Page 112 of Roses in Summer

“See, I think you needed to use it as an excuse to disconnect. There someone you’re trying to ignore, Livvy Poo?”

From my spot beside Olivia, I can see her fists clench before she releases them. “Call me Livvy Poo again, and I’ll put Nair in your expensive shampoo.”

“You’re an evil woman, Olivia.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Olivia mumbles, though I don’t think anyone is supposed to hear it.

I clear my throat, interrupting the tension that’s started to fall. “Okay. Bianca, go wash your face first before the avocado gives you hives. Would you all come inside? Our neighbors are going to think we’re under attack with the door open.” Surprisingly, Bianca follows my order, though not without providing a parting huff of annoyance before she disappears into our shared bathroom.

Olivia kicks her blanket off and stomps into her room, no doubt going to her en suite bathroom to wash her face mask off, leaving me the only green-faced person in the room. Lincoln walks over to me, a peculiar look on his face.

“Ciern, I want to kiss you so fucking bad right now, but what is on your face?”

“It’s avocado, honey, and oats,” I grumble, shrinking back from his gaze.

He snorts at my explanation. “You look like guacamole.”

“Bianca, hurry up!” I call over my shoulder, ripping my gaze from Lincoln.

As if on cue, the bathroom door opens, and Bianca walks out, clean—albeit irritated—faced. “I’m done. Calm down. And tell Olivia that I’m going to kill her.”

“Tell her yourself.” I spin around and storm into the bathroom to wipe the green mask from my face.

I turn the water to full pressure and let the steady flow drown out the conversation beyond the closed door. Bending down, I cup water in my palms and splash my face, letting the warm water start to loosen the dried-on mask. Flecks of green fall into the basin, and I grab the clean washcloth Bianca left out to wipe the remaining mask off my face.

“Okay then,” I murmur once no more green is evident on my skin. Drying off the splashed water on the vanity, I look at myself in the mirror one last time before shutting off the light and walking out to the living room.

I’m not surprised to find Ava and Grey curled on the loveseat, seemingly ready to join in on our movie marathon, nor am I surprised by Lincoln’s body reclined on the far end of the couch or Bianca on the opposite end.

What I am surprised about, however, is that Rafe is perched on one of the kitchen chairs with a stormy look on his face.

“Rafe? What are you doing here?”

Rafe scoffs, taking the opportunity to lean forward and plant his elbows on his upper thighs. “Of all the stupid shit the three of you have done, I swear to God, this is the worst.”

Olivia storms out of her bedroom as he speaks, slamming the door behind her and concealing her space. “Shut up, Rafael. We were watching a movie. There’s nothing stupid about that.”

Rafe turns his head slowly, face set in a scowl. “I was referring to my sisters, Olivia. You.” He turns his head and points at Ava. “How the fuck did you forget you were invited here tonight, explicitly for a movie night? You could have saved us a trip and a heart attack. And you two, who the fuck turns off their phone when they know that the police or their families could try and get in touch with them at any minute? Sera, I’m surprised at you. You normally don’t listen to Bianca’s stupid ideas.”

“Hey! It was Olivia who suggested—”

“Stop,” I cut off Bianca, silencing her confession. “There’s no need for name-calling, Rafe. I get it. You were all worried, and I’m sorry for that. But we’re fine. So can we just, I don’t know, eat some popcorn, watch a horribly edited movie, and bask in the gore on the screen for another hour without being assholes?” I stare at my brother, still adorned in his police uniform, and raise a brow.

“Fine,” he comments through clenched teeth.

“Olivia?”

“Fine. But no talking,” she orders, stomping to the seat between Lincoln and Bianca. I look around the room, furrowing my brow when I realize the only place to sit is on the floor or to pull one of the kitchen chairs out into the living room.

Sensing my dilemma, Lincoln clears his throat and raises a brow. “Come here, ciern.”

I shake my head. “There’s no room next to you.”

Lincoln widens his legs and stares into my eyes. “Come here, ciern,” he repeats.

I repeat my actions, shaking my head in feigned denial. My feet contradict the motion of my head, however, and I cross the room, stopping only once my feet are in front of Lincoln. His hands reach out, not giving me a second to consider how I’ll situate myself, and clasp my waist, lifting me with an ease that shouldn’t surprise me but does.

He settles my back against the arm of the couch and pulls the right side of my body against his chest. “That’s better, Seraphina,” he murmurs into my ear, biting down lightly on my lobe.

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