“My baby! How are you? How are you feeling?! I haven’t seen you in fucking forever!” Eden squeals, capturing Sage in a bruising hold.
“It’s only been a week, E. I was sick, and Jeff wouldn’t let me go in,” she explains before reaching back and gripping my hand once again, pulling me forward. “I wanted to introduce you to my friend. Eden, this is Amira. Amira, meet Eden.”
There is something about Eden that I cannot place. Looking at her, I feel like I’ve seen her before, but I can’t recall where, and I know it’ll bother me until I do.
I hold my hand out formally, fearfully. Dad said girls would never like me, that they would sense the whore in me and toss me aside like trash, and when Eden slaps my hand away, I’m horrified to see that he was right, but she doesn’t cast me out. Instead, without hesitation, Eden pulls me into her chest and hugs me like a long-lost friend.
“Fucking shit, you’re beautiful!” Eden says before she returns to her seat at the table.
“Thank you,” I whisper, feeling a little uncomfortable with the compliment and the attention her comment brought me from the group of men at the neighboring tables.
We take our seats on green-rusted cast-iron, my fingers dancing on the rose pattern latticework decorating the chair's legs.
As I sit, I see the sunlight hitting Eden’s skin at the perfect angle, allowing me to see the muddy green bruise cleverly concealed on her cheek. To an untrained eye, it's easily missed, but I’ve covered enough of those marks to spot one immediately.
And apparently, I’m not the only one.
“Eden. What happened to your face?” Sage asks in a hushed whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear our conversation.
The smile remains on Eden’s face, but I can tell from the hardening of her glare that she isn’t happy that Sage pointed it out.
“It’s nothing, Sage.”
“It isn’t nothing, Eden! You can’t keep letting him hurt you like this!” Sage shouts, no longer able to keep her voice to such a low tone.
“I said it’s nothing. Just Mario being Mario,” Eden growls, trying to excuse the actions of whoever Mario is.
It hurts to listen to the excuses, mainly because I can’t count the times that I made those same excuses myself.
“Eden, it’s not—”
“Can we not do this here, Sage! Please? I understand you’re concerned, but this is just how he loves, okay? I’m a big girl. I can take care of it. Plus, I want to get to know this beauty right here,” she says, giving me a tight smile and flirtatious wink.
I’m still not used to social interactions, so I’m unsure how to take Eden’s attention.
I can sense Sage’s frustration as she sags against her seat, the heat rising to her face the longer she sits here and glares at the bruise Eden is trying to hide under a thick layer of makeup.
Sensing her frustration, Eden reaches across the table, gripping Sage’s hands in hers.
“Please, Sage… don’t let this ruin our lunch. I’ve been looking forward to catching up with you since the last time I saw you, your ass was more pale than usual. When are you coming back to work?”
Sage casts me an odd glance, clearing her throat before saying, “Next Friday.”
I get the sense that I’m being left out of something, and as shitty as it feels, I understand. So, I sit back and feel out of place until Eden directs the conversation to me.
“So, how are you, Amira? Aren’t you hot in that sweater? It’s like, sixty degrees outside,” she asks loudly, scaring the shit out of the waiter coming toward us with three drinks in hand.
“I have your watermelon martinis, Miss Sinclair.”
“Thank you, Marcus,” she says, batting her eyelashes while dazzling him with her sparkling smile. He melts under her stare, the same way I melt under Roman’s.
Marcus places one drink down in front of each of us, his green eyes barely leaving Eden’s.
I gag when the cloyingly sweet scent of watermelon syrup flows into my nostrils. Then, hand over mouth, I delicately push the alcoholic drink away from me, needing the wind to blow the smell in any direction but mine.
“Is there anything else I can get you, ladies? Or will this be all?” he asks, slicking back the black strand of hair the falls in front of his face.
“Can I get a glass of water, please?” I request nervously, anxious to offend Eden by not accepting her drink, and terrified of upsetting the waiter for making him go out of his way to get me something else.
