ideas I had were misplaced. I didn’t miss the way men stared at the gorgeous, raven-haired siren as she sat down at our table And I couldn’t blame them; she was quite possibly the most stunning woman I’d ever seen in person.

Looking down at my body, I cringe at our different appearances. If that’s the type of woman Lincoln is attracted to, what the hell did I ever think he saw in me? Where his girlfriend is all long legs, a generous bust, pouty lips, and cat-like blue eyes, I’m short, dark-haired, and dark-eyed, with barely any boobs to speak of.

We are complete opposites of each other.

Closing my eyes, I cast Lincoln and his model-like girlfriend from my mind, instead focusing on the hum of rotating tires against the asphalt and Bianca’s heavy breathing. There’s peace in the background noise, the world fading from the foreground as my mind latches onto the innocuous sounds.

After long minutes spent listening to the low whines around me, the car slows to a stop. Opening my eyes, I look out the passenger window, surprised to see our apartment complex. The driver-side back door opens, and I watch Bianca unfold herself from the seat and stand up, slamming the door behind her without any consideration as to whether I’d be following that way.

Opening the door closest to me, I follow Bianca’s actions, offering a mumbled “Thank you” to the driver as I close the door behind me. He doesn’t wait for me to step on the curb, instead flooring the gas and racing down the road as fast as his little red car can go.

Shaking my head, I walk the path to the entrance of the apartment building and meet Bianca in front of the elevators. She remains silent as we step into the metal box. She doesn’t talk as I press the button to our floor and wait for the short elevator ride to be finished. She doesn’t speak as we walk down the short hallway to our door.

But as soon as I shut that door, all semblance of her control is gone.

“What the hell happened tonight, Seraphina?”

“Bianca, for the fifty-fifth time, I told you I’m fine. I want to take off my makeup, take off this handkerchief of a dress, and go to bed. Anything you want or need to say to me can wait until the morning, okay?”

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