17. Wicked

17

Wicked

Let's Never Do That Again

What are we wearing to this shindig?

Haven't decided yet.

I like blue.

For me or for you?

I look good in everything, Wildflower.

But you in a cerulean dress that matches the color of your eyes?

That's enough to bring a man to his knees.

Preferably me.

Stop flirting, Everett.

You know it's in my D.N.A., baby.

She's wearing a blue dress.

It's more navy than cerulean, but fuck, if it doesn't make her eyes shine like sapphires. The silk fabric clings to her waist and stretches at her bust and hips, accentuating every one of her beautiful curves. Simple, thin straps are tight over her shoulders and appear to cross in the back. The dress hugs her legs all the way down to the ankle, where her feet are strapped into a pair of silver heels.

Her hair is in soft waves at her shoulders, makeup neutral—heavier than her average day, but less than she wore to the bar the night I met her—and her lips are painted a glossy, pale pink shade that glistens when she smiles, which is exactly what she does now as she descends the stairs and catches me staring at her. I realize I'm looking at her with a dropped-jaw, wide-eyes, and my heart beating out of my chest so hard, it's likely leaving an imprint like one of those old cartoons.

Darby follows her sister down the staircase, wearing a soft yellow chiffon gown that cinches at her waist before flowing to the floor. Short, loose sleeves fall off each of her shoulders, accented with bows, allowing her chest to highlight the gold necklace that hangs at the center of it. A simple golden chain, one that belonged to my brother, now houses a small flower pendant. I notice Dahlia is still wearing the same compass necklace she always has on too.

My brother stands next to me, fiddling with his cufflinks and oblivious to anything going on around him until his fiancée reaches the foyer and steps into him. Taking his hand, she begins to adjust his sleeves for him. I know Darby caught him by surprise when his head snaps up and he rears back, doing a double take before freezing to take her in. Darby smiles as his eyes rake across her body, and she finishes fixing his cufflink.

He steps back quickly before surging forward and grasping each side of her face with his hands. He presses his mouth to hers, backing her into the dining room and just out of sight. "Swear to God, honeysuckle, I'm gonna get you pregnant later," he murmurs between what sounds like mauled, rough kisses.

I'm thankful that our mother picked Lou up before we left, because I think he's so oblivious to everyone else in the room right now, he would've said that right in front of her.

Darby giggles. "Dare ya, heathen."

Dahlia and I glance at each other awkwardly from opposite sides of the small entry space. She remains on the bottom step of the staircase, eyes darting around the room uncomfortably before finally landing on my face. "Please don't say something like that to me."

I can't help the small laugh that escapes my lips. "I'd never be so forward." She gives me an eye roll, but I don't miss the tilt of her mouth or the flare in her gaze as she looks me up and down.

Leo and I are wearing essentially the same thing: a black tux, though he's wearing a bow tie and I went with no tie at all, leaving the top two buttons on my dress shirt undone, a simple gold chain hanging off my neck. I watch Dahlia lightly lick her lips as she catches that. I smirk, reaching out my hand in the space between us. She takes it, allowing me to help her down the last step on the staircase just as our siblings round the corner of the dining room hand-in-hand.

Darby's slicked-back bun is slightly ruffled, and my brother's hair is tousled like a pair of hands were just running rampant through it. I hear a small chuff leave Dahlia's lips, indicating she noticed it too. "Ready?" Dahlia asks.

"Absolutely." Leo smiles. "You look beautiful, Dal."

"Nice of you to notice." There's a glimmer in her eyes that tells us the jab was meant in jest.

My brother only laughs as he opens the front door. He leads Darby out first, and I place my hand on the small of Dahlia's back as we follow behind them.

"You look stunning, Dahlia," I whisper quietly in her ear.

"Thank you," she responds breathlessly.

As we reach the car, I open Dahlia's door for her, getting a view of the back of her dress for the first time. Just like I thought, the thin straps cross at her back, leaving most of her smooth, pale skin on display. The tightness of the fabric around her legs extends to her plump, round ass, and I'm fighting back a goddamn groan. It's like this dress was made for her.

"Can I be forward enough to say that you do look utterly fuckable in that?" I murmur against her shoulder as she climbs into the back seat.

I assumed I was being quiet, but the way my brother's head whips sideways, a glare on his face, tells me I failed. Dahlia snorts, not bothering to respond as she slides into the seat and looks up at me with playful eyes, pulling the handle and slamming the door in my face.

