Black Dahlia (The Dahlia Trilogy of The Gilded Flower Series Book 2) Page 2

  This is what I need, Dahlia thinks to herself, as he continues to lick and bite her soft tissue, relishing in the pain and pleasure that overwhelm her senses. Of course it’s what Sebastian needs too. His grief runs nearly as deep as hers—their grief threatening to drown them at any moment.

  Dahlia arches her back as he takes one nipple into his mouth, while pulling and pinching the other. His other hand makes its way back down to her soaking cunt and begins to thrust in and out. Dahlia’s breathing turns shallow, her hips rocking in rhythm as her muscles begin to clench around his fingers.

  All of a sudden, Sebastian flips her over onto her knees and pushes the swollen head of his cock up against the entrance of her pussy. He circles the head slowly, spreading around her love juices. In a breathless moment, Sebastian pushes his cock inside of her. Dahlia cries out, feeling herself stretch as he fills her completely.

  Dahlia rests on her arms with her ass in the air as Sebastian slams into her so deep she can feel his balls against her clit. Each time he pulls out, he slams himself into her even harder as if trying to push away their grief. Soon, everything starts to blur as he pushes himself harder and harder into her, making Dahlia think about nothing but his cock taking her higher toward her release.

  Sebastian grips her hair tight, wrapping it around his hand as he fondles and pinches her tits mercilessly with the other. Dahlia begins to feel her muscles clench around his shaft as he finally explodes into her, their bodies trembling as they collapse onto the chair. Dahlia turns away, tears streaming down her face.

  Chapter 7

  “Dahlia, wake up.” Sebastian shakes her gently.

  She rolls onto her side. The sudden movement makes her want to vomit.

  Sebastian raises the shades. “You’ve got to get up, Dahlia.”

  “Why?” She asks into her pillow, her voice hoarse and dry from the tequila the night before.

  “Shane’s mom is here.” Sebastian throws back the covers.

  “Oh shit,” Dahlia cries as she stumbles out of bed, nearly falling over. She grabs onto the nightstand to steady herself, but can’t find her footing—still feeling the effects of the alcohol. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Dahlia rushes to the bathroom and throws up. Sebastian stops at the door.

  “What are you doing here?” She asks, heaving into the toilet.

  “Perhaps you don’t remember, but I was in no condition to drive home last night,” Sebastian replies warily. “I crashed on the sofa after I put you to bed.”

  Dahlia leans against the wall, pressing her cheek against the cold marble. The night begins to return in flashes. Shots of tequila. How many? Six before she lost count. Kissing Sebastian. Those warm, inviting lips. Feeling his tongue and teeth all over her body. Sebastian plunging his cock inside of her. Dahlia hangs her head over the toilet as a wave of nausea hits her again.

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” Sebastian says, closing the door to the bathroom.

  Dahlia examines herself in the mirror noticing the bite marks and hickeys all over her neck and chest. A tear trickles down her cheek. Now she can add shame and guilt to accompany her grief.

  Chapter 8

  “Pearl, I’m sorry. I forgot you were coming today,” Dahlia says awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Shane’s mother smiles warmly at her.

  “Don’t worry, dear. I should’ve called.” Pearl looks from Dahlia to Sebastian, who’s standing on the other side of living room, tension and discomfort filling the space with every breath.

  “Well, uh. Thanks again, um, Dahlia. For the talk, I mean,” Sebastian says. He walks up to her and offers her a platonic kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He turns and hugs Pearl. “Good seeing you, Mrs. Walker.”

  Dahlia blinks back tears. The last time Dahlia and Shane spoke, he referred to her as Mrs. Walker. She was in Miami to tell Rodrigo in person that she decided to live in California to be with Shane. She could hardly wait to see Shane and go on the honeymoon they never had. It’s still difficult for her to imagine that she’ll never hear the sound of his voice again.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Dahlia asks Pearl as she heads into the kitchen.

  “Whatever you’re having will be fine, as long as it isn’t hair of the dog.” Shane’s mother winks at her.

  Dahlia pours two glasses of water and hands one to Pearl. “That obvious, huh?”

