I blink. “What?”
“If he finds out I jumped you like that, I’ll never hear the end of it. He’llneverlet me live this down.”
“I won’t tell him.” I offer a wobbly smile and a quiet, “Trust me.”
“Promise?”
“Definitely. Look. I…I should just go.”
“Is it my fault?” They swoop close again and back off, finally stopping when Max puts an arm around them. “Don’t go on my account. I mean, Zion’s going to be so glad when he finds out you’re here and—”
I meet Max’s wide-eyed look and then everything that’s happened sort of bursts open inside me. Max grins and a second later, I’m laughing uncontrollably.
After what feels like forever, I gasp out an apology and let Lamé maneuver me toward the sofa. I flop down and sink into the soft cushions, wiping tears of laughter from my face. When I gather myself enough to meet their gazes, they’re watching me with expressions of concern.
“Sorry,” I manage through hiccuping breaths. “I totally lost it.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Lamé says. “We’ve all been there.”
“Oh, yeah?” The hysteria rises back up. “You’ve accidentally fucked your fake husbands in the glory hole?”
“Well, no,” says Lamé.
“But our own versions.”
“I was just trying to…” I blink. What was my plan again, coming here? What did I think I’d accomplish?
Lamé’s big brown eyes slide Max’s way before returning to me. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Am I allowed something stronger?”
“As long as you don’t play anymore tonight.”
With a groan, I lean forward and drop my face in my hands. “I’m never playing again.”
“Okay. You take off your…um.” Lamé looks at my filthy bare feet. “Just get comfy.” They pull a blanket out from an enormous basket and set it on the sofa beside me. “I’ll get you that drink, shall I?”
Max follows them out of the room and, though I didn’t plan on it, something about this place and its wild array of colors makes me want to sink back into the pillows and pull the thick, cable knit blanket over me. I do both, leaving just my feet hanging off the edge, and try not to think about what Zion said.
You shouldn’t be here.
So much for not thinking about it, right?
Shoving back a fresh dose of hurt, I look around. The room is overstuffed with furniture and decorations, but it works. Plush fabrics, tons and tons of books, candles and lamps, an elaborate, multi-colored, handblown glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
It feels…safe, enveloping, cozy.
Lamé comes in bearing a round, rattan tray with drinks and snacks, looking like they’ve stepped out of a Rita Hayworth movie. They’re tall and slender, with sleek almost-black hair and burnished bronze skin, their features as long and slim as their body. Their peignoir swishes and flows around them. The whole effect is absolutely mesmerizing.
Everything in this place is beautiful, including the drinks, which are tall and frosty, topped with mint and some kind of edible flower. They hand me mine and take a seat, while Max does the same.
“Here’s to fresh starts and wider horizons and…I hope, new friendships?” says Lamé, lifting their glass for a toast.
I suck in a nervous breath and tap my glass to theirs. A shiver runs through me.
“You feel that?” asks Lamé, watching me closely. “You felt it, didn’t you?”
Max shakes her head, but I don’t say a word, because, yeah, I felt something. That shiver, though brief and easily ignored, was real. A physical manifestation of awareness. Nothing bad. More like one of thoseyour life’s about to changemoments that you don’t usually recognize until long after a thing has happened. Which is kind of apt for today, considering the night’s many life-changing events.