My brother grunts in some sort of agreement at her action as he gets into the driver's seat. I round the car to the other side and fall into the back with Dahlia. I don't fucking fit in this thing, but I was told we couldn't take my Jeep because I forgot to put the damn top back on and it would ruin their hair, chief complainer among them being Leo. It's so cramped in the back that I have no choice but to let my thigh press up against Dahlia's, and I've never thought the simple brush of legs could be erotic before, but I swear, my body is on fire in all the places our bodies meet, even through our clothes.

Her breathing is a little labored, making me question if she feels it too. "You're wearing blue."

"New dress," she says breathlessly.

She bought the dress for me. Fuck.

Her legs tremble lightly, like she's nervous. I can't tell if that's because of the event we're attending—which I'm nervous about too, if I'm being honest—or if it's because she's so close to me. My arm itches to grab her thigh and quell her shaking, but I think better of it, balling my hand into a fist instead to fight the instinct.

The annual banquet is always held on the anniversary of Zach's passing, I think more than anything to give his parents a distraction from remembering the horror of that day, and fuck, am I thankful for that too. The first year was brutal. Elena had already run away to New York, August was even more shut down back then than he is now. Leo showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night crying, and we spent the entire twenty-four-hour period on my couch watching Zach's favorite movies.

Grief kind of feels like a bullet wound that never fully heals. Sometimes, it's just a scar, and then other days, you wake up and feel like it tore right through you again, this gaping hole in the center of your chest sucking the life right out of you. You're never entirely sure which days you're going to find yourself bleeding out and which days you'll feel patched up, but I'm always certain that on the anniversary of the loss, that hole is bigger than ever.

For some inexplicable reason, feeling Dahlia's presence beside me makes it feel like the wound I woke up with this morning is shrinking, little by little.

The foundation, and the banquet, help too. They help distract us, help us feel like we're doing something to make his death less…senseless, but the hurt is still there. Still bone deep. Zach and August's parents hold themselves together—they always have. At his funeral, in the aftermath, and ever since. I only ever saw them fall apart in the hospital when we first received news that he hadn't made it. I watched Sadie, their mother, fall to the floor and scream in a way I never knew was possible—at least until I heard the sounds that came from my sister only minutes after. I watched their father, Alex, tell August it was his fault and storm out of the emergency room.

I don't think Alex and August have spoken since.

Darby's soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. "I tried to get him to come."

I watch Leo's arm reach across the center console and grip her leg, calming any anxiety she may be feeling, exactly the way I wish I could comfort Dahlia.

"I know you did, love. It's not you. He didn't come last year, either. He doesn't come to anything."

Dahlia's eyebrows furrow at the center of her forehead. She glances at me for an explanation, but the energy in the car right now doesn't feel like the right place to discuss it.

Later , I mouth at her.

She nods, turning her head to glance out the window as Leo merges onto the interstate, heading south toward San Diego, where the event is being held. The ocean is no longer visible, but the sun sets to the west, sinking low on the horizon and casting Dahlia's face in gold. She's so beautiful, features so graceful as she takes in the imagery around her. Looking at her makes it hard to breathe, makes me feel like I need to clutch my chest and ensure I'm not dying.

I've met a lot of pretty people in my life, but never someone who makes me feel like that, like they could actually kill me just by existing. Like gazing upon her is such a goddamn privilege, I might as well end it now.

Dahlia's leg continues bouncing nervously, and while I'm not exactly sure if my touch is crossing one of the boundaries she set, I can't stand her being uncomfortable. I know I need to touch her in public, know we have to pretend. In this car, I should be keeping my space, because we're only supposed to be for show.

But I can't stop myself from reaching across the seat and taking the hand resting in her lap, lacing her fingers through mine and squeezing gently. Her eyes fall from the window to the place I'm touching her before she lifts her head to look at me. I run my thumb across the back of her hand, not knowing what to do other than smile at her.

She returns it, so bright and beautiful that she eclipses the sun behind her. Silently, she squeezes my hand back.

Only a moment later, her nervous shaking ceases, but she doesn't let go of me.

When Leo pulls up to the valet of the hotel, Dahlia lets go of my hand, leaving me feeling empty. We all pile out of the Mustang, and Darby loops her arm through her sister's, whispering something in her ear that causes Dahlia to smile.

