25. Seraphina
25
Seraphina
Dinner passed in a steady hum of conversation, the clinking of knives against porcelain, and a steady flow of wine. Through surreptitious glances at Lincoln, blatant stares at the weird energy floating between Olivia and my brother, who conveniently arrived thirty minutes after dinner had already started, and the omnipresent cabernet.
Lincoln’s eyes were on me the entire time. I felt them. I saw them. I wore his stare like a coat while eating minuscule bites of food and choking down water to ensure I wouldn’t get drunk.
As everyone starts to clear their plates, depositing them on the kitchen counter for the dishwasher, I stay seated, leaning back in my chair to watch the procession. Liv takes my cue and settles in the chair beside me, cradling her wineglass as though it’s a lifeline.
“What’s going on with you and Rafe?” I whisper, sipping from my glass.
Liv is silent for a beat, but I can feel her stiffen. Twisting the glass in her palms, she counters, “What’s going on with you and Lincoln?”
I scowl at her words, placing my glass down and picking up the bottle of water in front of me. Taking my time, I sip the cool liquid and let it trickle down my throat. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?”
“Shut up, Livvy.”
“What, you can dish it, but you can’t take it?”
“We’re not in a nineties movie,” I grumble, taking another drink of water.
“Let’s agree to drop it, yeah?” she whispers, bumping into my side at the same time Lincoln stands from the table, his eyes still on mine. “We’ll agree to debrief once we have some answers. Maybe in another four years from now?” I can’t help but laugh, a quiet amusement exploding from my mouth that seems to catch Lincoln’s attention and brings a smirk to his lips.
I keep my eyes on Linc as I whisper my response. “Deal.”
My mom’s voice breaks through our conversation. “Ava, Seraphina, Bianca, clear the table and bring everything to the island. Celeste, will you go to the dining room and grab another bottle of wine? Olivia, can you run to the bar cart in the living room and grab the sambuca and Frangelico?” Like a sergeant, she doles out responsibilities, focusing solely on the women around the table. My mother, for all her progressive stances and feminist ideology, is a product of her upbringing, where the women are the operators of the household and the hostesses of the evening.
Though, unlike the patriarchal views oppressed upon her by the culture in which she grew up, my mom’s views are a bit different. She doesn’t trust my dad not to grab the wrong alcohol or drop one of her plates, as he’s done so many times. It would be funny if he didn’t have a historical tendency to break my parents’ wedding china and glasses and scrape serving dishes while clearing. Now, he’s relegated to trash disposal.
I guess it’s not a surprise that Ava is the way she is, though she’s considerably more competent than my father when it comes to the kitchen.
With my mother’s edict in place, the five of us scatter, moving silently as Serena and the men sit around the table, watching us with amused looks, knowing better than to interfere with the process my mother has in place. My hands shake as I take the serving plates from the table, and I will them to still, hoping that Lincoln doesn’t notice my nerves fraying at his presence, especially after the question Olivia posed.
What is going on between Lincoln and me?
A week ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to laugh at the question, comforted in the knowledge that there was nothing between us, even if I always wanted there to be. But now? After his mouth was on mine, his tongue down my throat, and his fingers brought me to the most soul-shattering orgasm of my life, I have no idea what to think. The false calm I pulled inside me after Lincoln and I spoke in the greenhouse is effectively shattered, leaving me a shaking, unraveling mess.
I move quickly, snatching the partially empty platters, and avoid Lincoln’s gaze.
Or try to, at least.
—
As we finished dessert, Ava and Bianca recommended everyone head into the yard to enjoy the pool, claiming that the salt water would help digest the copious amounts of food we all consumed. I don’t miss how Liv snuck off, claiming a headache and that she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom she took possession of. I also don’t miss how Rafe disappeared not five minutes after, citing a need for the restroom or some other bullshit excuse.
If the looks on my parents’ and sisters’ faces are anything to go by, their sneaking around is not lost on anyone.
I kept busy, feigning a compulsion to clean while I felt Lincoln’s eyes on me the entire time. While I wasn’t self-conscious about my body, I was too unsettled to parade around in a bikini, or even an athletic one-piece, around the man who had set me off-balance for the last three hours.
Everyone filed out of the kitchen, disappearing into bathrooms and bedrooms to change into their swimsuits, but I stayed, rooted in front of the sink like an immovable trunk.
“Seraphina, why don’t you go get changed? I can clean the rest of the dishes,” Mom offers, squeezing my shoulders and stepping beside me.
