Carved in Her Bones

Tomas

Why did she have to wear that dress? All the blood in my brain has rushed south, leaving me lightheaded and restless. It's a special kind of torture to want someone this badly. I try to conjure the usual memories—the ones that should kill the heat in my veins. Mom walking in on me, five seconds from orgasm. That should do it.

But it doesn't.

I exhale slowly, willing myself to focus on anything else. I don't look at her. Maybe I shouldn't breathe either, because she smells the way she does, and that only makes it worse.

I steal a glance. She's watching Aga, eyes wide with wonder, with something I can only describe as love. Her right hand is in mine. I let go immediately. Better now.

Finally, I calm myself enough to just watch her. Her hands and feet move slightly, as if she's imagining herself in Aga's place, playing. A small smile lingers on her lips.

God, she's beautiful. Her hair is naturally curly, kissed with gold. Her mother is half Black, passing down just enough of her coloring to give her a sun-warmed glow. If you didn't know her parents, you'd think she was just a white girl who tanned fast.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Joey.

Joey: If you do anything with my sister, wrap it up and be respectful. Or I'll cut your balls off. Have fun.

If I didn't know Joey, I'd laugh. But he loves his sister too much for this to be an idle threat. Dude would really cut my balls off. I like them way too much and theres no world in which I wouldn't respect her

I've never been a huge fan of classical music. I appreciated it, of course—growing up with my mother playing it constantly, it was my first introduction to music. But sitting here, in this rainy city, wearing an overpriced suit, next to her, I was suddenly aware of three things.

First, there was nowhere else I'd rather be. Right here, right now, with her. Second, I was convinced that every man who had ever laid eyes on her had fallen in love. And last, I was very much, deeply, and insanely in love with her.

We're seated across from each other in the restaurant, and I watch as she wrestles with the menu.

Rhye is so indecisive it's almost frightening. "The steak sounds good," she murmurs, "but so does the pasta. Or—wait, the halibut too." It's thoroughly amusing, watching her struggle. The waiter comes back a second time after she asked for "just a few more moments."

I take the liberty of ordering before she can spiral again. "We'll have the steak, the halibut, the pasta alla vodka, and the stuffed artichokes."

I glance at her, waiting. "Uhm..." She hesitates, making me smile. "Could we also have the roasted vegetable platter?"

The waiter nods. "And to drink?" "Do you have any non-alcoholic wines?" she asks.

We settle on a brut non-alcoholic Prosecco. "Did I tell you that you look beautiful?" I say, watching her.

She tilts her head, pretending to think. "No, Tomas." "I seem to remember saying something when you arrived."

"You said 'stunning,' not 'not beautiful.'"

She laughs. "Rhye, are you laughing at me?" She nods, still laughing.

I shake my head. "So, your 18th birthday. How's it going so far?"

"Well, the music was heaven. And the company isn't bad."

I chuckle. "The company, in your own words, is 'sort of beautiful.'"

"Tomas, are you ever going to let that go?"

"No, Rhian. I enjoy when gorgeous women tell me I'm *sort of* beautiful. Let me have this."