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TWENTY-NINE
Laia
Smothering a yawn with the back of my hand, I turn the page of the book I’ve got propped up against my bent knees then turn it back again for about the hundredth time since I sat down out here. The sex on the page just keeps morphing into flashbacks of last night. Vivid, detailed, toe-curlingly high-definition flashbacks of last night. Felix is—I bite my lip, a squealy grin pulling at my mouth. He made me come on the bathroom sink. Then the floor. Then again against the wall and twice more in my bed. His mouth, his fingers, his … I shake my head and try to focus.
“Laia? Are you back here?”
At the sound of Mrs. Devon’s voice, I push my sunglasses onto the top of my head. “In the backyard.”
Unannounced visitors seem to be my new normal lately. I have to admit, it’s kinda nice. I pull my tank on over my bikini top, unroll the legs of my cut-offs, and attempt to cool down my cheeks before she makes it around the side of the house and through the gate.
She appears holding a bouquet of lilies tied with a green ribbon. “I found these by the front door.”
My stomach instantly tightens. Flowers. I swallow down the knee-jerk unease but can’t seem to tear my gaze from the elegant white petals. Or force myself to stand from the wooden sun lounger I’m camped out on.
Mrs. Devon’s smile fades as she lays the flowers onto the empty lounger beside mine. Today’s yellow, paisley-print mumu poofs out at the sides as she sits down beside them. Her face, shaded by the canopy of palm leaves above us, turns sober. Worried. And a tiny bit scared. “Who do you think they’re from?”
Pretty flowers for my pretty lady.
“Laia?” Mrs. Devon’s soft fingers curl around my forearm.
“Excuse me?” I flinch. Shake my head. Slip my arm from her grip. “Sorry, I was just…” I paint on a smile. “They’re beautiful.” The words sound brittle even to my own ears. They’re not from him.
“Who do you think they’re from, Laia?”
“Felix.” They have to be from Felix. It’s the only thing that makes sense. “I should probably get them in some water.” I stand to pick up the flowers, my fingers trembling. “Ice tea?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” Mrs. Devon tilts her head, scanning my face. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You’re very pale.”
“Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting them.” I take a tiny breath of their sweet, heady, horribly familiar scent, barely resisting the urge to drop them.
Her eyes narrow, causing even more fine lines to spread out around them. “I’m actually here to let you know I’ll be gone for a few weeks.”
“Nice. Where are you off to?” I ask as I turn on auto-pilot from her concerned stare and head through the French doors to the kitchen to grab a jug of ice-tea from the fridge.
She’s gazing out over the ocean by the time I’ve fixed our drinks.
The ice cubes clink against the side of the glasses when I place them onto the small wooden table between the two loungers.
“I’m going to see my son in Hawaii. But I can hold off? if you need me to?” She holds my stare, head tipped to the side, hands lifting as if to take my own before they drop back into her lap. “Are you sure you’re okay, Laia?”
“Flowers?” I wince and pull myself up in the bed, pain shooting through my tender ribs.
“I’m sorry about last night.” Damon lays the pink carnations in my lap.
Dressed for work in his gray suit, his face is the epitome of regret. Almost.
My teeth sink into my cheek when I meet his chestnut eyes, and his mouth breaks into a rueful smile as he runs a finger over the bruise across my cheek bone. “You always know just what to do to make me lose my temper.”
“Laia?”
I blink. Swallow. Shake the past from my mind and refocus on the now. It’s not him. It can’t be him. “No, honestly, you should definitely go. It’s your son! You must be so excited. And Hawaii!”
“You sure? You seem—”
“I’m fine. I’m just … I’m not feeling so great today. Lots of late nights and early starts.” I hold her far too perceptive gaze. “I’m really sorry, would you mind if I go lie down?”
It takes me ten minutes to reassure her that everything’s okay and another ten to assure myself I’m not going mad after she leaves.
I lean down, my elbows on the breakfast bar, and stare at the flowers, cock my head and stare some more.
Here, have some roses, I’m sorry I gave you a black eye, but you know I hate it when you’re late.
Here, have some daisies, forgive me for breaking your rib, but you know how I feel about your friends.
Here, have some lilies, I didn’t mean to fracture your wrist. I thought you were leaving me.
You forgive me? Right?
Bile burns up my throat. I check the bouquet again for a card. Any sort of confirmation that they’re from Felix.
There’s nothing. I swallow thickly and flick my gaze around the empty kitchen, through the arch into the hallway and the locked front door beyond it.