I look to my side and shake my head, keeping my hands submerged under water, scrubbing a spotless pot. “I’ve got it, Mom. You and Dad must be exhausted. I know you were at the firm early this morning. Why don’t you enjoy the night with Daddy, and I’ll finish cleaning the kitchen?”
Her eyes shift between mine, assessing and all-knowing. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, nothing. I’m just already here, so I might as well finish.”
She stares for another moment before smiling and releasing my shoulders from her grip. “Okay, but just finish this pot and then have fun. We’ll finish our conversation from earlier tomorrow, okay?”
I look down at the sudsy water, nodding my head at her concern. “Okay, Mom.”
I keep my eyes trained to the sink until she walks out, dropping my shoulders and lifting my head once she’s cleared the threshold.
God, this is going to be a long night.
—
Thirty minutes have passed since my mother left me alone in the kitchen. I listened as everyone walked out of the accordion doors in the living room; their laughter faded toward the side of the house farthest away from the kitchen.
Every pot is clean, every dish loaded in the dishwasher, and the counter scrubbed. There’s nothing more to do, yet I linger.
“When did I become such a coward?” I mumble, shaking my head. Gathering my long hair in my hand, I put it in a messy bun on top of my head, grateful for the weight of the strands to be out of the way and for the air that circulates around my marked neck.
Taking one final inventory of the kitchen, I shut the recessed lights off and flick on the under-cabinet lighting, casting the kitchen in a soft glow. I then slip out the kitchen’s back door, fully intending to hide in the greenhouse until I decide whether to join the group or go look for Olivia.
Though, if she’s with my brother, I’m not sure I want to find her. Or interrupt them.
Or imagine them doing anything other than talking.
I shudder at the thought, letting the night air dance around me as I greet the evening. A figure steps out of the shadows once I step out the back door, and I can’t hold in my surprise at the unexpected presence. “Holy shit, what the—Lincoln? What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” It’s dark, and though I can make out his form, I can’t make out his expression. However, I can hear the amusement in his voice and can only assume that a cocky smirk is painted on his lips.
“Should I be concerned that you’re stalking me now?”
“Nah, it’s harmless for now.”
“For now? Is there a chance that it wouldn’t be?”
“You know better than to ask that question. Walk with me?”
I gulp at his nonresponse. “Should I really take an evening walk with a guy who just refused to answer a question about stalker-ish tendencies?”
“Cierń,” he groans, his hand reaching out to clasp my hand. “Come on. We need to talk.”
“Fine,” I grumble, letting him pull me off the back step and into the inky darkness. I keep my hand in his until we clear the fence gate. Once we’re in the front yard, I pull away and nod toward the street. “There’s a park a couple of blocks down.”
With the illumination of the streetlights, I can see him more clearly, can see how his startlingly bright-green eyes stay on me as we walk, how his caramel skin seems to glow under the fluorescent lights, like a god from a mythological book, maybe Ares or Hades, a forceful, cunning god known for his wit and beauty. It’s a foolish thought, but I can’t help as my mind grasps onto it and envisions Lincoln in armor and cloth. I chuckle to myself, earning a sharp look from him that I wave away.
Thankfully, he doesn’t ask me to explain, and we keep our thoughts to ourselves as we walk. Unspoken words hang between us as we go the two short blocks to the neighborhood park, where swing sets line the perimeter and a small playset rests in the middle.
I lead him to the closest set of swings and sit down on a worn leather seat while he leans against one of the metal poles holding it up.
I shift from side to side, waiting for Lincoln to break the silence with whatever it is he wants to say.
Small moments stretch into long minutes, and just when I think he will keep us locked in a silent standoff, he breaks the treaty. “Why did you choose Marymount University?”
Of all the questions he could ask, I’m surprised by that one, especially since the answer seems obvious. “I wanted to come home.”
He nods, looking away as he considers my response.
I let him have his moment, continuing my side-to-side swaying on the swing.
“Can I text you?”
My movement stops, and I look up at him, finding his gaze still diverted. “You can do anything you want. And haven’t you already texted me?”
He turns to me sharply. “You know what I meant. Will you answer me if I text?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. No world exists where I don’t want Lincoln Simmons. None. But no world exists that hides the reality we both face: Lincoln just ended a long relationship, and I have more trust issues than the average person.
Lincoln lets out a huff, running both hands over his head. “I get it, cierń. I do. But I can’t stop this thing between us any more than you can.” He pauses, drawing in a long breath before releasing it. “I’m asking you to talk to me. I’m asking you to get to know me again. We were friends once. Even if you tell me to go kick rocks and fuck myself, just give me a chance to get to know you again. Or relearn you.”
