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Zarina hides her mouth behind her hand, eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking. I want to yank her wrist down and let her giggles spill from her lips, honeyed delight so sweet it’d rot her teeth. And mine. Because I would bottle it up, drink it down on days the weight of my choices, successes, and failures, threatens to bury me.
Instead, I shoot her a playful glare. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Whoa, that was deep, Mais.” Jaime slow claps. “Did you watchPride and Prejudiceyesterday?”
“No…” Mais grins. “It wasShakespeare in Love.”
Jaime bends over laughing, the sound bouncing off the floor and up to the ceiling.
“You’re banned from the TV room,” I jest.
“Aw, poor baby.” Zarina pats my cheek in mock comfort. “Being the moon must be so cold and lonely.”
I rest my forehead against hers, our eyes so close I can see the gold threading through her irises. “Thankfully, I have my own personal sun to warm me.”
Zarina lifts onto her toes and captures my lips. It’s so surprising, I almost rear back and shatter the illusion ofus. Of two women in love, about to marry and spend our lives building an empire together. But I catch myself in time, leaning in rather than away, my arm reaching around her waist to splay my fingers over the bare skin of her back.
Outside our bubble of warmth and stolen kisses, Jaime fake gags and Mais smacks them. “Shut up, you fucking yeti.”
They gasp. “Just because I’m tall and white?—”
“And loud,” Mais finishes.
“I hate the snow, though,” they whine.
Zarina pulls back, gaze finding mine with something like bemusement in the furrow of her brow. Her thumb finds the skin below my lip and wipes away traces of her lipstick, which is unmarred on her own lips. I blink, the tingle of our kiss prickling through my jaw, my gums.
Why did that feel different?
Zarina clears her throat, turning out of my embrace toward the kids. “Mais”—her voice is tighter than before—“Sally Vator is here. Would you like to meet her?”
Mais’s eyes widen, and he pats his hair. “Really? Oh my god, um, I don’t know. Do I look okay?”
Zarina offers him her hand and an endeared smile. “I think she’d love to see her design on the person who inspired it.”
Mais’s eyes glisten for a moment before he inhales a steelybreath and rolls his shoulders back. Seventeen years old and already more poised and true to himself than ninety percent of the people in this room. I can’t help but glow, watching Mais rest his hand upon Zarina’s, as if they are both royalty gliding unbothered through a pit of vipers.
“Go with them.” I nudge Jaime, who jumps to rush after them with a buoyant wave. Gemma hurries behind, shaking her head, Pat beside her. I watch them go with a soft smile, my heart warming in my chest.
ZARINA
Iadmit it—I’ve been avoiding Tamayo all week.
I was busy. Making Wonderland come to life, sourcing outfits that were on-theme for a dozen people, trying to fit in researching my family’s financial straits. It took up most of my time. And I used it as an excuse. I wanted to see Tamayo, wanted to ask her to touch me again, to fuck me again, but maybe I shouldn’t.
So I didn’t.
But now we’re here. The party is in full swing, and while some of the compliments are polite, the majority are glowing. I don’t have to think about performing for the public unless I choose to after tonight. My last obligation.
And there Tamayo is, wearing that suit that hugs her ass, the cape hanging just so from her tall shoulders, smiling fondly at kids and letting them take the mickey out of her. She’s hot. Annoyingly, stupidly, damninglyhot. The thought makes my mind sink to dangerous places, to alcoves too dark to see wandering hands. Like the one behind the open bar, with all the flowers hanging in front of it.
“Zarina, dear, are you okay?” SallyVator slips her hand around my back and pinches the skin above my dress, which she designed. Her jumpsuit—another design of hers—is teal trimmed in gold brocade with a buckle shaped like a handle along at her waist. A small note hangs from the belt that saysEat Mein the most tasteful calligraphy. She offers Mais and Jaime an appeasing smile, speaking to me through her teeth. “You look…constipated.”
I know she absolutely does not think I look constipated. I look like a cat in heat.
I clear my throat. “I’m fine, just warm.”
“Hm, I find it quite cold, actually.” Sally squints at me, over at Tamayo, back at me. She’s fully made up in her drag persona, makeup bright and dramatic, pink wig jacked up to Jesus. A gem amongst rocks. “Wait—did you?”