Not Piece of CaKe

Like a River

She's so god damn frustrating sometimes.

She spent the entire night whispering little things in my ear. Sometimes, they were sweet and loving. Sometimes, they were naughty and made me blush. She was good at that, in a way that no one else had been. Then I'd woken up to find her gone, presumably to go to work or return to her own place.

Then she'd worn that god damn dress to this engagement party, the one she'd only worn once, the one that I'd peeled off her the first time we'd made love at this same hotel, the evening after the MET gala after-party few years ago.

This particular evening, I could barely focus on Gigi's announcement of her engagement. I spent the entire party struggling to ignore the tiny bit of cleavage exposed by the dark shawl covering her shoulders, struggling to ignore the shape of her body that the dress not-too-subtly revealed, struggling to quash my jealousy any time anyone looked at her with a glimmer of lust.

Harry was high on my hit list, if he ever laid a hand on her.

Jealousy was largely a foreign emotion to me, but she seemed to bring out many things in me I thought I'd never feel.

The hint of skin the slit of the dress, occasionally exposed kept drawing my gaze, particularly when Harry asked for a dance. I knew we were expected to dance with them, as our respective official dates, but his arm around her waist did nothing for my temper.

I tried to distract myself by drawing Louis onto the dance floor with me, but as he lead us through the complicated steps of the waltz, his surprise at my moves did little to draw my attention from Kendall as she laughed at some joke Harry whispered into her ear. Louis glanced toward them and turned his head briskly back to me; jealousy was written on his face as clearly as it was mine.

As Louis and I exited the dance floor, I abandoned him for a glass of wine. I'd never tried the expensive blood-red wine the Hadids had imported for the occasion, maybe it would prove distracting enough. I certainly hoped it was stronger than the usual champagne I used to drink.

Halfway through my second glass, however, the glint of her earrings in the low light caught my eye as Kendall laughed again. Harry's hand sliding further down her back sent a pulse of anger through me, but Louis reappeared and grabbed my wrist and shook his head to remind me where we were. I couldn't cause a scene, and I hated that he was right.

I usually wasn't this possessive of her.

Louis and I hung close to the wall as we watched them and continued working on the bottle of wine I'd snagged. We were gradually moving toward the balcony area as Harry slowly lead her off the dance floor. I grimaced when he offered her a glass of wine, which she accepted with a smile.

The rebel in me wanted to make a scene, to confront, yell and punch the guy. The model in me knew that letting a beautiful woman work her charm on a lustful man would be to our advantage. The lover in me—her lover—wanted to kiss her roughly in front of him and claim her as my own, because she belongs to me. The streak of jealousy in me wanted to tear his arm from his socket.

The look on Louis's face said much the same.

The Hadids—or any of our friends and family—didn't care that she and I were lovers, and they definitely didn't care that Louis and Harry were lovers. But for the sake of the public and media, we were expected to put on a facade of close relations. I had no other choice but to follow the rule for the rest of the evening.

That evening proved to be torture, both sweet and bittersweet, for me.

Periodically, our eyes would lock and she'd flash me a loving smile or a sexy grin. And she'd be gone, just a moment later, every time. Harry continued to request dances and drinks and her time at every turn. Every dance saw his hand drift lower down her back, every drink lengthened the duration of her laugh at whatever silly thing he'd said to her. Every moment, every sweep of the clock's second hand, every laugh, every smile, every step of every dance tightened the spring in me until I thought I'd snap. It didn't help that Harry would grab himself another glass of wine and leer at her.