Leo and I trail behind them as we make our way through the lobby of the hotel and toward the ballrooms. "Did you really not know who Dahlia was when you two hooked up in that bar?" he asks, voice sounding accusatory.

"No. I didn't." My own tone comes out pinched in response to his. "Why?"

He huffs, running a hand through his perfectly tousled blond hair. "I'm just trying to figure out how you keep getting yourself into these situations."

He may be projecting a little. He's definitely still upset that I hooked up with his assistant, Adam, last year. Adam is a great guy, undoubtedly the best assistant Leo's ever had. It was definitely selfish of me, and I shouldn't have been so impulsive. Still, Adam and I set clear boundaries before it happened— he knew it was going to be a casual thing. He also promised me that no matter what, he wouldn't quit his job because of anything happening between the two of us, and he has stayed true to that promise over the last year.

It wasn't a big deal, but it could've been, and I understood why Leo was pissed about it.

But it has nothing to do with Dahlia or the way I feel about her.

"She's supposed to feel comfortable here. Safe—" my brother continues.

"Are you insinuating that I would ever make her—or anyone else—feel otherwise?" The words come out as a near-growl. He speaks to me like I'm a fucking child with a hand caught in the cookie jar.

Leo shakes his head. "No. But the way you speak to her sometimes—the flirting—it's like you're playing games. She cannot be played with that way, Everett."

I stop in the middle of the lobby. The girls continue walking ahead of us, oblivious to what's going on, but Leo pauses too, turning to look at me with concern on his face.

"You know Dahlia as Darby's sister. You see her for what she's gone through and what she's struggling with. You want to protect her, and I love you for that." My brother crosses his arms as I step into him. "But I met Dahlia and only knew her for exactly who she is. Have you ever considered that she might want a break from being someone's sister? Someone's mom? The daughter of a fucking psychopath? Have you ever thought that maybe she just needs a safe place to breathe? To play? That maybe I'm trying to be that for her? I'm not trying to fuck and forget her, Leo."

My brother flexes his jaw, eyes boring through mine, but he doesn't know what to say.

"Don't you try to be that for Darby too? Make her laugh and give her a safe place to escape the rest of the world?"

Leo's eyes flash with something unrecognizable before he dips his chin in a shallow nod. "But Darby is going to be my wife . She's not a meaningless one-night-stand."

And that's it for me. An unexpected wave of jealousy slams right into my gut, almost causing me to stumble backward. I pull myself together and walk past my brother without another word. It's not that I'm jealous of him and Darby; I'm just jealous of what they have.

I'm also angry at his insinuation that Dahlia means nothing to me, or that I mean nothing to her. Nothing about what happened between us was meaningless—even if we intended it to be. For me, it happened before I ever learned her name. She'd taken root in my mind the second she sat down next to me at that bar. After that night, all I could think about was how badly I wished there was some way I could find her again. If I could locate the tiniest thread between us, I'd hold on with everything I had until she was pulled into my life again.

Then, suddenly, there she was.

I don't know if I believe in fate. I've never wanted something bad enough to care if it was destined or not. But I remember watching Dahlia run out of that bar and wanting nothing more than to have something—anything—to tie me to her again, only to find her standing in the center of my business, needing my help. I find out she lives with my brother, that she works for me, as if the universe took every tiny string and created a massive knot, placing me right at the center of it. I'm entirely caught up in her, entwined, and I don't want to be untangled.

"Everett." My brother's on my heels, calling my name as he catches up to me. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I…just be careful, yeah?"

I look at him, and I hate the caution I see on his face. I suppose I don't have the best track record to back me up, but I've never intended to hurt a single person in my life. I try my hardest to be easy-going and fun. It's all I've fucking got to offer. I don't have my sister's intelligence or creativity. I don't have Leo's God-given talent or business-savvy mindset. I don't have a whole lot to offer anyone, nothing but myself. For the first time, I consider the fact that maybe I've gotten used to leaving someone before they realize that nothing but myself isn't enough.

For the first time, I realize that I don't want to leave Dahlia before she notices that. I just want to figure out a way to be enough for her.

So, I don't say anything more to my brother as I nod and head toward her like she's a beacon. She's calling to me. She needs me. I've never been needed before. I finally have something to offer her, and I'm going to make damn sure I give her every bit of it she deserves.

