Bliss

twenty four

Lily's beautiful. I always knew it in an imprecise way, but I wasn't expecting this.

Wasn't expecting a perfectly symmetrical face, complete with rosy lips and a deep cupid's bow, upturned eyes and bright blue irises that swirl alluringly.

Wasn't expecting a slight figure or musician's hands, with long elegant fingers, the appendages adorned in a mismatch of silver rings that were both parts edgy and flawless.

And I especially wasn't expecting a honeyed tan, her skin dancing with a natural glow, or her ash blonde hair, the ends curled into careless waves.

"You must be Lizzie." She offers me one of her perfect hands and smiles, her pert lips flattening a little on the top.

"Yeah, and you're Lilly, right?" My voice manages to behave, the words crisp and clear.

"Yes," she says, her smile growing. "It's nice to finally meet you. I kinda feel like I'm meeting a celebrity."

"A celebrity?" I wipe my hand along the hem of my skirt and shift my weight onto my left leg.

"Not in a bad way," she says, her voice jumping. "But Isaac sure has a lot of stories about you."

"Likewise."

"Anyway." She shakes her head, her ash waves falling prettily. "I should get going. He's in the living room."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

I head in and close the door behind me, pulling at the brass knob to activate the lock. Just as I kick off my trainers, Isaac slinks into the hallway. His expression is painfully neutral, his stance unbothered, and his voice cold.

"Do you want a drink?" he asks, icy blue energy crackling around him.

"No. I'll only be a minute."

He waits for me to straighten up before turning towards the kitchen. I scurry after him, my bag suddenly weighing a tonne, and perch awkwardly on the edge of one of the bar stools that surround the enormous marble island in the centre of the room.

"What was Lily doing here?" I ask as I drum my fingers on the edge of the cool surface.

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Fair enough."

A moment of silence passes between us, the awkwardness smothered under the rumble of the kettle.

"She was returning a few of my things," he eventually says. "You know, books, clothes."

"Likewise."

He turns around and raises an eyebrow, prompting me to tug the t-shirt out from the depths of my bag. It still smells like him, fresh and citrusy, with a hint of my favourite perfume ruining the profile. "I believe this is yours," I say, my arm outstretched in a show of civility.

"I actually forgot about it."

"Same, but I was unpacking last night, and I realised it certainly doesn't belong to me."

"You could've kept it."

"I'm not sure that's too wise."

"Why? Will your boyfriend throw a fit?"

I narrow my eyes and slide the t-shirt across the island. It falls off the edge, disappearing from my line of sight.

"What's Henry been telling you?" I ask, my fingers tightening on the counter edge.

"Nothing I couldn't figure out myself."

"You don't know him. You don't know us."

"Do you?" he asks, his head lolling to the side in cold cruelty.