  “Hard not to notice the empty shot glasses and bottle of Tequila over there.” Pearl nods her head toward the end of the kitchen countertop.

  Dahlia blushes. “Sebastian came by to talk last night.”

  “Of course he did,” she replies. Although by the expression on Pearl’s face, it’s obvious she knows what happened. Dahlia can feel her stomach churn.

  Dahlia clears her throat. “You mentioned there are some things of Shane’s you’d like to take.”

  Pearl puts her hand on Dahlia’s arm. “That can wait. You know hon, it’s okay.”

  Dahlia looks at her confused. “What’s okay?”

  “You know.”

  She shakes her head.

  “That you and Sebastian . . .” Pearl leaves her to fill in the blanks.

  Dahlia sets down her glass and shakes her head. “No! It’s not alright.” Tears prick her eyes. “I can’t believe that happened.”

  Pearl puts her arms around Dahlia to comfort her. “Here, have a seat,” she says, pulling out a stool by the counter. Dahlia does as she’s told.

  “I’m not a great liar. I came to get a few things, but I really wanted to check on you.”

  “But you said . . . over the phone,” Dahlia’s voice falls.

  “I know, but I didn’t think you’d want me to interfere in your life. I’m just worried about you.”

  Dahlia crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You’re not the only one.”

  “But I am probably the one person who knows what you’re going through, even better than you do.”

  Dahlia notices tears welling in Pearl’s eyes. Of course Pearl would know. She lost a husband, leaving her a widow with two children. And now she’s lost her youngest son. A child and a husband gone from Pearl’s life. She would certainly know better than Dahlia.

  “When Shane’s father died, I would’ve been lost if it weren’t for Troy and Shane. Shane was just 5, but he was such a sensitive kid. He knew his father wasn’t coming back from the Gulf.”

  Pearl takes a sip of water before continuing. “Raising them gave me purpose, something I could channel my energy into. I’m worried, Dahlia, that you’re floundering in your grief.”

  Dahlia shrugs. She’s never had a maternal figure in her life to talk to her about feelings. Her own mother couldn’t even fake concern for Dahlia upon hearing the news of Shane’s death, let alone come up with some pathetic excuse why she couldn’t attend his funeral. Instead, she offered to make a sizable donation in his name to a cancer research fund—never mind that Shane didn’t die from cancer. Dahlia didn’t bother suggesting that her mom consider an ocean conservancy charity. She knew none of those details mattered to Poppy.

  “Perhaps it’s none of my business. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping dear, but grief and depression can be terribly seductive. It’s easy to lose yourself to them if you’re not careful.”

  “But . . . how am I?

  “Well, screwing Sebastian is certainly a start,” Pearl grins.

  “I’m so embarrassed. We were drunk . . .” Dahlia stammers.

  “Honey, it’s okay to get drunk and stupid when you’re sad. It forces the emotions up and out. It may not be as productive as other methods, but it sure helped me. I swear I had to leave Oceanside after I slept with half the Marines at Camp Pendleton.”

  Dahlia’s jaw drops.

  “Oh please, Dahlia, grief and sex can go hand and hand. At least Sebastian is a friend.”

  “But I don’t want to disrespect Shane’s memory.”

  “That’s my point. It’s S
hane’s memory, not Shane. When his father died, I kept everything in the house the same, as if I was expecting, even hoping, he’d show up one day and tell me it was all a mistake. I didn’t touch anything of his. But over time, I saw how my not letting go of him affected the boys. We were living with a ghost. It wasn’t fair to any of us. Living is the best way to honor the dead, Dahlia.”

  “But I miss him so much it hurts, Pearl.”

  “I miss him too, dear. We will always miss him.” Pearl squeezes her hand, a tear falling down her cheek.

  Dahlia lets out a long exhale. “What do you suggest I do?”

  Chapter 9

  “I’m glad you’re here, D,” Lily says, looking over at her sister, resting alone on a poolside chaise.

