12. Seraphina
12
Seraphina
“Sera, you have to go. Ava is going to be so pissed if you bail on this tonight, and I am in no mood to deal with the theatrics, okay? She’s the most dramatic person I know.”
Rolling my eyes at Bianca’s tone, I cast an eye at her over my shoulder, unable to keep the disbelief from my expression. “I know that you, Bianca Gregori, are not claiming that Ava is more dramatic than you. You remember the time you staged a hunger strike because your eighth-grade science experiment didn’t win first place, right?” I turn, looking at her more clearly. “Or when you told your boss that if he forced you to work a double shift on St. Patrick’s Day, you’d write a bad Google review.”
“In my defense, corned beef and cabbage is my favorite meal. Mom makes it once a year, and I couldn’t miss it.”
“Leftovers exist, B.” I laugh, shaking my head. “But I have a lot of laundry to catch up on, and I need to start on some reading for my class.”
Bianca, fully dressed in a tight orange dress and heels, throws her body on my bed, bouncing as she lands. “Stop being such a geriatric. No one is reading a goddamn textbook on a Friday night. Get yourself together, and let’s go.”
“B—” I start, but my sister cuts me off with a shake of her head.
“No. I know what you’re doing, and I won’t allow you to get away with it. Don’t make me call Liv to have her deal with you.”
“She’d probably agree with me,” I mumble, knowing she picked up an extra shift at the bar to avoid going out with Bianca, Rafe, Ava, and Ava’s friends. When Ava invited us to her and Greyson’s place to celebrate their engagement with their friends, Olivia called her manager.
I’d have to be blind to miss how they circle each other when they’re in the same room and how Rafe always tries to approach, but Liv retreats, fearful of anyone other than me or B getting too close. I can see my brother’s frustration, but he never pushes and forces Liv to acknowledge him, even though I can see how his eyes track her.
It’s not brotherly, like how he watches me and my sisters to make sure we’re safe, but it’s also not with lust. It’s with longing, as though the small glimpses of Liv in the background of our FaceTime calls sustain him. Now that we’re all back in New Jersey, I’m not sure what’s going to happen, if they’ll be able to coexist, or if there will be some explosion between them.
In any event, if B were to call Liv and tell her that I’m planning on staying home instead of joining everyone, I think she’d fully understand.
“Ser.” Bianca breathes, drawing my attention back to her sprawled out on my bed. “Ava wants us there to celebrate her and Grey. I know you don’t want to see him, but you need to do this for Ava. Put your insecurities aside for a few hours and be there for our sister. We’ll leave early, but we need to be there.”
Grimacing, I take in her words and turn my attention to the mirror before me. I’m nowhere close to ready, especially since my sister ordered us to “dress to impress” for a gathering at her home, but Bianca’s right. As much apprehension as I have about potentially seeing Lincoln tonight—because there’s no way he’s going to miss a celebration for two of his closest friends—being there for Ava and not being a selfish jerk is more important.
Sighing, I meet Bianca’s stare through the mirror. “Fine. I need thirty minutes.”
“Make it twenty; we’re already running late.”
“Fine,” I huff. “Now go. You’re distracting me.”
—
Twenty-five minutes later, lipstick in hand, Bianca and I are nestled in an Uber and driving toward Grey and Ava’s townhouse.
Looking into my compact, I bring the red lipstick to my lips and almost touch my flesh when the driver hits a bump, causing my arm to jostle and red to stain my white ribbed tank top.
“Dammit,” I mumble, looking at the streak above my left breast.
“That’s what you get for rushing and not getting dressed when you should have.”
Shooting my sister a death glare, I wait until the driver stops at a red light to finish my makeup, fold my compact, and tuck it and my tube of lipstick into my clutch. Admitting that Bianca is right isn’t an option—at least not out loud.
“It looks like you got shot in your tit.”
“Will you please stop talking?” I groan, looking down to see that she’s not entirely wrong. Pulling my hair over my left shoulder, I thank God that I keep my hair long and that the thick veil hides the damage.
“You’d be fucked if you had a pixie cut.”
“Bianca, please, stop talking.”
A soft huff of laughter greets my ears, and I look up to see the Uber driver staring at us in his rearview mirror. There’s an entertained expression on his face, and I look away quickly, not appreciating this man’s amusement at my expense.
