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She tilts her head back, her pale throat an offering, making my fingers twitch. Eyes shut and lips parted, the woman sobs. I don’t possess empathy, but if I did, I’d be gutted at hearing such a forlorn sound.
Even so, there's a strange tightness in my chest.
It intensifies the longer she cries, the more tears she sheds.
There is no audience, no performance to be had. Just a daughter mourning the loss of her parent. In private.
Miss Green waited until she was alone to properly grieve, a revelation I didn’t see coming. Her behavior is a deviation from the norm.
Disappointment surges along with confusion, and my brows furrow. For the first time, the joy I receive from funerals has vanished.
My satisfaction has been thwarted.
And replaced with an uncomfortable sensation that I refuse to name. Something I shouldn’t be capable of.
It’s there nonetheless.
Miss Green is the cause of this.
I run my gaze over the woman as she gets to her feet and slowly makes her way to the casket, grass and mud stains on her clothes and legs. Her perfect image is no more. The lily in her right hand shakes from the tremors wracking her body, dislodging raindrops that are quickly replaced by the storm. And her tears.
She brokenly whispers something I can’t make out and kisses the flower’s petals before placing it on the mahogany surface amongst the other blooms. Then she walks to the vehicle idling by the curb. I watch until she climbs inside and disappears from sight.
Then I head toward the casket. Peering down, I squint in disdain at the man hidden within, my lip curling. “You caused pain before and after your death. If I could kill you again, I would.”
Reaching out, I trail my fingers over the lily that Miss Green held so tightly, the soft texture how I imagine her skin would feel. I pick it up and press my lips to the petal where she did moments ago, inhaling deep. The fragrance of the bloom fills my nostrils, along with the scent of the woman who now invades my thoughts.
She’s a mystery
A problem.
One that I intend to solve and be rid of. No matter the cost. Or else the price I’ll pay will be my sanity—what little still remains.
Chapter2
Calista
“What’sthe questioneverywoman wants to be asked, at least once in her life?”
I stop wiping the counter and look at Harper like she’s lost her mind. Because she probably has. Everything that comes out of her mouth never ceases to amaze me. And usually has me stunned into silence while blushing profusely.
I steel myself and guess, knowing I have a 1% chance of being right. “‘Will you marry me?’”
My co-worker rolls her eyes. “I love you too, but no. Why can’t a man simply ask, ‘Do you want me to come over and eat your pussy till you come on my face?’”
“I think I’m having a stroke,” I wheeze.
She grins at me, her green eyes bright and her expression feral. “All I’m saying is, if a guy ever asks me that, I’d totally marry him.Aftersitting on his face.”
Harper gets me every time. I don’t know why I even try to maintain my composure, but I suppose it’s the way I was raised. You can’t be a senator’s daughter andnotbe aware of how you’re being viewed by the public.
At all times.
I lift my hand to tuck a loose tendril behind my ear, only to recall I braided my hair to keep it out of my face. Still needing the mental satisfaction that comes from managing my appearance, I lower my arm and run my fingers over the pearl necklace hidden under my t-shirt. The smooth, round shapes, familiar and uniform, have me breathing out slowly, my flustered state dissipating.
Harper turns at the sound of the door opening and greets the customer as if she didn’t just say something outrageous to me. “Hey there, Mr. Bailey. How’s it going today?”
The elderly man nods once, shuffles up to the counter, and plants his wrinkled hands on the surface. He stares up at the menu, his forehead creasing in thought. As if he doesn’t order the same thing every day. “I think I’ll have the blueberry muffin and a coffee. Black.”
