“I really do.”
“The rest of your family . . . ?”
London nodded. “Yeah. They’re okay.”
“Good,” Dahlia whispered.
“Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about it. I just wanted you to know.”
“Okay.” She rubbed their neck.
“Will you talk to me more about . . . stuff that’s ever bothering you, too? Family stuff or life stuff or anything.”
London’s eyes were searching, serious.
Dahlia swallowed.
“Yes,” she said. Although feeling mopey about never being able to please her mother seemed like a small thing, just then.
“Okay.” London took a shivery breath. And then, “Enough of that.”
They leaned down and picked up their phone. “Let’s get some air.”
Dahlia followed them through the ballroom, toward the door that led to the courtyard.
It felt like she was walking through jelly.
Rage seeped through her system with each step, with each second that London’s words tumbled through her brain. He hadn’t used London’s pronouns once inthree years? She had turned from a purring cat inside London’s arms to a hulking lioness. She wanted to roar, to sink her talons into London’s dad’s chest, watch him writhe in pain.
Dahlia and London stepped out into the early evening, into the courtyard with the lit-up, shimmery fountain under a purple sky.
“It’s weird no one else is ever out here,” London said. “It’s beautiful.”
Dahlia nodded, barely hearing them, feeling weirdly short of breath.
London turned to look at her, their mouth turned up in a half smile.
“Maybe it’s just for us.”
Dahlia caught their eye and had to look away.
Suddenly, Dahlia really couldn’t breathe.
Oh god.
She had known this for a while, probably. Maybe she didn’t know it the last time they were out here in this courtyard, but at some point after that. Maybe the first time she’d actually pressed her lips to theirs. Maybe that morning in the shower, after the food sex. This weekend, probably, when they’d gone to bookstores and museums and London had gotten a slight sunburn and she’d been happier than she could ever remember being.
But right now, as London took a step toward her and she could already anticipate how their lips were going to feel in a few seconds, she knew. When London had asked her, a few minutes ago, to tell them things, anything that bothered her, she knew they meant it, and she knew she wanted to tell them. Anything and everything. When London had told her about their dad, she felt an urge to protect London with her life, to battle anything that ever caused them harm.
Because she loved them.
London pressed her back against the concrete wall, her bare shoulders scraping against its cold, unforgiving surface. She was wearing a loose summery dress, navy dotted with small light purple hearts. Sleeveless and high necked, a small ruffle around the collar. She had her hair up; the ruffle didn’t work otherwise.
This dress wasn’t tight and revealing like the black one had been, last time they’d been here, but Dahlia still felt pretty in this one.
She knew London always thought she was pretty. But it felt better when she felt it, too.
London leaned down and claimed her mouth. Her lips parted automatically for them, wanting to be claimed. Wanting London to swallow her whole.
