Page 100 of If the Stars Align
And he’s with a woman whoisn’tSunny.
At first, they’re only looking at bottles of cabernet. Innocent enough.
But then he puts an arm around her shoulder.
After a minute, his hand drops to her waist.
Then he pulls her close to him.
And he kisses her.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
My muscles brace and I take a step in their direction.
But then the woman spins around to look at the bottles behind her.
And that’s when I see her face.
Jesus Christ.
It’s Sunny—but it’snot.
Her hair is stick-straight.
Her clothes are tailored. Expensive. She’s wearing Christian Louboutin heels.
She’s so,sothin. It makes my heart break.
Why isn’t she eating?
Is she sick? Is she stressed? Is it…him?
I want to run to the bakery counter and buy her a croissant.
I want to take her out for pasta, and ice cream, and feed her, and kiss her, and make sure she’s okay.
I want to steal her away from him.
But she’s smiling.
Now she’s laughing.
She’s wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.
They choose a bottle.
And walk away.
All I can think is—what the fuck are they doing in New York?—but then I remember Sunny mentioning he’s from here.
When they’re out of sight, my anxiety turns down slightly,but it’s not the low hum I’ve become accustomed to either.
It’s louder.
I walk back to the apartment where I’ve been staying and, as soon as I lock the door behind me, I take deep breaths in and out. Still, when I look at my reflection in the front hall mirror, my heart jolts from the shock of what’s staring back at me.
It’s just makeup. Chill the fuck out.
