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I sense Willow’s presence before I even see her. My entire body stiffens, and a wave of goosebumps washes over my skin like I’ve been dropped into a vat of ice water. I turn to look at her.
The sight of her is a punch to the gut and a match set to my heart if my veins were filled with gasoline.
She’s wearing a short black dress, split at one thigh, under an oversized black leather jacket, vertiginously high-heeled boots. Her black hair, now streaked red at the front like a slash of blood, is gathered back in a messy knot. Her mouth is a blood-red love heart, and there’s a new tattoo around her neck, a delicate necklace of thorns that makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.
She looks like she’s dressed to chew me up and spit me out, like she’s come here to poison my cup and invade my kingdom and bring me to my knees.
Willow greets Sophie with a kiss on the cheek, and I should’ve known Willow would love Sophie, two women cut from the same metal. I couldn’t have hoped for anything more disastrous.
Next, Willow stoops over Evan to give him a hug. My fingers clench into fists when Evan’s hand lightly rests on Willow’s waist as she hugs him. If he everdoesget married, I make a promise to myself to send him a box of animal entrails for a wedding present.
Finally, Willow deigns to look at me. The green of her eyes gleams through the darkness of her smokey make-up, and her crimson mouth twists into a smirk.
“Luca,” she drawls with a tip of her head.
“Lynch,” I say, with my head and chest bursting with violence and resentment and want and hunger and greed and fury and desire.
I receive neither kiss nor hug. Willow sits down at the table, whips open her menu, and when the waiter arrives, she orders enough food to feed one small army and enough alcohol to fell another.
“Living large, Lynch?” I ask when she’s done.
“Might as well,” she replies. “You’re paying.”
I look away from her, forcing myself to suppress a smile. As I do, my eyes meet Sophie’s, who watches me with a strange expression. Eyes narrowed, mouth slightly pursed, like she’s trying to analyse a literary passage.
My dormant smile dies a rapid death under that inquisitive stare. Meeting Lynch with Sophie present was something I agreed to only because I was desperate, but it was a mistake. I realise that now.
“You look like shit, by the way,” Willow adds.
“I’ve not been sleeping well.”
“Another reason to get yourself to the gym, man,” Evan interjects unnecessarily.
“Insomnia is a common by-product of guilt,” Sophie says. “Don’t you rememberMacbeth?”
Of course I rememberMacbeth—the story of a man driven to madness by the sultry, manipulative whispers of a demonic, murderous woman.
“Enjoying your life in New York, Lynch?” I ask, gaze boring into the demonic, murderous woman at the table.
She shrugs. “Beats London.”
“Keeping busy?”
“Some of us have to work for a living.”
“Bartending still?”
“Among other things.”
The inside of my skin feels sharp and tight, like I can’t wait to rip out of myself and leap at Willow, to sink my teeth into her throat.
“Too busy to date, then?”
She leans forward. “A girl’s gotneeds, Luca.”
I know Willow and her needs all too well.
“You’ve been having fun?” I bite out.