  Dahlia sets down her blank sketchpad and turns away from the expansive view of the Indian Ocean and shrugs. “You were right, Lil. Staying in Santa Barbara was becoming counterproductive.” She closes her eyes, the cool sea breeze tickling her skin. The memory of Sebastian’s lips makes Dahlia shudder. Even after almost two weeks on the island, the guilt is still there. God knows the grief seems like it will last a lifetime.

  “It’s just . . . I don’t know where I go from here,” she mumbles, suddenly feeling tired. Any time she thinks about Shane, she wants to crawl into bed and let sleep take away her pain. According to Lily, it’s all Dahlia’s done since she’s arrived on this island, but it sounds like an exaggeration. The days all run into each other here, each one looking the same as the day before. She only knows she’s been here for two weeks because Lily tells her.

  “You don’t have to decide that now, do you?” Vi says, taking a seat next to her, wearing a bright yellow bikini and matching sarong. A young woman carrying a tray of cocktails emerges from the open-air kitchen and sets down their drinks on a small table.

  Vi picks up a glass and hands it to Dahlia. “Sometimes you have to not think about the future and just be.”

  “What self-help guru are you quoting?” Dahlia asks. “Deepak Chopra?”

  Vi lifts her Celine sunglasses off her face and rolls her eyes. “Hardly.”

  “So?”

  “Just let her speak, D,” Lily intercedes.

  “In any case,” Vi continues, “Years ago, I went to a man who reads palm leaves. I was at a crossroads, if you will.”

  Dahlia and Lily both perk up with interest. Vi rarely reveals this much about herself.

  “How?” Dahlia asks.

  “How isn’t the point, D. It never is. It came down to needing to decide if where I was at the time was where I needed to be or if I needed to make a change. In this case, whether to stay in New York or move to Dubai. The moves, naturally, would’ve had major implications.”

  “You never mentioned that, Vi,” Lily says, incredulously. “I mean, you mentioned Dubai, but it didn’t seem like you were seriously considering it.”

  Vi shakes her head. “It didn’t matter because I didn’t end up moving. Anyway, I went to this guy in Sri Lanka who is famous for seeing the possibilities play out in the leaves.”

  “Uh-huh,” the sisters respond in unison.

  “But he didn’t see anything, at least he said he didn’t.”

  “Ugh. How frustrating,” Dahlia says.

  “At first it was, but he explained that if he told me my future, it would influence every decision I’d make, which meant I wouldn’t really be living my life. I’d be trying to shape my future.”

  “And?” Lily prompts.

  “It never guarantees peace or happiness. Instead, it only feeds the illusion that you have control over such things.” Then Vi, imitating the old sage, says in a heavy Indian accent, “My dear, you find what gives you most peace now, and you allow it to take root inside of you. Let it grow, and you will find that peace will always reside in you. Once that is done, then you will never doubt your path.”

  “You made your decision based on that advice?” Dahlia asks.

  “Some people base their decisions on a lot less. Look at you, D. It took screwing Sebastian to get you to leave Santa Barbara. You didn’t want to have to make a decision, so you did something that would compel you to want to leave.”

  “Vi,” Lily warns. “This isn’t the time.”

  “What? Why can’t I bring him up?”

  “Who? Shane or Sebastian?” Dahlia asks defensively, not appreciating the reminder of her encounter with Sebastian.

  “Both. You’ve been here two weeks and you’re a shell of a person, D. Shane’s death just sucked the life out of you.”

  “She’s allowed to mourn Shane, Vi.” Lily comes to Dahlia’s defense.

  “Of course she is, Lily. I know that. But Dahlia isn’t mourning him. She’s drowning in her depression.”

  “You’re talking about me as if I’m not even here,” Dahlia cuts in.

  “Well you’re really not, are you?” Vi replies quickly. “I will support and cajole and be sad with you, if that’s what you need. But you’re in a bad place, D. You’re letting Shane’s death kill you from the inside out.”

  Dahlia turns to Lily. “Do you agree?”

  Lily shrugs, not wanting to gang up on her sister, but needing to say what she’s kept to herself for the past month. “I think you’re in a difficult place. Your time with Shane was beautiful. He helped you deal with your daughter’s death. He helped you heal. But you’re cheating yourself out of a happy life if you don’t let him go. It’s not as if you know for certain how things would’ve been between you two had he lived.”

