She’d seen her press in close.
She’d seen her rest her chin on Stevie’s shoulder.
Which was all fine.
Whatever was going on between Stevie and Adri, it was complicated. Iris knew it wasn’t really about her—it was about six years of emotions and togetherness, and there was no way Iris could really relate to that.
There was no way Iris could compete with that.
Not that she was even trying. She was here to help Stevie. She was here for a play, a play Iris herself wanted to do.
After she came back inside the room and closed the sliding balcony door, she decided to focus on Beatrice. She washed up and then settled in her tiny twin bed and tried to read through the revised script Adri had given her before dinner. But she couldn’t concentrate. She kept seeing Stevie, wondering about Stevie, worrying about Stevie. Finally, she tossed her script aside and took out her iPad, opening up a folder now labeled “S & I.”
In the last week, she’d been drawing a lot. She’d written a lot too, her novel finally taking on somewhat of a shape, enough that she could breathe a little bit when thinking about her deadline. But she had a lot of illustrations too—a scene of Iris tucking Stevie into her bed the night they met, the shock of seeing each other at the Empress, their conversation backstage. The Belmont. Her friends’ incredulous expressions as she introduced them to Stevie.
Their lessons that night.
She nearly opened up that file, her finger hovering, her mind already re-creating their mouths on each other, Stevie’s fingertips as she dragged Iris’s bra straps down her arms.
But she didn’t.
In fact, she hadn’t gone back to review any of the scenes she’d drawn, and she couldn’t really explain why. She started a new file and started sketching Stevie sitting on the beach, alone, a closer view than Iris could actually see. She drew the details of her hair, curls in the wind, the uncertain roll in her shoulders. She was deep into adding details to the twilit ocean when the door opened, revealing Stevie in the doorway.
Iris honestly hadn’t expected Stevie to come back to their room tonight, but seeing her here now, she couldn’t stop the flare of... something in her chest.
Relief?
Confusion?
Maybe both.
Iris let herself exhale, told herself she was just glad to know Stevie was safe.
“Hey,” she said, clicking her iPad to dark and sitting up in bed as Stevie closed the door. “You okay?”
Stevie looked at her.Reallylooked at her. Her hair was a mess—wind-tossed and frizzy from the humidity, and her cheeks were a little red. Stevie didn’t wear makeup, so there were no telltale mascara streaks, but Iris could tell she’d been crying.
“What happened?” Iris asked.
Stevie shook her head and came to sit on the end of Iris’s bed. Iris pulled her feet up to make room.
“Nothing,” Stevie said. She was breathing heavily, her fingers shaking.
“Hey.” Iris reached out and tangled their fingers together, an instinct. “It’s okay. Just take a breath.”
“I’m fine,” she said, pulling her hand back. “I’m fine. Really. Do you think we could have a lesson?”
Her words were coming fast; so fast it took Iris a second to register them.
“A lesson,” she said.
Stevie nodded. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “I need one.”
“Now?”
“Yes, fucking now.”
Iris reared back. “Okay, what’s going on?”
