Page 63 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two

Yennifer hums.

“Okay, are you decent?”

“Huh?” I ask, pulling the shades open along the long set of windows and doors, which leads to the private balcony—the only one on this side of the building.

I take a second to draw in the sights, the shimmering lights just beyond the building. On the lit path, a couple walks arm in arm for a few steps, disappearing beyond the hedge.

Love. They’re clearly in love.

I close my eyes, thumping my head on the glass at the shifting thoughts.

“I assume the kids are asleep, so you have five seconds before I start pounding on the door.” Yennifer breaks my paranoia, and my smile returns as I head for the suite entrance.

Swinging it open wide, I lean out the opening in time to spot Yenn standing in the center of the rotunda with her phone pressed to her ear.

“Yenn!” I whisper-squeak, motioning her toward me. Was it just a minute ago that I felt like everything was suffocating me?

She hops into the room smelling like heaven and wearing a flowing outfit that looks like it’s made of several scarves. It’s very European, I guess.

“Bitch, it’s so good to see you!” she says, her eyes sparkling when she tosses her $20,000 bag on the plush sofa as if it were a Wal-Mart Birkin.

She pulls me into another tight hug, her long dreadlocks, which now hang to her knees, wound in a half-up, half-down style. The gold bands she’s artfully placed on different strands bring the entire look together.

“I was planning on meeting up with you before you or I left,” I say. “You didn’t have to come all this way so late.”

Not that it really matters. My body is still kinda on Chicago time, where it’s afternoon.

“As if I’d give up the opportunity to see my best friend as soon as fucking possible,” she says with a goofy scoff.

“Plus,” she says, rummaging through her bag before finding a bowl, lighter, and fancy tin filled with what I can only imagine is the finest Kush, “I cannot go a minute longer without hearing every single fucking detail about you and Storm Sandoval’s reunion.”

It feels like I have heartburn, and I smack my lips in distaste.

“Girl, the kids are here,” I hiss, and she turns in a circle, looking around.

“The little bits are asleep, right? Some moms do the wine thing. Some moms toke. It’s all good, I promise, Shae,” she says, and knowing there will be no stopping her, I lead her to my room and close the door.

“There’s not really much to say,” I reply, even though it’s a lie. I don’t know why I’m keeping everything Storm told me away from Yenn. It’s not like I won’t need her help to untangle this mess—hers and very likely her brother’s. But instinct tells me to keep things closer to my chest until I’ve got it all figured out.

She boops me on the nose with the curved end of her glass smoking pipe.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replies. I roll my eyes.

Yenn swings open the trendy French doors and plops into one of the reclining chairs overlooking the rose garden. In the distance, just barely visible beyond the treetops, the gilded rooftops of Versailles glint under the moonlight.

I sit in the chair opposite her and stare at the distant forest.

“So,” Yenn says, using the butt of the lighter to pack in the weed. “Your baby daddy has decided to show up. What did he have to say for himself?”

I don’t look away from the trees for a long minute, stalling. When I give her my attention, I say, “Isn’t weed illegal in France?”

Yennifer shrugs.

“Babe, it wouldn’t be calledouidif it wasn’t okay inle France,” she says, adding an accent and emphasis on the final vowel.

“I don’t think that’s correct, and also, be careful because my ass is not rolling with you if you end up on an episode ofLocked Up Abroad.”

Yennifer snickers and flicks the lighter to get a flame going. Drawing in the smoke deeply, I watch the rings she releases into the air disappear into nothingness.