  Dahlia gasps. “You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t believe you’re saying this. Shane and I were happy!”

  “D, in the end, it doesn’t change the reality. He’s not here for you to find out,” Lily says. “He may have been a part of the life you wanted, but he wasn’t your life. I think it will help if you consider your purpose, a passion that will wake you inside. Do you even know what that is?”

  Dahlia pauses, her thoughts too blurred by her anger at Vi and Lily. “Is this what you guys talk about when I’m not around?” Dahlia asks.

  “No, of course not,” Lily replies gently. “All I want is to see you come out of this dark place.”

  Dahlia sighs and closes her eyes. “Easier said than done.”

  Vi says, “It always is.”

  Lily nods in agreement. Since leaving Jack, she’s never felt more at peace and complete in her life. Taking a risk opened more doors to opportunities than she would’ve had if she had become Mrs. Jack Rothstein. She sighs and glances over at Dahlia, hoping that her sister will one day feel the same.

  Chapter 10

  “D,” Lily calls out.

  Dahlia walks out onto her balcony, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “What?” She yawns.

  “Vi and I are going island hopping today, maybe end up in Bali for a bit. Vi’s wanting a change of scenery. You wanna come?”

  Dahlia leans on the rail and shakes her head. “No thanks.” Hard to imagine the other islands look so different from this one with its overgrown palm trees, fruit trees and flowers in constant bloom. Apart from the immense house they occupied, there was nothing but tropical beauty. Vi decided against Bali because it became too commercial after that woman who ate and prayed her way to love wrote her book. Instead they found a small private island that boasted a handful of villas, each on their own five-acre lot with private beach access, and one small fishing village.

  “Can I bring you anything?”

  Again, Dahlia shakes her head, quickly growing tired of Lily’s mothering. “I’ll be fine, Lil. Don’t worry.”

  “Alright. The cook went to some other island to stock up, but there’s food in the fridge if you get hungry. I also left an emergency number for the property manager in the kitchen in case you need anything.”

  Dahlia waves her off. “I’ll be fine. I’m a grown girl. Stop fretting like an old spinster.”

  “Suit yourself,” Lily replies, slinging her canvas bag over her shoulder. “Oh, and D, it’s nice to see you awak
e before noon.” Dahlia flashes her middle finger at Lily in response.

  Dahlia throws herself back onto her bed and stares out the window. Even in this tranquil place, she still can’t get a moment’s peace. Vi and Lily mean well, but the sympathetic looks and constant platitudes are becoming tiring. She doesn’t want to have to think about her purpose or her future. She doesn’t want to have to think at all.

  The bright sun fills her room an hour later, compelling Dahlia to finally get out of bed. She throws on a thin, white sundress and pads down the floating wood stairs into the kitchen. She pulls out a bowl of mango from the refrigerator and perches herself on the countertop. No staff bustling around her. No Vi or Lily checking in on her. Peace. Finally.

  Out of the corner of Dahlia’s eye, she spots a tall, dark figure walking around the unoccupied guest house at the edge of the property. Dressed in casual shorts and a t-shirt, he doesn’t resemble any of the staff. He pushes hard on the locked door, which doesn’t open. He then peers through the sliding glass doors and tries to open them one-by-one. Adrenalin begins to shoot through her body as she watches him glide across the deck to the outdoor gazebo, moving the cushions aside then pausing to look at something. At what, she wonders? The view? Lily and Vi assured her the villa would be private and secure. Dahlia quickly regrets her need for solitude.

  “Crap,” Dahlia says aloud, sliding off the counter and crouching behind a chair. All of the windows are open, and the white modern, minimalist furnishings provide little to no hiding place. She looks around and realizes that she has no idea who to call in an emergency, magnifying her sense of vulnerability. Lily said she’d leave a number, but Dahlia doesn’t even know where the phone is. Who was it she was supposed to contact?

  “Why in the fuck am I hiding?” she mutters to herself, standing up. In a split second, her fight response kicks in, and she heads to the outdoor terrace.