Page 32 of Ready or Not
“Blame away,” Naomi said breezily, holding her phone up to admire her freshly manicured nails. “As long as you actually grow a backbone out of this, I’ll take the hit every time. Besides, you’re not gonna regret talking to him—you’re just afraid of what he might say.”
“Or what he might not say,” Elizabeth added pointedly. “There’s always that possibility, too.”
“Liz!” Alexandra groaned, shooting her a disapproving glare through the camera.
“What? I’m just keeping it real like Mimi did!” Elizabeth replied with a shrug and an unapologetic sip of her coffee. “We all got our reasons for fighting for Sol to fix this.”
I sighed, my shoulder slumping as I felt the weight of their words settle over me.
“I gotta get dressed for pilates,” I muttered, mostly to escape the suffocating intensity of their intervention. “I’ll call you guys later.”
Naomi narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You better not ghost us, Sol. We’re in this now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I waved her off, standing up to stretch. My joints cracked audibly, and I grimaced, rubbing the soreness out of my shoulders. “I’ll text you.”
“You better,” she shot back, wagging a perfectly manicured finger at the screen before disconnecting the FaceTime call with dramatic flair. Elizabeth and Alexandra muttered their goodbyes as the screen went dark.
For a moment, the room was silent—save for the gentle humming of my overhead fan. My chest felt heavy, like their words were coiled there, refusing to leave me even after the conversation ended. The folded clothes flashed through my mind again—the neat creases, the precise corners—and the way they’d filled me with that gnawing sense of unease.
Maybe it wasn’t about the clothes; Naomi was probably right about that much.
But it felt like it was about them.
They represented something bigger—a shift I wasn’t ready to confront.
And eventually… I’d have to because I liked Desiderio.
A lot.
15 /DESIDERIO
“Bro,”Chance tsked through the phone screen. “I’m starting to think you the problem.”
I sighed, taking a seat on my couch. Phone in hand so I could continue the video call, I mentally scrolled through the last couple of hours of my life, searching for evidence to either confirm or deny his accusation.
Having stepped out to grab some food for Solène and me from the bodega down the block, I was shocked to come back to an empty apartment. I had left her to catch up on sleep—after we didn’t go to bed until nearly 4 AM— while I grabbed us some coffee and bacon, egg, and cheese rolls. Antonio had the best beef bacon on the block, and I wanted her to try it before she hiked back up to Brooklyn.
But when I returned, her side of the bed was made… and all traces of her were gone.
No note, no explanation… nothing.
The shit rubbed me the wrong way because I had finally made up my mind about her.
About us.
About what I wanted this to be. I spent so much time stuck in my own head last night, questioning every move, every word,every feeling that seemed too big for how new this thing between us was, I had finally landed on something solid.
Something real.
Everything with Solène felt right—Complete, like a jazz song that found its rhythm in a room full of chaos.
She was the notes I didn’t know I needed.
The melody that slipped in unnoticed but lingered long after.
I was ready to chase that tune.
To let it guide me through every room, down every street, into whatever murky, rat-infested corners life threw.
