House Of Obsidian: Flawed Love Part 11

"Ready?" he asks.

As I'll ever be.

"You're in love with Pippa?"

I say this as we travel down the long, dark road back towards the main center of the city. Rainer's fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

"What makes you think that?"

I laugh softly. "I've seen people in love, Rainer. I saw the way you looked at her."

"Doesn't matter how I looked at her. She's in love with another man."

"That wasn't the question I asked," I say carefully.

"Yeah, I'm in love with her. I've been in love with her for years."

Even though I was expecting it, those words burn. I'm thankful the car is dark, so he can't see the pain flash across my face.

"How come nothing ever happened?" I go on, wanting more information but hating what might come of it.

"Because it was a bad situation, and by the time I found her again, she was in love with Tyke."

"Did she ever feel the same?"

He's silent a while. Then he says, "No."

"I'm sorry," I say, because I really am. I know exactly how that feels.

"Don't be. It was in the past."

"Is that why you don't see other women on a more permanent basis?"

He grunts. "I thought we were just friends, Mali?"

My back goes up. "We are. I'm not asking because I'm interested. I was just curious."

He goes silent again. "Sorry. That was rude."

I fall silent now, too, and we ride like that until we pull up at my apartment. It's dark inside, which means Mimi is out or asleep. Probably asleep. She loves her sleep.

"Well," I say, reaching for the handle, "thanks, Rainer."

He doesn't say anything, and I go to push the door open when he asks a question that pauses me right in the middle of it.

"Can I come up?"

Oh G.o.d.

I turn and look at him, and he's studying me. I want to ask a thousand questions, like why the h.e.l.l he wants to come up, and when he does, what is it he wants to do? But I ask none of them, not because I don't desperately want the answers, but because as far as I know, Rainer doesn't sleep with the same woman twice, which means I'm slightly different.

I can take that.

"Yeah," I say softly.

Then I climb out of the car.

He follows me.

CHAPTER TEN.

THEN a MALI

"Please, Eva, just be nice," I moan to my sister, who is standing behind me, both of us meeting each other's eyes in the mirror.

"Don't you trust me, Emalie?" She grins, her eyes flickering with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I do, but I want to look nice on this date, not like a clown . . ."

She wiggles her eyebrows. "I wouldn't do that."

"Please, can you just be a sister for once?"

Her eyes flash a little and she nods. "I won't make you look horrible, Mali. I promise."

I nod and we both stare back towards the mirror. She takes my hair in her hands, and runs her fingers over the light blond locks. "I don't know if there are a great deal of ways I can put this up, but I can give it style."

My hair is short, sitting around the tops of my shoulders. I have it that way because it's easier, and I don't like to have it long. I am way too lazy for that upkeep.

"Okay," I say, warily.

"Trust me. It'll look great."

"I hope so, because I'm not doing a good job at this as it is."

She pulls out a straightening iron and plugs it in, switching it on. She puts a heap of product in my hair and starts talking as she works.

"This Jack, is he the one you had here the other week?"

I nod.

"The one Rainer sent packing?"

"You heard that, huh?" I sigh.

She nods. "It was hard to miss it."

"Yeah, I guess it was."

She runs the iron over my hair, and the warmth makes me tingle.

"Why does he do that?" she asks.

"Rainer?"

"Yeah."

I shrug. "I have no idea. He said he's looking out for me."

"Sometimes you need to trust guys, Mali. He might know what he's talking about."

"Yeah, maybe, but I'm not going to just jump Jack's bones. I'm not stupid."

She says nothing, but I see her nod. She focuses back on my hair and our mother pops her head through the door, staring at both of us with a shocked expression on her face. Eva and I don't often get along, being that we're two completely different people. The only reason Eva agreed to do this was because she loves fas.h.i.+on, and what better than a makeover? I think this is the longest amount of time we've spent together since we were kids.

"What are you girls up to?" Mom asks, looking amazing in her peach-colored blouse over a cream ruffled top.

"Emalie is going on a date," Eva points out.

Mom's eyes get big. "You are?"

She probably thought I was a lesbian. I wouldn't blame her. I've never shown a great deal of interest in boys, not because I wasn't interested, but just because I didn't know how to handle them. It was easier for me to act like one then to try and get romantic with one.

"Yes. It's nothing major," I say, flus.h.i.+ng.

"Well, you'll need something to wear," she says, her eyes lighting up.

s.h.i.+t, here we go.

"No, Mom," I groan. "I'll just wear jeans."

"You can't wear jeans!" she gasps.

"Why not?"

Her face, oh G.o.d her face. It's hilarious.

"Tonight you're going to let me help you, like it or not. If you want to impress this young gentleman, then you need to look nice."

Young gentleman. G.o.d. Kill me now.

"Okay, Mom." I sigh, because I know there's no stopping her when she gets something in her head, and besides, it's kind of nice to have their attention on me.

"I have the perfect dress," Eva says, finis.h.i.+ng up my hair. "I'll get it."

Mom replaces Eva's spot when she disappears, and starts flicking my hair around. "You have beautiful hair, Emalie. You should let it grow out."

I stare at my hair in the mirror, and it actually looks nice. Mostly I throw it up in a low ponytail but now it's flowing nicely around my shoulders, with little flicks on the end. It's pretty. My fringe is swept to the side, falling softly near one eye. I barely recognize myself.

"Turn around. I'm going to put a little makeup on."

Oh man.

I hate makeup.

Mom spins my chair around and digs through Eva's drawers until she finds the expensive makeup my sister refuses to leave the house without. She finds a chair and brings it over in front of me. There she starts puffing powders and creams and blushes on my face. I keep my eyes closed until she asks for them to be open for the mascara.

"There," she says after about twenty minutes. "Oh Emalie . . . you look so beautiful."

I look over to Eva, whose eyes widen. "Holy s.h.i.+t, sister. You look good."

Nerves tighten in my chest as I turn towards the mirror. I gasp when I see my reflection. I'd hardly recognize myself if I didn't know it was me. I blink a few times, sure I'm seeing it wrong. I have to be. Because like this, I look as beautiful as Eva, maybe even more. That's not something I ever thought was possible.

My eyes, which are a greeny blue, seem brighter with the soft bronze and grey tones near my eyes. The mascara makes my lashes look long, and luscious. My cheeks are lightly blushed and my lips have a coating of soft pink lipstick. I look . . . pretty. Eva thrusts a dress in front of me and I tear my eyes from the mirror and look at it. "Ah," I say in a shaky voice, because I hate dressed and even worse, I hate short ones.

"Trust me, if you want to impress him, you need to wear this."

I stare at the black number and swallow. I've seen Eva in it and it make her look amazing, but me . . . I don't know. I don't have the curves.

"Get some shoes, too," Mom orders.

Eva disappears into her closet and I stand with trembling fingers and take the dress, holding it up. "I don't know."

"Trust me," Mom says. "Your sister knows what she's talking about."

I take a deep breath and then disappear into the bathroom to change. I drop my jeans and baggy s.h.i.+rt, and slide on the dress. It's tight at the top, making my b.r.e.a.s.t.s poke up way too far. The swell is on view for everyone to see. The black dress stays tight right down to my waist and then it flares out. It's above my knees, and seems like a 50s-style dancing dress, but it is pretty.

With a deep breath, I turn and glance in the mirror.

I lose my breath.

That girl . . . she's not me. No . . . that girl is up there with Missy and Eva. She's the kind of girl who can catch a man's eye. It can't be me.

"Here," Eva says, barging in. She stops when she sees me. "Holy . . . look at you."