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“Oh, that’s great.” I’m waiting for her to say something else, but she doesn’t, and silence falls between us. I wonder what she’s thinking. She has to be curious, doesn’t she? Does she want to ask me about what happened at the warehouse and what came afterward? I wish she would. I’m already exhausted enough, and keeping up the pretense of being friendly and normal is only making things worse.
“So where did you meet your husband?” she asks, sipping her coffee and checking her phone even though we’re in the middle of a conversation. But that’s how she always is. She can’t keep her mind on one thing at a time.
“Oh, um, it’s kind of a long story. The kind of thing we’d have to sit down and talk about.”
“Well, who is he?” she prompts with a smile. “What’s he do? Is he from here? Does he go to school here, or is he older?”
“He’s a little older,” I murmur, trying to think beyond the haze of fatigue I’m fighting. It was hard enough when I was alone but having to maintain a conversation is so much harder.
“Good move there. Guys our age are a joke.”
“Yeah, he’s a lot more mature.” He’s a lot of other things, too, but I’ll keep that to myself.
“You know,” I offer, talking fast once I see we’re approaching the sciences building, where she probably has a class coming up, “you should come by for dinner sometime. You’re probably my only friend here at school, and I think you two would get along well.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to, like, impose on you guys when you’re still in the honeymoon phase or whatever they call it.” She drops a big wink, and I have to force myself to giggle, even if that’s the last thing I feel like doing. If she only knew.
“But I kind of want to show off a little bit, too,” I insist, thinking on the fly. “I’m, like, a married woman now. I want to show you the house and everything.”
Her jaw drops. “You already have a house? Damn, girl. Who is this guy?”
“Well, it’s his house. He already had it.” I need to make this sound as normal as I can. “And you know it’s not like I’ve ever really had a reason to show off. You know how it was for me.”
If there was ever a time for her to mention sending me to the warehouse, it would be right now. And something does pass over her face, something that resembles guilt, but it vanishes quickly. I guess we’re supposed to pretend that didn’t happen, that she never sent me there, and that nothing ever went wrong. She hasn’t even asked me how it went that night. Or if I went at all.
It’s that thought that makes it easier for me to get insistent. The fact that she’s never really been a true friend. A true friend would have checked in with me. A true friend would have wanted to be sure everything went well. When I vanished off the face of the earth like she mentioned, a true friend would have at least texted or called to see if I was okay, but she never did. And here I was, chalking that up to the idea that she might not be able to reach out because of her family or because she wouldn’t want to get herself in trouble.
Now, alone with her on campus with nobody breathing over her shoulder, I realize she just doesn’t care. Nothing is stopping her from asking me right now what happened that night, but she won’t bring it up. I can’t help but feel a little sad over that. I really thought she was my friend at one time.
“You have to come. And I won’t be cooking, so at least I can tell you the food will be good.”
She turns to me with a sigh—then, all of a sudden, something over my shoulder grabs her attention. My heart sinks even before I feel his touch on my shoulder before his hand closes over it.
Still, it’s not Enzo I’m most concerned with. I knew he would find me anyway; it was only a matter of time. Now I’ll get to sleep in a bed, at least.
It’s Elena I can’t take my eyes off. All of a sudden, it’s like this transformation comes over her. She stands a little taller, pulls her shoulders back, and thrusts her boobs out as she tosses her hair over one shoulder and pouts her lips for no reason other than to look hot, I guess. “Oh, yeah,” she murmurs. “I’ll come to dinner. Just text me when and where.” I don’t have time to say anything before she turns on her heel and speed walks into the building. Is it my imagination, or is she swinging her hips more than she was before?
His hand tightens, and I know what it means.
But now that I’m too busy wondering what Elena was thinking when she eyed up my husband, I can’t bring myself to care very much about what he’s going to do to me.
22
ENZO
“You don’t have to hold me so hard.”
As if I give a shit what she thinks about the way I’m holding her. As if I’d have to hold on so tightly if I could trust her. I know better than to try to speak, so I merely tighten my grip on her shoulder, my arm around her. Anybody who sees us would think we’re a normal couple walking side by side. I could be comforting her, supporting her through a difficult time.
In reality, any difficult time she’s going through is the result of her selfishness.
“I got to talk to Elena, didn’t I? That’s who that was.”
I had assumed since she’s already made it clear that she had few people in her life. Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is that her way of apologizing? No, she’s not apologizing. She’s trying to cover her ass. She got caught, and she knows I’m furious. She has to. We didn’t first meet yesterday. She knew precisely how I would feel about this, but she did it anyway.
And now, she wants me to be merciful. As if she deserves mercy.
Prince is waiting in the car and lifts his brows in a silent question when he sees us approaching. I shake my head—no, I most certainly do not need help with her. She’s the one who needs help.
