Page 67 of Roses in Summer

My mom’s voice breaks through our conversation. “Ava, Seraphina, Bianca, clear the table and bring everything to the island. Celeste, will you go to the dining room and grab another bottle of wine? Olivia, can you run to the bar cart in the living room and grab the sambuca and Frangelico?” Like a sergeant, she doles out responsibilities, focusing solely on the women around the table. My mother, for all her progressive stances and feminist ideology, is a product of her upbringing, where the women are the operators of the household and the hostesses of the evening.

Though, unlike the patriarchal views oppressed upon her by the culture in which she grew up, my mom’s views are a bit different. She doesn’t trust my dad not to grab the wrong alcohol or drop one of her plates, as he’s done so many times. It would be funny if he didn’t have a historical tendency to break my parents’ wedding china and glasses and scrape serving dishes while clearing. Now, he’s relegated to trash disposal.

I guess it’s not a surprise that Ava is the way she is, though she’s considerably more competent than my father when it comes to the kitchen.

With my mother’s edict in place, the five of us scatter, moving silently as Serena and the men sit around the table, watching us with amused looks, knowing better than to interfere with the process my mother has in place. My hands shake as I take the serving plates from the table, and I will them to still, hoping that Lincoln doesn’t notice my nerves fraying at his presence, especially after the question Olivia posed.

Whatisgoing on between Lincoln and me?

A week ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to laugh at the question, comforted in the knowledge that there was nothing between us, even if I always wanted there to be. But now? After his mouth was on mine, his tongue down my throat, and his fingers brought me to the most soul-shattering orgasm of my life, I have no idea what to think. The false calm I pulled inside me after Lincoln and I spoke in the greenhouse is effectively shattered, leaving me a shaking, unraveling mess.

I move quickly, snatching the partially empty platters, and avoid Lincoln’s gaze.

Or try to, at least.

—

As we finished dessert, Ava and Bianca recommended everyone head into the yard to enjoy the pool, claiming that the salt water would help digest the copious amounts of food we all consumed. I don’t miss how Liv snuck off, claiming a headache and that she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom she took possession of. I also don’t miss how Rafe disappeared not five minutes after, citing a need for the restroom or some other bullshit excuse.

If the looks on my parents’ and sisters’ faces are anything to go by, their sneaking around is not lost on anyone.

I kept busy, feigning a compulsion to clean while I felt Lincoln’s eyes on me the entire time. While I wasn’t self-conscious about my body, I was too unsettled to parade around in a bikini, or even an athletic one-piece, around the man who had set me off-balance for the last three hours.

Everyone filed out of the kitchen, disappearing into bathrooms and bedrooms to change into their swimsuits, but I stayed, rooted in front of the sink like an immovable trunk.

“Seraphina, why don’t you go get changed? I can clean the rest of the dishes,” Mom offers, squeezing my shoulders and stepping beside me.

I look to my side and shake my head, keeping my hands submerged under water, scrubbing a spotless pot. “I’ve got it, Mom. You and Dad must be exhausted. I know you were at the firm early this morning. Why don’t you enjoy the night with Daddy, and I’ll finish cleaning the kitchen?”

Her eyes shift between mine, assessing and all-knowing. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just already here, so I might as well finish.”

She stares for another moment before smiling and releasing my shoulders from her grip. “Okay, but just finish this pot and then have fun. We’ll finish our conversation from earlier tomorrow, okay?”

I look down at the sudsy water, nodding my head at her concern. “Okay, Mom.”

I keep my eyes trained to the sink until she walks out, dropping my shoulders and lifting my head once she’s cleared the threshold.

God, this is going to be a long night.

—

Thirty minutes have passed since my mother left me alone in the kitchen. I listened as everyone walked out of the accordion doors in the living room; their laughter faded toward the side of the house farthest away from the kitchen.

Every pot is clean, every dish loaded in the dishwasher, and the counter scrubbed. There’s nothing more to do, yet I linger.

“When did I become such a coward?” I mumble, shaking my head. Gathering my long hair in my hand, I put it in a messy bun on top of my head, grateful for the weight of the strands to be out of the way and for the air that circulates around my marked neck.

Taking one final inventory of the kitchen, I shut the recessed lights off and flick on the under-cabinet lighting, casting the kitchen in a soft glow. I then slip out the kitchen’s back door, fully intending to hide in the greenhouse until I decide whether to join the group or go look for Olivia.

Though, if she’s with my brother, I’m not sure I want to find her. Or interrupt them.

Or imagine them doing anything other than talking.

I shudder at the thought, letting the night air dance around me as I greet the evening. A figure steps out of the shadows once I step out the back door, and I can’t hold in my surprise at the unexpected presence. “Holy shit, what the—Lincoln? What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” It’s dark, and though I can make out his form, I can’t make out his expression. However, I can hear the amusement in his voice and can only assume that a cocky smirk is painted on his lips.

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