I don’t know how to tell him that I hate roses. I’m used to them being a way of an apology, making up for a misdemeanor of some sort. The flower itself means nothing to me, I don’t take it as a loving symbol, but I love the thought behind it. It makes me smile big to know that he thought enough of me to send it.
I pull my cell out of my purse and bring his name up to send a thank you text.
“Ooh, darling, where did the rose come from? It’s very beautiful.” My mom seats herself back at the table and my phone rings before I can compose a message to say thank you to Denham.
It’s Lottie calling.
“Well, if it isn’t the queen of Sambuca…” I answer and chuckle to myself.
“Ugh…tell me you feel like shit too,” she groans.
“Nope, fresh as a daisy!” I gloat. I fail to add that I’m exhausted but not through alcohol intake. I’m tired to the bone for reasons far more worthwhile, but I don’t have a hangover.
“You’re so lucky. I feel like someone swapped my head for something loud and heavy.”
“Well, that’s because you knocked back a ton of shooters and drank champagne like it was water.”
“Where are you anyway?” she asks, changing the subject. “I called your room…”
“I’m having lunch with my mom in La Casa.”
“HI MOM!” she yells, nearly bursting my eardrums. I hold the phone away from my ear in Mom’s direction.
“Hi, Lottie,” my mom replies, not quite as loud as Lottie but loud enough that neighboring tables turn to look at us.
“What time will you be back? You have details to fill me in on.”
“I do?”
“Yes, don’t even try to deny it. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I do know exactly what she’s talking about, but I don’t want to share details like a teenage girl who just lost her virginity. I selfishly want to keep every detail to myself. Every last little kiss. The small kisses have as much of an effect on me as the big kisses, maybe more.
The little tingles that fire through my skin when his lips skim mine…
“ARI!”
“What?”
“You weren’t listening …”
“Sorry.” I mumble. Oh god, I’ve got it bad. I could try to play my lack of concentration off as not nearly enough sleep, but I’d only be fooling myself. “I don’t know how I possibly thought I could ignore you,” I retort sarcastically.
“Ha-ha. What time will you get back then?”
“I’m not sure, can I call you?”
“You better! Oh, we have outfits to plan too for the ball, and how much discount do you get at your new job?”
“Lottie, I haven’t even started yet. I can’t go asking for a discount already.”
“Sure you can. Do you have enough money to pay full price?”
“That’s not the point. Can’t we rent something?”
“Oh maybe, we need a whole day to try things on. There’s a theme, you know?”
“What? Why are you only telling me this after I’ve agreed to go?”