There is a small red carpet set up outside the ballroom, a handful of photographers and reporters snapping photos as people enter. A few high-profile athletes are in attendance, and some celebrities, including Leo's friend, Milan, a socialite and influencer whom I make note to introduce Dahlia to later. As my brother and I catch up to the girls, a worker for the event explains how we'll each walk down the carpet to allow for photos before entering the room, and that the four of us are sitting together at a table toward the front.

Dahlia looks at me with wide, scared eyes. I place a hand at the small of her back and give her hip a reassuring squeeze. "We'll let Leo and Darby go first," I chuckle. "That way, we can just copy what they do."

"Who's even going to want to take photos of us, anyway? We're not famous."

I laugh because I get it. I hate doing this kind of stuff too. Leo isn't addicted to the spotlight, but he doesn't mind it. The attention comes naturally to him, always has. I feel like Darby might feel the same way, because she's calm and cool, if not a little excited. Dahlia's like me, though.

"Isn't that the point of this date , Dahlia?" I wink. "We're supposed to be seen together. Plus, it's not just for the celebrities. Sadie and Alex use these photos for the Foundation website and to promote other events they put on. It helps."

She takes a deep breath, nodding. They call my brother and Darby up, and the cameras start flashing wildly. Reporters are shouting questions over each other. Even though Leo is the household name, he ushers Darby in front of him with a hand on her back like she's the star to be gushed over.

If she's nervous, it doesn't show. She walks with confidence and a soft smile to the center of the carpet, pausing as photos are taken. My brother saddles up next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Darby smiles at the cameras, but Leo's eyes are on her, like she's brighter than all of it. A reporter asks for a look at Darby's ring, and she simply turns sideways, placing her left hand at the center of Leo's chest. The reporters go wild at that, and my brother chuckles, pressing his lips to Darby's forehead. He snakes his arm farther around her body, tugging her in tighter. His hand grips just at the curve of her ass, a borderline inappropriate gesture, but his way of telling the rest of the world that she's all his.

The event staff wave them off the red carpet, and suddenly, it's our turn. Dahlia looks up at me with unsure eyes, and I'm brought back to that timid woman who stared after me with those same bright baby blues the night I met her, the woman who wanted me to take control and guide her.

Dahlia's got confidence, or at least, she appears to at work and with her daughter. She's independent, used to being on her own and doing everything herself. These tiny moments of vulnerability that she tries to hide from the rest of the world— I see them. She's unsure about this, not confident, and she has never had someone to pick that up for her before.

So, I do what I think she needs at this moment, and I take over. Grasping her hand, I lead us onto the red carpet, her eyes on me as cameras begin flashing around us. I pause at the center, and it's not as wild as it was when Leo was up here. Still, the attention is on us for this brief moment. I know Dahlia's hating it as much as I am.

I pull her in front of me, wrapping an arm around her waist. Her hand rests at the small of my back, the top of her head just below my mouth. Her entire body is rigid, so I brush my thumb against the fabric on her hip. Leaning forward until my lips meet the shell of her ear, I whisper, "You don't have to look at them, Wildflower. You can look at me."

I keep my eyes up, smiling at the cameras, but I know Dahlia's head snaps sideways. I can feel her gaze boring through me, and her body softens slightly. I tighten my grip on her, knowing the gesture appears possessive. Allowing my mouth to brush against her neck, I whisper again, "You know, they say you're supposed to imagine everyone naked during shit like this, but I think if I tried doing that, I'd only end up imagining you naked—maybe in nothing but those heels—and I'd really embarrass myself here."

I have no idea if that's the right thing to say, if she's going to get offended and I'm going to make her anxiety worse, or if that kind of joke is exactly what she needs to relax right now. I think back to what my brother said and wonder if he's right—if I think I'm offering her some kind of reprieve, or if I'm only seeing it that way because I'm desperate to be around her, to make her want me as badly as I want her.

My stomach twists with anticipation as she pauses, but it quickly morphs into the rapid flap of butterfly wings when Dahlia's mouth bursts with bright laughter. The flash of the cameras intensifies at the sound, and I find myself looking down at her, watching her face fall from pinched and nervous to carefree and open.

She catches her breath, meeting my gaze with grateful eyes. Something like pride blooms in my chest, sending warmth throughout my body.

