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“I’m fine,” I sign and clack my acrylic nails together to show him why. These bad boys are long enough that I won’t do my fingers any damage.
He releases my hand because he’s smart enough to know that I’ll do what I want.
Unfortunately, Henry’s human handcuffs are replaced by another darker and more feminine model.
I know exactly who’s beside me before I smell her perfume.
“Don’t,” Deej says, waiting until I look up so I can read her lips.
I let out a giant exhale.
My sister is only a year older than me, but she acts like we have a difference of a decade. If she wasn’t my favorite person in the world, usurped only an inch by Coco Chanel, I wouldn’t tolerate all her hovering.
I climb to my feet while more waiters rush over. The shards of glass are soon swept into a dust bin and the party continues without a blip.
Dejonae drops my hand and pierces me with a scolding look. I have at least five inches on her, but nobody told my sister that she should be intimidated.
“What are you doing trying to pick up glass with your bare hands? You could have gotten hurt. You need to be more careful.” Her hands are expanding, taking up more space to show she’s yelling.
I make eye contact with her husband. Thanks to his stunning almond-shaped eyes and cheekbones that could kill, Sazuki reminds me of a silent assassin. Thankfully, this assassin is Deej’s protector and not her enemy.
At least, not anymore.
Sazuki takes his much younger wife by the arms and calms her down by speaking in her ear. My sister’s shoulders start relaxing and she bobs her head, giving in.
Watching them, something sharp and painful strikes me. It lingers even when Sazuki shares an understanding look with me and steers Deej away.
“Jealous?” Henry signs.
I shrug. I’m happy my sister found someone who adores her. But I also thought we’d be single together. Forever.
At this point, it seems more plausible that my manager will finally book me a Versace gig at Fashion Week than that I’ll find a decent guy.
I shake my head to rid myself of my moodiness. “I blame doofus.”
“Doofus?”
“Earlier.” I roll my eyes, signing faster as my irritation surges. “The one who crashed into the waiter.”
“Did you push him?”
“Really?”
“Just asking.”
“He hit on me, saw I’m deaf, and ran away.”
Henry scowls. He’s aware of how brutal hearing people can be when they find someone even remotely different to them.
“You okay?” he signs.
I shrug. “He’s not worth it.”
Henry roughly sips his drink, eyes surfing around the room like he’s looking for the culprit.
I take his glass from him and taste it. It’s disgustingly bitter so I hand it back and sign, “This is why I willnever,” I emphasize the sign for ‘never’,“date a hearing person. They’re too much trouble. It won’t work.”
Henry signs with one hand while holding the drink in the other. “Can’t argue with that. My ex was hearing.”