I stare at him, absorbing his words. “I haven’t changed much,” I admit.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. The Sera from four years ago, the one who let that prick hurt and manipulate and scare you, would have never left him. You would have stayed because you were scared and lonely. But the Seraphina now? The one who acts just like that little pain in my ass I met all those years ago? Her, I know. Give me a chance to get to know her again, to get to know you.”
Biting down on my lower lip, I can’t help the uncertainty that bombards me. “What if you don’t like what you find?”
“And what if I do?” His answer is immediate, almost like he anticipated my response. “What if I do, Seraphina? What then? Will you run scared?”
“I don’t—I’m not—” I break off, shaking my head. “I’m not scared of you, Lincoln. I’m cautious.”
“Same fucking shit. What this comes down to is you’re scared. Stop hiding, Sera, especially now when we have the opportunity to actually see where this could go.”
He lets out a loud sigh, the anger seeping out of him. “Look, Sera, I like you. I want to take you out on a date. I want you to respond to a text when I reach out. I want you to give me a fair shot and not self-sabotage a possibility because you’re chicken shit.”
“Everything sounded nice up until the chicken shit part,” I grumble.
Lincoln lets out a bark of laughter. “Fuck, Seraphina. I’ve missed your sass. I won’t pressure you now. I know you have shit to think about and enough on your plate. But promise me that when I text you, you’ll answer. I’ve wasted enough time with the wrong woman, and I don’t—I can’t—waste any more.”
“I—” I start, pausing to swallow. “Okay.” My voice is soft, but I know he hears it when he nods once.
“Let’s get you home. I need to get back to the city.”
“Oh, of course. Sorry.”
He hums in response, his response so different from his verbosity from two minutes ago. I get up from the swing, letting it hit me in the thighs as I step away.
Starting forward, I let my legs carry me back toward my house, Lincoln walking quietly beside me. Unlike our short walk out here, the air isn’t tense with unspoken questions. We eat up the distance quickly, and I lead Lincoln to his cherry-red car.
Standing on the lawn in front of my house, I watch him round the hood of his sporty car, his eyes on me the entire time. He pulls open the door and leans against the roof. “Remember what I said, Seraphina. Answer me when I text, okay?”
I nod, wordlessly confirming his statement.
“Get some sleep, cierń.”
“Goodnight, Lincoln.”
He tips his chin in acknowledgment and slides into the driver’s seat, turning the car on with a soft purr of the engine. His windows are tinted, preventing me from seeing inside, especially in the darkness, but I imagine that his eyes are on me up until he starts to pull away from the curb and creep down the street.
I watch him for a few seconds before turning on my heel and walking back toward the front porch. I’m ready to go home, to analyze and dissect tonight in the comfort of my room.
Just as I’m walking through the front door, my phone goes off, vibrating inside my jeans pocket. I fish out my phone, holding it up to my face to unlock it without looking at the notification.
As soon as the screen unlocks, I see a new text message.
Lincoln : Sleep well, cierń.
I swallow the lump in my throat from his text, my fingers hovering over the screen.
Seraphina : Don’t text and drive.
His reply is instant.
Lincoln : Goodnight, Seraphina. We’ll talk soon.
I bite my bottom lip, worrying it between my teeth. His words are simple, but the meaning is unmistakable: Lincoln Simmons isn’t going to leave me alone.
Walking back inside, I come to a halt at Liv sitting on the steps just beyond the front door, her knees bent and her arms hugging them to her chest.
“Livvy? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just waiting for you. You ready to go? B is staying here tonight.” Her voice is flat, completely devoid of emotion.
“Did something happen with Rafe?” I don’t like to make everything about boys and their ability to fuck up most situations, but I can’t conceive of another reason why my friend would look and sound miserable after a night spent with my family. Unless something else happened, something she hasn’t told me.
Liv scoffs at my question. “No. Nothing happened with Rafe. But we do need to get home. I have to run to Kentwood Estates tomorrow.”
My eyes widen at her statement. As far as I know, Olivia hasn’t been back to her hometown since she packed her life up and moved to Pennsylvania as an incoming freshman. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Definitely not.” Her reply is instant, brooking no argument. “But let’s go. I said goodbye to your parents already, and B, Ava, and her crew are all getting drunk by the pool.”
“Okay, yeah. Just give me a minute to grab my bag.”
“I already got it.” Liv holds my shoulder-strap bag up, standing up as she does. “I’ll drive your car.” She starts to move past me, reaching for the door I just closed when I reach out, stopping her movements.
“Liv, what’s going on?”
