14. Seraphina
14
Seraphina
I try to ignore the tidal wave of emotions crashing into me when I spot him, but it’s useless; I’m an untethered buoy. My mouth goes dry at his appearance, and like a parched woman in the desert, I try to drink in his features, cataloging his heavily tattooed caramel skin, full mouth, and eyes so bright it’s like they’re glowing in the dimmed overhead lights. He’s as attractive as I remember him being, just more polished. Instead of the T-shirt and loose jeans I always saw him in, he’s in a light-green linen button-down, the top three buttons undone, showing off the impressive designs all over his chest. His jeans are fitted, molding to his legs to show just how long they are, and his white sneakers gleam. He’s so put together that I have difficulty reconciling his appearance with the backward caps he used to live in.
This version of Lincoln, the adult version that looks like he has his life together, is foreign yet familiar. The clothes are different, but his long strides and emotionless face are etched in my memory, features that I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to.
“Breathe, Sera. You’re going to pass out if you don’t start breathing soon,” Bianca whispers, speaking in a hushed tone. “He’s just a man.”
Referring to Lincoln as “just a man” is like calling the Trevi Fountain “just a fountain” or the pyramids in Egypt “just a pile of rocks.” There are men, some perfectly acceptable and others horrifyingly gruesome, and then there’s Lincoln, who is in a class all his own.
Or, at least, he was. Now? I’m not entirely sure, except my stomach revolts in flutters and nerves as it always did every time we spoke.
Beside me, I feel Ava stand up and turn my head to watch Greyson and Ava embrace Lincoln. From this angle, I don’t have a clear view of his face, and I refuse to humiliate myself by trying to peer around bodies for better sight.
I wait, unable to discern any part of the conversation, until Lincoln’s laugh breaks through the sound of the crowded bar, hitting me full force. I bite my lip, savoring the sound for a moment before I grab my cocktail and take a healthy sip, letting the cold alcohol cool me.
“I’ll have to carry you home if you don’t slow down, Ser.”
“I’m fine, B.”
“You’re not,” she mumbles, grabbing the drink from my hand and placing it back on the table. “Don’t drink your emotions. Eat some food.”
“I’m not hungry,” I whisper, watching Lincoln make his way around the table. He greets everyone with hand slaps or hugs, taking the time to ask each person how they are and listen to their response.
Reaching forward, I’m met with air as Bianca grabs my drink, transferring it to her opposite side. I can reach across her, causing a scene for confiscating my liquid courage, but I don’t, and I won’t.
“Bitch,” I mumble, earning a chuckle from Bianca.
“I won’t let you make a fool of yourself tonight, Ser. You’re already fucked over him, and it’s been five minutes since he walked in.”
“I am not ‘fucked.’” I turn to face her, ripping my eyes from Lincoln as he speaks with Wolf. “I’m just waiting to say hello.”
“You forget, I know you better than you know yourself. We’re womb-mates, after all.”
“We’re not womb-mates. Stop saying that. People will think we’re twins, and you know how annoyed Rafe gets.” Grabbing Ava’s drink, I take a sip and barely hold back the wince from the spice of her spicy margarita hitting my tongue. “My god, that’s spicy,” I sputter, reaching for a glass of water to relieve the burn. “Will you give me my drink back? I don’t need you to be the beverage police.”
“Fine, but only because your face is turning red.” She slides the drink back in front of me, holding onto it for a moment longer. “Just drink slowly, Ser. I don’t want you to regret anything.”
“You know, normally, I’m the mature one in these situations. It’s unnerving to have you playing adult. I—” I shut my mouth, not finishing my sentence, as my eyes meet Lincoln’s bright-green gaze.
His eyes quickly avert, but I can’t help but stare as he bends to kiss Bianca before he stands to acknowledge me. I don’t know if my mind is warping my perception of time or if Lincoln is moving as slowly as I think he is, but it seems as though it takes forever for him to approach me.
Sucking in a breath, I watch as Lincoln leans down, invading my space for the first time in years. I try to keep my eyes open, but the feeling of his cheek against my skin forces them to close, a hypnotic trance coming over me and burning my lungs.
Belatedly, I realize the burning is not from Lincoln but from my instinct to hold my breath, and I release it, sucking in air and the warm scent of his cologne.
“Seraphina,” he whispers against my ear, his lips grazing the lobe, though I doubt he did that intentionally.
