“I know,” she says smiling faintly, her cheeks still rose–gold with embarrassment. “I saw. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he says, not trying to hide his curiosity. “You look so familiar.”
Iris stiffens at my side and tugs harder until her wrist is free. “Maybe I’ve just got one of those faces,” she murmurs, her smile stiff and plastic.
Her text alert sounds, and she frowns down at her phone.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s just Lo asking me to translate something Sarai is saying. Sometimes I’m the only one who understands her.”
“She’s at home?”
“No, they actually came with me. They’re in the waiting room.” She rolls her eyes. “Lo thought I was too upset to drive.”
“Were you?” I tug on one coil resting on her shoulder. She looks from me to Kenan, her smile tight at the corners.
“I’d love to see Sarai and to finally meet Lo,” I say, sparing her having to answer in front of Kenan. “Give her the room number.”
“You’ll love Lo, and she can’t wait to meet you.” She types out the text, sinking her teeth into a smile. “I’ll warn you in advance. There’s never any telling what will come out of her mouth.”
“Lo?” Kenan asks, one brow cocked.
“My cousin.” Iris stands, and I miss her already.
The door opens and Sarai darts across the room to her mother, throwing her arms around Iris’s knees as if they’ve been separated fifteen years instead of fifteen minutes. With it being just the two of them for the last year, she probably got really attached.
Sarai peeks out from behind Iris’s knees to look at me, her lips curving up to match the huge grin I’m giving her.
“Hi, Sarai,” I say, wishing she felt comfortable enough already to give me a hug, too.
“Gus,” she whispers.
Iris snorts, laughing at the nickname I told her I hate. There’s still time to retrain Sarai, but right now she could call me Attila the Hun and I wouldn’t care.
Iris’s cousin enters the room at a more measured pace.
The first thing I notice about Lotus DuPree is how much she and Iris look alike. Therearemarked differences. Her skin is a few shades darker but no less smooth. Her hair is coarser but still curly, cut close and died platinum blond. She’s slimmer than Iris, a little shorter, but she looks like a model. Not in her stature, but with an effortless kind of grace. Over a white tank top, she wears a fitted multi-colored silk kimono jacket. Dark jeans mold the lean line of her legs. The tiniest hoop adorns the keen curve of her left nostril.
Beyond her obvious attractiveness, there’s something about her that highjacks your attention. Even with no expression, Lo’s face seems animated. The expressive brows and wide, mobile mouth speak on her behalf without her uttering a word. She’s as hard to look away from as Iris, but for different reasons.
Iris said they come from a long line of voodoo high priestesses. I see it in Lotus. A regalness—a mystery and an aura, like she knows your thoughts before you think them and is fully capable of changing your mind.
Kenan can’t seem to look away. His eyes follow her path from the door to the bedside.
“Nice to meet you, August,” she says, extending her hand.
Where Iris’s voice is sweet and husky, Lotus’s voice emerges low, commanding, and with an inherent sensuality that would have many men under her spell immediately.
Is that what’s happened to Kenan?
He still hasn’t said a word, and, as far as I can tell, he hasn’t looked anywhere else since Lotus walked in the room.
“Glad we finally get to meet,” I tell her, smiling. “Iris has been talking about you since the night we met.”
“Well, we’re even because your name may have come up a time or two today,” she says, smiling and ignoring the glare Iris shoots her way. “Or maybe twelve times. I stopped counting.”
A chuckle rumbles through my chest, and I grab Iris’s hand to squeeze.
