Page 46 of Roses in Summer

I nod my head, and my shoulders relax for the first time in our conversation. “Gemma…” I pause, looking up at her baby-blue eyes, filled with so much anger and resentment, and drop my voice. “Youshouldlook for someone else. I’m done, Gem. This relationship, this conversation, the arguments over my job… I’m done. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Sucking in a breath, I drop my voice, willing it to remain calm. “Do you have a place to stay?” I may want her out of my life, but I’m not a monster casting her out into the streets. If anything, I’ll fucking go, even though it’s my apartment. I open my mouth to offer that when her voice assaults me.

“Fuck you, fuck this shithole of an apartment, and fuck your friends. God, what was I thinking getting involved with a chef?” With a shake of her head, she marches into the bedroom, and I hear the closet doors flinging open against the wall. I’d wince if I gave a shit about the dents and scratches she’s undoubtedly making. As it stands, I’m just relieved that she’s getting her shit and—seemingly—getting out.

The volume of her voice carries from the bedroom. “You’re going to regret this, Lincoln. You are going to fucking gag when you see me with the next guy I’m with. And you know what? I’ll fucking marry him just to spite you.”

I don’t respond. She’s not looking for my words, simply looking for a punching bag to throw shit at. And I’m her preferred target.

“And you know the photographer, Leonard? Well, I fucked him in Turks and Caicos,” she shouts from the bedroom, banging a drawer closed on her admission. “And it was a hell of a lot better than you.”

I wince at her confession, not because I’m heartbroken by her statement, but because Leonard is fifty-five and has a penchant for eating red onions with his breakfast. I first met him almost eight years ago when I was still a model, and I remember nearly gagging from the smell of his breath when he’d correct my body placement.

Heavy footsteps alert me to her approach, and I turn my head to watch her wheel a suitcase and duffle bag into the living room. “I’ll be back for the rest of my things this afternoon; you better not touch a single thing, Lincoln, or I swear to you, I’ll key that precious car of yours.” I nod because what is she expecting me to do? Wear her lingerie around my apartment?

“And for the fucking record, I am the best goddamn thing that has ever happened to you. When you realize it a week from now, don’t come crawling back to me, expecting me to want you or your crooked cock ever again.” Gritting my teeth, I stare straight ahead, not giving her the satisfaction of another argument. Between last night and now, I’ve said everything I needed to and have no more words, no more air, for Gemma.

“Such a fucking man, you won’t even look at me as I leave. Fucking asshole,” she seethes, walking past the couch and toward the front door.

The earlier concern I had for her dissipates. Right now, I want her gone, and I don’t care where she goes, though I’m sure one of her many friends will be more than willing to take her in.

The door slams behind Gemma, leaving a silence that’s absolutely foreign to this apartment. Giving her a few minutes to make sure she doesn’t return, I breathe a sigh of relief at the knowledge that she’s not coming back, at least not while I’m here. I stand from the couch and cross the room, locking the knob and the deadbolt for extra precaution before making my way to my bedroom.

Gemma wasn’t in there long packing her shit, but she’s a tornado. Part of me is scared to walk into the bedroom and adjoining bathroom because I don’t know what the fuck I’ll find. Stepping gingerly over the threshold, I take stock of the thrown comforter, pillows, and clothes, seeing that it’s messy but not destroyed. Keeping my eyes alert, I let my gaze travel all over the room before stepping into the bathroom.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I scoff, taking in the retribution she seemed fit to dole out. My bodywash and shampoo bottles are on the floor, their contents emptied on the tiles. On the shower doors and the bathroom mirror are messages written in bright pink lipstick, Gemma’s favorite color.

Tiny dicked weasel

Cheating asshole

As far as revenge goes, it’s light but a pain in the ass. “Fucking Gemma,” I murmur as I head back to my kitchen to get shit to clean off the lies Gemma stamped on the glass.

18

Seraphina

“We need to debrief,” Ava’s voice bangs into my head as Bianca barges into my bedroom, phone on speaker. I moan at the intrusion and blindly feel around my bed, grabbing a pillow from my side to lift it over my head. “Come over in an hour; I’ll make breakfast.”

“No,” I groan, waving my hand at Bianca.

“Yes,” Ava bites out, her tone stern. “You disappeared last night, and we are going to talk about it. So get your asses over here and stop being difficult. And pick up coffee on your way.”

Throwing the pillow off my face, I blink my eyes open, forcing my eyes to adjust to the bright light filtering through my windows. “Fine.”

“You’re driving, by the way,” Bianca tosses out, ending the call with Ava and pocketing her phone.

Sighing, I sit up and shoot her a look that must resemble a disgruntled squirrel because all my younger sister does is laugh and flip me off. “Can you get out of my room now?”

“Nope. I’m going to stay here and wait until you finish getting ready. I want an iced coffee sooner rather than later, and you’re dragging your ass today.”

“So you’re going to watch me get dressed? No. Get out.”

She rolls her eyes at my command and leans against my dresser, crossing her arms in front of her as she stares at me. “Just put on your leggings and a tank top, and let’s go.”

Shaking my head, I throw the comforter off my body and stand, stretching my body out as the night comes barreling back into me.

Lincoln.

Gemma.

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