By some miracle, Bianca closes her mouth, casts a furtive glance between the driver and me, and turns her head to look out the window.
I release a slow exhale, shifting and causing my black leather pants to rub against the seat’s leather. An awkward sound emits from my movement, and I shift again, throwing myself back and letting the squawks of leather on leather fill the cabin of the car.
I don’t have to look over at Bianca to know that she’s holding in her laughter—her body is physically shaking against mine from the restraint.
“Shut up,” I mumble, crossing my arms and resolving that this is going to be a shit show.
—
“Oh my god, you guys made it,” Ava screams, flinging open the door as we approach the front step of her townhouse. True to her decree to dress up, my sister is in a black tea-length dress with a plunging sweetheart neckline and a ruffle at the bottom of the skirt. The pencil dress hugs her curves, showing off her natural hourglass figure, while the platform ankle-strap heels give her five inches of height.
Compared to my outfit, a stained white tank, four-year-old leather pants, and black mules, she looks like the pinup-girl vixen Greyson always refers to her as, while I look like an extra in the 1996 movie Fear .
Hugging my sister, I whisper, “You look incredible.”
Ava’s hold tightens, giving just enough pressure to squeeze my frame without cracking my back. “Thank you for being here, Ser. I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”
Biting down on my lip, I don’t respond to Ava’s comment and disentangle myself from her hold. As though she’s sensing my tension, Bianca wiggles between us, throwing her arms over Ava.
“God, you look like a hot pinup girl. Where the hell did you get these clothes?”
With a laugh, Ava grabs Bianca’s arms and moves them off her shoulders before ushering us inside the house. “I found a shop by the pier; they sell retro-style dresses, pretty much every decade you could imagine. Just wait until you see what CeCe is wearing.”
Ava leads us through the foyer and brings us into the kitchen, where CeCe and Dante mix drinks. If my sister is a roadmap of curves and goddess-like proportions, CeCe’s body is lean and muscular. Her emerald crochet sixties mod minidress shows off her toned legs and accentuates her fair skin and red hair. Standing next to each other, they look like stunning time travelers transported to a different decade.
Smiling at Cece and Dante, we trade hellos before I turn my attention back to my sisters. “Are Serena and Wolf coming?”
“They’re on their way. Wolf had a client run late, so they were heading here right from the shop,” CeCe’s voice breaks in behind me. “With Aubrey on maternity leave, Wolf somehow got Rena to help with the bookings while they wait for the temp agency to place a receptionist.”
“Is Serena okay with that? Doesn’t she have work?”
CeCe scoffs, rolling her eyes while she drapes a slender crochet-covered arm around my shoulders. “She’s running the show over there. I’m pretty sure Wolf is counting down the days that the agency will place someone so he can have his academic girlfriend back and not the drill sergeant she’s become.”
“Hey, I’m not that bad.”
Jumping, I whip my body around to see Wolf and Serena behind us, a smile on her face and a scowl on his.
Serena lets out a soft, lyrical chuckle at my words. “Sorry for startling you. It’s good to see you again, Seraphina.” Walking out of Wolf’s hold, Serena envelopes me in a warm hug. With her arms around me, she turns her head to CeCe. “And really, I’m not that bad. I’m just making sure that no one messes up Aubrey’s nomenclature of receipts and invoices, booking methodology, and tattoo pedagogy for apprentices.”
“I only understood about thirty percent of what she just said,” Dante mumbles beside CeCe, handing out the freshly made drinks while looking at Serena with confusion.
“Princess, you’re the worst. You made a customer cry last week.”
Releasing my body, Serena turns, facing Wolf with a delicate shrug. “I simply told her that coming for a tattoo on the heels of a breakup could lead to regret and trauma. I helped her move her appointment out and gave her a recommendation for a therapist.”
“Costing me money, princess.”
“You’re doing fine, Wolf. Anyway,” Serena pauses, turning back to me, “how are you doing? Are you excited to be a student at Marymount?”
“I’m well, and I guess? Mixed emotions, really. How is your job? Ava told me you’re working as a screenwriter on a period drama?”
“I love it, but don’t change the subject, Seraphina.” She steps closer, leaning her head in and lowering her voice to whisper. “I’m the queen of deflection, so I recognize it when I see it. How are you doing, really?”
Worry laces her voice, and I smile at her concern. “I’m okay. Promise.”