I jump at his voice, pushing out a high-pitched “Hi, Lincoln” in response. Before I can recover, say something in a normal tone, or die of mortification, he stands and walks away as though that ten-second interaction meant nothing to him.
Which, in all fairness, is quite possibly true. I’ve avoided all conversation of Lincoln for a long time. Any mention of his name, and I would zone out, too guilty and disgusted with myself to really allow the conversation to flow into me, just over me, in the hopes that one day, I could face him again and not act like a simpering idiot.
Today, apparently, is not that day.
One look at his jawline and tattooed body, and I’m already fighting for air, bursting from interest. It’s embarrassing and obvious if Bianca’s current elbow nudges are anything to go by.
Sighing, I turn to face my very annoying sister. “Please, stop elbowing me. I’m fine.” Giving her a hard stare, I shift my head, letting my hair fall in front of my left shoulder to block my face. “Seriously, B. I’m okay. I saw him, and I didn’t die. Now, I can go on with my night—with my life—and deal with seeing him without the anxiety of the unknown.”
She doesn’t respond, not having the benefit of long hair to shield her from nosy eyes, but she levels me with a look I know says, “Don’t bullshit me.”
“Sera, when do your classes start?” Serena breaks in, ending the one-sided conversation between me and my younger sister.
Ripping my gaze from Bianca, I smile, thankful for the reprieve. “Classes start next month. I have advanced library sciences, archival studies, and record management, I think.”
“Is Dr. Harrington your professor for any of those?”
My eyebrows furrow at the mention of the name; it’s familiar, but I can’t seem to place it. “No, Drs. Smithford, Wilson, and Brown. Who’s Dr. Harrington?”
“The head librarian. She’s in charge of all the curriculum creation and maintaining the library. I’m pretty sure you’ll have her at some point in the program since she likes to teach at least one course a semester.”
Recognition ignites, and I can’t help the smile that tugs on my lips. “Of course. I have an interview with her next week. There was an opening for a graduate assistant in the library, and I made it to the final round of interviews.”
“You’re working in the library, Sera?”
Turning to look at Ava, I shrug. “I’m not sure yet, but I would like to.”
“Nerds,” Bianca mumbles under her breath, though the word is said with affection, not malice. I’m about to respond when I feel eyes on me, cutting off any words I may have said.
Biting down on my lip, I chance a look at Lincoln to see if that’s where the feeling came from, but he’s distracted, fully engrossed in his conversation with Wolf.
Quickly looking away, I clench my hands under the table, twisting them together to curb the irrational disappointment.
Movement beside me stirs me from my thoughts. “I’m going to the bathroom. Do you want to come?”
Shaking my head at my sister, I reach for my now-watery drink and take a sip, watching her follow Ava toward the bathroom. With my eyes trained on them, I jolt in surprise when a hand grazes my shoulder, causing me to spill droplets of purply liquid on my dress.
Sighing, I set my drink down and reach for the cocktail napkin on the table. “I’m going to have to throw this dress away and buy CeCe a replacement.”
“A shame; I like it.” I pause, my hand hovering inches from my stomach and the stains that seem to be enlarging. Lincoln’s voice flows over me, but instead of cooling my skin, it heats it up, boiling my body until I’m sure my face is as red as my outfit.
“Hi, Lincoln,” I squeak, repeating my words from thirty minutes ago. I place the napkin down, an acknowledgment that this stain is a lost cause and I shouldn’t waste time blotting when I can speak to Lincoln.
“You’ve got a little something on your dress,” his voice teases, and I roll my eyes at his tone, slipping into a sarcastic familiarity that I haven’t experienced in a long time.
“You don’t say? Where?” I hold the bodice of my dress out as though I’m trying to locate the spot. Dropping it after a few seconds, I shift in my chair, allowing myself to face him head-on.
His face lights up with a rueful smile, and my heart flutters, beating wildly against my chest. Clearing my throat, I look down at his arm resting against the table. His sleeves are rolled up, showcasing the massive amount of ink he has stitched into his skin. My eyes snag on a small fleur-de-lis on his forearm, almost completely camouflaged amongst his other art. “How are you, Seraphina?”
Moving my eyes up to his face, I lean back against the arm of my chair, settling in. “I’m doing well. How are you doing?”
“Busy, but good.” I nod, accepting his answer.
“Still loving the kitchen?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, dropping his arm from the chair to lean forward and rest his forearms against his thighs. “Though it’s nice to be on the brigade instead of stocking the walk-ins and washing dishes.”
