Dinner on Friday

7. Carla

LUNCH WITH FRIENDS OR VIPERS

I felt nauseous the entire five days leading up to the lunch. I was in my shell, refusing to communicate with Dante, afraid he would tell me to cancel the lunch altogether.

In a way, I was grateful that he was too busy looking for a new chef to pay me any mind.

The day of the lunch, I woke up feeling sicker than a dog who had eaten too much chocolate. With my hand over my mouth, I ran straight to the bathroom.

Bent over the toilet seat, I threw up last night's dinner and then some. Just when I thought it was over, a disgusting remnant of bile crept up at the back of my throat, driving me to gag and drool into the toilet bowl.

With a deep sigh, I managed to stand up and rinse my mouth, first with water followed by a generic store-brand mouthwash.

I showered and got dressed, deciding to wear something nicer than leggings and a T-shirt, which were my go-to when at home.

After staring at the clothes lined up in my closet for an entire five minutes, I chose a long sleeve white blouse that was remarkably feminine and paired it with cut-out light blue jeans and red strappy heels.

I added a few accessories and then looked in the mirror. One look at my reflection told me that I couldn't skip doing my makeup today.

My brown skin looked like a dry paper bag and the dark circles under my eyes were reminiscent of a dead person in a coffin.

But I was alive.

For now.

The least I could do was look the part.

Grabbing my foundation and concealer, I got to work. I contoured my cheekbones and jaw for good measure and added a subtle hint of blush. When I was done, I looked a lot less like a corpse, but something was missing.

Lipstick, you forgot to wear lipstick.

Ahah!

I only had two shades of lipstick: brown and red.

To be safe I went for the skin tone one but it didn't help my corpse-like appearance much. I wiped it off and reapplied with the red this time.

Much better.

But why didn't I feel better? How was I supposed to keep a straight face while asking my friends if they were trying to kill me?

I was a terrible actress. They were going to see right through me.

It was the end of spring in Barcelona, and the weather was weathering in a good way. Already, the sun had taken its kingly position in the sky, washing the rolling grass and trees around our house with golden light.

The scent of bacon and eggs drew me to the kitchen, where I found Dante sitting at the island, drinking black coffee as he scrolled through his emails.

I paused in the doorway to take in his handsome profile. He wore a fitted light gray shirt and black jeans. His charcoal-colored hair, shaved low on the sides, fell slightly forward on his forehead. As usual, his face was tense in that intense way of his.

Once he sensed my presence, his head snapped up. Without uttering a word, his eyes and open posture told me what he wanted... me on his lap.

I moved away from the door and sat down on him. His warm arm came up around my belly, pulling me close.

"Good morning, gorgeous." His fingers trailed along my jawline. "You were tossing and turning a lot last night."

"I was?"