“Well, that’s good because you have quite the night ahead of you.”
Squinting at Serena, I tilt my head, confused by her words. “What do you mean?”
Serena whips her head toward my sister, eyeing her with a worried look. “Ava,” she groans out. “Please tell me you told your sisters where we’re going.”
My sister has the decency to look guilty, though not remorseful. “Well, no. But I did tell them how to dress.”
“Vixen,” Greyson grumbles, walking through the kitchen and wrapping his arms around my sister’s body. He pulls her so that she’s flush against him, her head no higher than his chest. “You didn’t think you should ask your sisters if they wanted to go tonight instead of assuming they’d be okay with it?”
“Do you really think Bianca will have an issue with where we’re going?”
Grey shakes his head over her, catching her hair in his scruff as he leans down. “That’s not who I meant, and you know it.”
“Ugh, fine. Seraphina, Bianca, as you know, there was a dress code for tonight.” I quirk a brow, trying to hide the anxiety rising in my throat at her tone. “So, I know we were going to stay here, but we’re going to Garganello’s tonight.” She has the decency to wince as she says it.
“Ava,” I groan, cutting her off, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “You’re not serious, are you?” I look down at my shirt, more embarrassed than ever at the red smear. “Why wouldn’t you tell us this first?”
“Probably because I knew you’d act like this.”
Staring at my sister’s face, I grit my teeth, working through my annoyance. I know exactly why my sister wants to go, and I don’t blame her. Garganello’s is one of the hottest places in the city.
Sighing, I take in the hopeful looks on my sisters’ faces and the brotherly concern on Greyson’s. “Fine.” I give in, knowing that if I don’t, I will never hear the end of this. “But I need to borrow something; I have lipstick all over my shirt.”
“I have the perfect dress for you,” CeCe calls out, and I can hear the smirk in her voice.
I’m not sure if I should be more apprehensive about this night out or the outfit I’m about to receive.
—
“Celeste, when you said you had a dress, I thought it would be more than a napkin.”
She chuckles, sounding truly amused by my annoyance. “If it makes you feel better, it’s longer on you than it is on me.”
I stare at her in horror as we walk toward the stairs leading to rows of reserved tables at Garganello’s. CeCe has an inch or two on me, so it’s not surprising that the beautiful, microscopic red dress is a bit shorter on her, but if it’s barely decent on me, it must be obscene on her. “Do you wear this in the bedroom or something? How can you even go out in public with a dress shorter than this?”
“God, you are just too funny. Ava, your sister is taking your spot as the comedian,” she calls out, forcing everyone to turn their head at me.
Walking carefully up the stairs, I pull on the hem and make sure it doesn’t reveal more of my upper thigh. “I’m not trying to be funny.”
“And that just makes it all the better. Your sister tries too hard.”
“Hey!” Ava shouts, throwing a cocktail napkin at CeCe. “Don’t be rude, fire crotch.”
CeCe catches the wadded-up napkin, crushing it in her hands. “See what I mean? Annoying.” She draws out the word, rolling her eyes as she walks toward a table set with a large reserved sign on top.
I follow the group, watching as the couples pair off to sit next to each other at the long table, and I can’t help but laugh when I see what’s written as the name on the sign: Bag of Dicks.
“Fucking Lincoln,” Dante mutters, grabbing the sign from the table and stashing it on his lap.
Following the group, I sit next to Ava while B sits on my other side as though they’re barricading me.
On cue, a waitress appears, not bothering with IDs, and takes the drink and appetizer orders before disappearing. She returns with our drinks quickly, with no hesitation as she passes them around and leaves again, promising to return soon with the rest of our order. I relax as more people start filtering in, filling up the surrounding tables.
Conversation rises, a hum of chatter that allows me to fade into the background since none of it concerns me. I listen as CeCe argues with Dante—but really, just at Dante, since I think the man gets off on her argumentative nature—and Wolf and Serena recount a customer’s tattoo request that involved a Japanese symbol he insisted meant “warrior” but actually meant “cheap.” They apparently had to spend an hour convincing him not to tattoo it on his body, even after Wolf presented him with the evidence of the meaning.
“You doing okay?” Ava breathes low enough that only I can hear her.
“Why are you asking me that?” I mumble, rolling my eyes at the concern she is showing me.
“Because Lincoln just walked over.”