She takes her time replying, standing still and silent for longer than is comfortable. Finally, she responds, “I want to get home, okay?”
“Okay.” I keep my voice light and turn, following her back out of my house and closing the door behind me. I’ll text my parents later and give some form of excuse and explanation as to why we’re leaving. But for now, I follow my friend to my car and sit in the passenger seat as she grips the steering wheel like a lifeline.
—
By the time we get home, I’m convinced something happened. Liv is always quiet, almost stoic. But right now, her reserved nature is arctic, cold, and detached.
Once we clear our apartment door, I can’t help the words that fly from my mouth. “What’s going on, Olivia? And don’t tell me nothing.”
She flings herself on the couch, her long, lean body sprawled out on the dove-gray upholstery. “I spoke to Rafe.”
“I figured as much. What happened? Did you two fight?” I wouldn’t pick a side—how could I when it was between my best friend and my twin? But I still want to know what the hell is going on.
“He wants a relationship.”
Oh. “That’s great?” I say as a question, not really sure how to respond.
“Yeah, it’s fucking wonderful,” she scoffs, covering her face with a delicate hand. “Just perfect.”
“Olivia, if you don’t want to be with Rafe, you don’t have to be with him. He would never pressure you.” The groan she lets out is pained, and I sit next to her, grabbing the hand not draped over her eyes. “Livvy, what’s really going on?”
She stays silent for a minute, and I almost expect her not to respond to my question, but then her voice breaks through. “Do you remember the summer of our junior year, when Rafe was on leave, and he was supposed to come visit you at Penn but never showed up?”
My brows furrow at her question. “Yes?”
“He came, except I didn’t realize it was your brother since I had only seen him in photos when he was younger and avoided FaceTime calls. He came into the bar during my shift, asked for a beer, and we talked for hours. I didn’t even know his name, but it felt like I’d known him forever. It was a difficult day for me, and he…” She releases a heavy breath. “He helped me through it. It was only after that that I realized who he was. I freaked out, told him we could never tell you, and he left.”
“Olivia, you know I wouldn’t have cared. You’re an adult, and as long as it was consensual, I would never care who you slept with.” Even if it is my twin brother, which makes me cringe, solely because I have to hear about them hooking up.
“Rafe would never take something that wasn’t given to him.” Olivia’s words are sharp, and I’m surprised by their sting. “I don’t talk about my past with anyone, ever, not even you. But the summer before college, I-I-I…” Her voice trembles, breaking, and I hold her hand tighter, squeezing it in encouragement. Her body shakes beside me, and I would pull her into a hug if I didn’t think that would force her to break apart entirely. The hand covering her face drops, and I see tears rolling down her cheeks. “The summer before college, I was drugged by two people I was friends with. Even now, after four fucking years, I don’t know everything that happened to me, and I don’t remember much of it, just vague shadows and pressure and so much pain that my body felt like it was on fire. I don’t—I haven’t—with anyone besides Rafe. He’s the only one who I felt comfortable with. The first time we were together, it was on the third anniversary of that night in the woods, and I just wanted to feel something.”
“Olivia,” I rasp, my voice scratchy. I pull on the hand I’m holding, helping her sit up so that I can throw my arms around her slender body. “I’m so sorry.”
Liv drops her head to my shoulder, shaking her head against my joint. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for Rafe. I can’t give him what he needs.”
I swallow thickly, knowing that if Olivia thinks she’s not ready, no reassurance or encouragement will rid the doubt from her mind. “Do you love him?”
“Do you love Lincoln?”
“Yes,” I answer honestly, not hesitating. “But our situation is different.”
“Not so different if you know you can’t be with him.”
Holding on to Liv, I hum in disagreement. “My senior year of high school, my ex-boyfriend told me that I needed to agree to a relationship with him or else he and his father would ruin my parents and their practice. I blindly agreed, barely even asked a question, and trusted the idiot who blackmailed me as though he was honest and I should take his words at face value. Lincoln and I had just met and started talking at that point. I hurt him—and me—when I told him I couldn’t speak to him anymore. I lost my trust in men, even those who are probably good and decent and kind.”
“He sounds like a douche.” Liv’s voice is wobbly, but I can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of me.
“You have no idea.”
We both fall quiet. With my arms wrapped around Liv and her face in my neck, we’re comforting each other, giving the support we each so desperately need but never explicitly asked for. “Why haven’t we spoken about this before?” Liv questions, her voice muffled.
“Fear, anger, resentment? Take your pick, I guess.”
“No more secrets, Ser. Okay? Promise me.”
Nodding against her, I do the only thing I can do.
I promise.