Page 159 of Invisible Bars
Of course, she was white; Giselle wouldn’t have it any other way, preferring to maintain her world of carefully curated appearances.
Despite her position, Dolores was harmless—endearingly sweet, really—so I decided to give her grace.
“Good evening, Dolores,” I replied coolly, trying to maintain my composure.
Her eyes flicked curiously to Naji, taking in the scene before her.
“Oh! And who do we have here?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and genuine interest.
“This is my wife Naji,” I acknowledged, in a polite but blunt tone—just enough to shut down the follow-up questions I knew were bubbling behind her smile.
“Oh! Well, nice to meet you, dear.”
Naji took a breath to respond, but a tic beat her to it.
Her hand flew up, gently tapping the side of my jaw—not hard, just a quick, playful swat like she was booping a cartoon character.
“Don’t feed me no laced casserole! I ain’t ready to meet Jesus yet!”
Dolores’s mouth parted slightly, trying to piece together if she’d just witnessed what she did.
Naji’s eyes widened, and she cringed.
“Oh my God! I-I’m sorry! Tourette’s!” Then she faced me again. “I—I didn’t mean to touch you like that,” she whispered to me, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly embarrassed.
I dipped my head low and murmured back, “You can touch me like that anytime.”
Naji blinked up at me, flustered, clearly unsure if I was serious.
I was.
Turning back to Dolores—who still looked halfway between concern and confusion—I threw on a cool smirk.
“Don’t worry, Dolores; she means well. Naji just likes to test people’s grace the first time she meets them.”
Dolores gave a nervous little chuckle, eyes still darting between us.
Clearly, she’d never been around someone with Tourette’s—or maybe just not someone like Naji. But she kept it respectful.
“O-Of course,” she replied quickly, stepping aside. “Well, come… come in. Everyone’s waiting for you.”
“I’m sure,” I grumbled.
We walked intoGiselle’s picture-perfect trap—white marble floors that didn’t dare hold dust, cream-and-gold everything like it was torn out of a showroom, and the faint scent of lavender floating in the air.
Then I heard it—voices.
Laughing. Multiple. Not just family.
My jaw flexed.
We turned the corner into the dining room… and there they were.
Giselle, my father and Dessign—just as expected.
And then I saw her—Paris. She was sitting pretty in a muted green dress with a wine glass in hand. And beside her was her mom and father, dressed like they were attending a damn award show.
My hands curled into fists.
