Page 118 of Green Flag
He’d left late last night and I’d had to bite my tongue so hard it hurt because I nearly asked him to stay.
We had shared a room for four days, and I missed him. I missed the smell as he came out of the shower, the way we found each other in the dark, the pillow wall forgotten.
Fia could tell I was antsy.
“I should be able to come,” she grumbled and scrolled through her phone. “I want to see Luca win.”
“It’ll be on TV,” I told her and blotted my lipstick. It would be on an obscure channel I was sure Dad would pay to watch it on repeat.
“You’re excited, aren’t you?” she asked, sitting up, her phone dismissed on the side.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Her lips twitched in the reflection of my mirror. “You’rein lovewith him.”
“I am not!” I cried and threw my lipstick at her.
She caught it with her damn netball skills and turned it over. “Nice colour. Thanks.” She pocketed it and said, “You are allowed to love your boyfriend.”
My body locked up. That would be logical , but this wasn’t logical. Or real. Or allowed.
“He’s also hot as shit,” she said with a nod, “and bloody adorable.”
“Mind your language,” I scolded but was ultimately ignored.
“I wish Jordan was as thoughtful.”
“You’ve got to kiss a few frogs first,” I said before spinning on my chair to raise my brows in warning. “Andonlykiss them.”
Her eyes rolled so badly that I worried she would strain them. “You only kissed one frog. A mutant, disgusting, narcissistic frog.”
“And I kissed him for four years straight, thinking he was Prince Charming,” I said, shaking my head and closing my eyes to spray my makeup in place. “Men are good con artists.”
Eyes closed, I felt the atmosphere shift.
Something was different — like Fia had stopped breathing.
In the mirror, she was frowning, looking down at the floor, deep in thought.
“Four?” she asked so quietly I wasn’t sure if she was asking me or herself.
“What?” I asked, spinning to face her again.
When her eyes met mine, they were wide in panic. “Four years? You only saw him in prison once.”
My mouth opened, tongue on the roof of my mouth, ready to speak, but all I could do was nod in confirmation.
“And that was when you were twenty—” She blinked, lips parted in shock as she tucked her legs underneath her, face confusion and disgust. “You were sixteen. You were my age now. You—you—”
I was up and on the bed with her, trying to take her hands to comfort her, but she swatted me away. “You told me you were nineteen when it started.”
Words betrayed me as I saw how horrified she was, face crumbling.
I had lied to everyone.
“You were a child.”
“Nice to know you accept you are, in fact, a child.”