My eyebrows rise, feigning surprise, though I’m not shocked to hear that he’s moved up in his career. Lincoln had always been determined, almost single-mindedly so, when he wanted something. “That’s amazing. Your parents must be so proud of you. ”
He shrugs, letting his shoulders hunch, then fall in a nonchalant gesture. “They don’t love my work hours but are happy if I’m happy. What are you doing back in Jersey?”
“I’m at Marymount for my master’s in library science.”
“I guess you worked in the library that summer, huh?”
I nod my head, looking away as high school memories—memories of Mitch—bombard me. Reaching for my drink, I take a long sip to dispel the thoughts slamming into me.
“Hmm,” he responds, nodding like I just confirmed something for him. “Are you working at Marymount this summer?”
I shrug, putting my drink down as I respond, “Maybe. I have an interview at the library for a graduate assistant position. Do you live in the area?”
He shakes his head, looking down as he responds, “No, my girlfriend and I live thirty minutes north of here, closer to the city.”
I swallow the bile threatening to rise in my throat and take another sip of my drink. I’m not surprised he has a girlfriend, but I also didn’t expect it to hurt to hear.
“You—”
“How—” we say simultaneously, and I swallow a nervous laugh, looking at him under my lashes as I try to work out what to say next. It was never awkward between us. When we first met, it was like a rush of words formed on my lips, begging to be released to Lincoln.
Specifically to Lincoln.
But now, an uncomfortable silence settles around us despite the noise of the crowded bar.
“What were you saying?” I ask, willing the awkwardness away.
“How’s Mitch? Is he still a fucking asshole ordering you around?”
Narrowing my eyes at his question, my blood starts to heat, rising with the first spark of annoyance. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in four years.” And it’s true. After I filed a report and took out a restraining order against Mitch, I changed my number, deleted my social media, and cut off contact with everyone from my hometown.
“Hmm,” he hums again. The first time he did it five minutes ago, it sounded contemplative but soothing, a sound I didn’t mind. But, unlike five minutes ago, now I’m annoyed.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Hmm?” I ask, mimicking his tone.
“Nothing, cierń, calm down. I forgot how fucking prickly you are.” He sighs, running a hand over his face. My heart pounds at the use of my old nickname.
Swallowing against the wave of nostalgia, I whisper, “Don’t call me that,” so low that I’m not sure my voice is audible. “I’m not—oh.” I stop short, not finishing my train of thought as a blur of long limbs and dark hair tangles around Lincoln, clinging to him like he’s a life raft and she’s flailing in uncharted water.
“Sorry I’m late. The shoot dragged on, and I got here when I could,” a husky voice says. Lincoln’s hands grip the tornado’s wrists, prying them off his body and forcing her to back up. I can’t help but stare at the woman’s angelic face: large, bright-blue eyes, long black hair, and perfectly pale skin. Next to Lincoln, she is a flawless complement to his darker skin, green eyes, and masculine features.
Looking away from Lincoln, she turns her face toward me, hitting me with the full force of her beauty as she stares at me. Under her scrutiny, I feel even more self-conscious in my stained dress. She tilts her head with a smile that can only be described as brittle. “Oh, hi, congratulations. You and Greg must be so excited for the wedding.”
Who the hell is Greg? I think, ready to open my mouth and ask that very question when Lincoln lets out a very annoyed sigh. “This isn’t Ava, Gemma. This is her younger sister, Seraphina. She’s in grad school at Marymount. And it’s Greyson, not Greg. Seraphina, this is Gemma, my girlfriend.”
Maybe I’m imagining it, but there was a hesitance after her name, a delay in the completed introduction. I offer a smile, waving at the stunning woman like an idiot.
“Oh. Sorry, you look the same as her.” She shrugs, not sounding very sorry. She turns her attention to Lincoln, not bothering with pleasantries, and leans down to whisper something in his ear. At the dismissal, I look over my shoulder, wondering where my sisters are and why they’ve taken so long in the bathroom.
I try not to listen to Lincoln and Gemma or stare at the picture they make, but it’s hard. I hear a whisper of the conversation, Lincoln’s angry tone and Gemma’s dismissive laugh, like whatever it is he’s annoyed about doesn’t actually matter.
“Excuse me,” I mumble, not expecting anyone to hear me as I push my chair out and round the table in search of the bathroom and salvation.