We're ushered off the carpet, and it's Dahlia who grabs my hand now, interlacing our fingers and squeezing gently. "That was awful. Let's never do that again."

"You did great, wildflower. The hard part's over with." I keep her hand in mine, leading her into the grand ballroom as we maneuver our way toward our table.

I lied, though, because for me, the hard part is just beginning. Walking into this room puts me on alert, makes me start to sweat. I know they start the event with a speech about Zach—his life, the things and people he loved. Then, they play a slideshow filled almost entirely with photos of us as kids. That's the hardest part for me, watching how happy and carefree we used to be. We had no fucking clue what was coming for us. Photos of August and Elena choke me out the hardest, because they're still so broken, and I don't know if there is any part of the two of them that'll ever heal.

Last year, they asked me to give a speech, and I nearly broke down in the middle of it. I feel like shit about it, but I told the Hayeses that I couldn't do it again this year. It takes everything in me just to show up. So, I don't know who's giving it, but I know someone will give a speech. Then, the silent auction will begin. It gets a little easier after that. There is dinner and dancing, and the auction items are set up at the perimeter of the room for people to bid on.

Leo is auctioning a private surf lesson, though if this year is anything like last, those bids will come from a bunch of women with little interest in surfing and a lot of interest in an hour of private time with Leo Graham. Heathen's auctioned off a custom-designed board. My parents, on behalf of Ramos Automotive, are auctioning a year of vehicle maintenance. Lastly, I'm offering a classic, 1960, powder blue T-Bird. It was left at the shop, abandoned by someone's granddaughter after they passed away. It needs a ton of work, but my dad and I are completely rebuilding the engine. It won't be ready for a few months yet, but when it is, it'll be damn near priceless.

The lights around the ballroom dim as Dahlia and I make our way to our table, letting us know they're about to begin. I pull out her chair next to Darby and then slide into the other side. Sure enough, the event begins with Zach and August's dad taking the stage. He thanks people for coming and starts in on who his son was.

Key word: was.

It's hard for me to listen, to hear all the qualities that Zach bore and all the potential he'll never get to live up to. I find myself zoning out through the speech, and before I know it, the lights are off, music is playing, and pictures are flashing across a projector in front of me. They use the same ones every year, so I don't need to look to know what they are.

Zach as a baby. Zach holding August after he was born. The two of them on the beach as children. All the sports Zach played growing up. Then, pictures of Leo, Elena, and I start popping up after we met them around the age of eleven. My eyes meet my brother's across the table, and I can see the unshed tears in his gaze. He swallows hard before he looks in the other direction. Darby's holding his hand so tightly, her knuckles are nearly white, like she's keeping him anchored.

Somehow, I make it through the slideshow without actually crying, but I'm pretty sure I'm completely disassociating with my surroundings in order to make that happen. I didn't hear a lyric of the music that played, didn't look at Dahlia once. I'm only brought back to the moment by the brightening of the lights and the sound of Sadie's voice on the mic. She talks of Zach and how he died, the reason the foundation was established, and how their hope is to never see another parent be told their child had drowned again. She speaks of that day with such calm composure, a stark contrast to how it felt to be there.

The wail is deafening. It pierces through the entire hospital—through my mind and soul. I didn't know a sound like that existed. I also didn't know the people we love could die. Not like this. Not so suddenly and without warning.

Sadie Hayes hits her knees, hunched over on the floor as her body wracks with violent sobs. She has just been told that her son has died. He's gone.

Zach is gone.

"What is—" I hear my sister's voice briefly before it goes silent, the sound of the automatic entry doors shutting behind her.

It's almost as if I can feel Elena take in the scene in front of her. I'm hearing through her ears as the doctor says again, "He didn't make it. I'm so sorry."

I refuse to look at her, keeping my eyes on Sadie, because despite how devastating she looks right now, I can't bear what I'll find on my sister's face. I know Elena is taking count of who's in this room.

Who's missing from it.

Leo and I sit next to each other. Across from us, Sadie's on the floor, August—eyes red and withdrawn—kneeling next to her. Alex, their dad, shoots from his chair, looking down at his youngest son as he spits, "You did this," before storming out.

I watch him as he rushes past us, my eyes following him through the doors my sister just entered. When they land on her face, she looks to me for only the briefest moment, as if searching for confirmation that everything she feared has come to life.

All I'm capable of through my streaming tears is a shallow nod. She stumbles back like someone punched her. Shaking her head, she retreats backward through the doors, and the sound barely leaves her lips before she's in a full out sprint.

But before she's gone, I hear it: the wrangled cry—the broken sob, so hollow and gut-wrenching, it shakes me to my core. It rattles my bones and scorches my soul. The sound of death and heartbreak, of someone being torn apart right in front of you. I feel it filter through me because, on some innate level, I feel what she feels. She's my other half, and I already know she won't come back from this.

"Everett?" Dahlia's voice is soft and warm, coaxing me from my nightmares.

I'm warped back to the current moment, realizing that the speech is over, dinner is being served, and the dancing and auction have begun. My brother gives me an apologetic smile over the table, like he understands exactly where I was just then. His eyes dash to Dahlia for the briefest moment before he's pulling back in his chair and standing up. "C'mon, honeysuckle. Let's go take a stroll."

I turn to Dahlia, her face etched in concern, her hand covering mine on the table. "Where'd you go just then?"

I blink, shaking my head as I take a deep breath. "Nowhere. I'm fine."

She tilts her head, blue eyes blazing. "You don't have to pretend, you know."

I huff a laugh. "Isn't that what we're doing here? Pretending."

"Not with that." She shakes her head. "Not with whatever darkness just passed across your eyes. You don't pretend that doesn't exist. You don't hold that in. Not with me."

I feel my throat swelling again, and all I want to do is break down in her arms. All this time, that's exactly what I've been doing: holding it in. I can see Leo beginning to heal. I can see my parents—Zach's parents, even—doing the same, but I'm not there yet, and sometimes, I don't know how to get there or if I ever will. I feel like I'm not just grieving my best friend, I'm grieving two of them, and I'm grieving my sister too. I don't know how to explain these feelings, and sometimes, it feels like I shouldn't be having them at all.

So, I press them down and hold them back, pretend they don't exist.

Dahlia's the only person to see through that, to give me permission to stop, to share them with her. I'm not even sure I know how to do that, but I want to try. "Some days are just harder than others. Today is always a hard day."

She smiles softly, squeezing my hand. "I know. What can I do?"

I blink at her question, because I'm not sure how to answer. Somehow, touching her makes everything a little easier. Looking at her makes me feel better. Speaking with her makes the weight lighter. All she has to do is exist, and I feel like I'm going to be alright.

"Dance with me?" I find myself asking.

She chuffs. "Of course. I can do that."

We stand from our chairs, and she allows me to lead her to the dance floor where soft, classical renditions of modern songs play. Darby and Leo dance slowly on the other side of the room, entirely caught up in their own world, and I imagine Darby's providing him the same comfort I'm so desperate for.

I turn around, pulling Dahlia into me, wrapping both arms tightly around her waist. She lets hers loop around my neck as we begin to sway. "I miss my sister." I sigh, surprised by how easy the words fall from my mouth. "Sometimes, it feels like I'm not just grieving for Zach, but for her too. It's like…I don't even know who she is anymore, like she might as well have just…" I trail off, unwilling to finish the sentence. "That feels heavier today, I guess."

She's quiet for a moment as she contemplates what I've said. Her fingers brush against the hair at my nape, sending chills up my spine. "I get it. I think I would feel the same way. There is this weird connection with siblings when you're so close, and it's hard to be far apart. I imagine it's even stronger when you're twins."

I nod, feeling understood for the first time in a while.

"I'm sorry this brings all that to the surface for you, but I hope next time it happens, you stop dissociating or holding it in. It's okay if you feel like nobody understands. We'll still be there for you." She's looking at my lips as she says those words, but her eyes slowly drag up to my own, searing right through me. "I'll still be there for you."

"Even if all I want you to do is dance with me?"

She smiles. "Even if all you want to do is dance."

I grip her harder, dropping my chin so my forehead brushes softly against hers. "You've made this easier."

"You make things easier too," she whispers.

I let my eyes fall closed, soaking in this moment with her. I know it's not real. It was only meant to be a few camera flashes to fuck with her dad. A few lunch dates to impress mine. That's all this is supposed to be.

But the way Dahlia sighs against me, the way her body meshes into mine—a flawless fit beneath my hands—it feels as if all the fear and grief and stress in our lives melts away. We spin on the dance floor in momentary peace, and I can't ignore the fact that this doesn't feel fake at all.