Chapter 3: Unseen Tensions
The courtyard concrete was warm where the autumn sun hit it, a faded heat that soaked into the thin soles of Jennie’s designer sandals. She twirled, making the skirt of her cream-colored sundress flare. The dress was cut so high on the thighs that the flutter of fabric revealed more than it concealed.
“See?” she chirped, holding the new Valentino purse aloft. The pink leather caught the light, the crystal clasp winking. “It’s even prettier in the sun, don’t you think? It feels… newer.”
Rosé Park shifted on the weathered bench, a textbook open but forgotten on her lap. Her eyes darted from the purse to Jennie’s beaming face, then, inevitably, past her shoulder. To him. “It’s beautiful, Jendeukie.”
Leonid leaned against the trunk of an ancient oak, a few yards away. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers, trailing a thin gray ribbon into the still air. He wore a simple black t-shirt and dark jeans, his posture deceptively relaxed. His gaze was a constant, low-grade scan of the perimeter—the skateboarders, the laughing clumps of students, the shadowed archways. A bodyguard’s habit, even here.
He heard the subtle difference in Rosé’s voice. The slight breathlessness.
“It’s a relief,” Jennie sighed, collapsing onto the bench next to Rosé with a dramatic flourish. She clutched the purse to her chest. “I just don’t understand why Sabrina would do that. Throw it in the river? It’s so deranged.” She pouted, her lower lip glistening with gloss. “But I guess some people are just, like, fundamentally bitter. She won’t even look at me now. She runs away. It’s so weird.”
“Guilt,” Leonid said, his voice carrying the rough edge of smoke. He didn’t look at them. He watched a crow peck at a discarded pastry wrapper. “It eats people.”
“I suppose.” Jennie shrugged, the movement making the slender straps of her dress dig into her shoulders. “Anyway, it’s over. I have my bag back.” She said it with the finality of a fairytale ending.
Rosé wasn’t listening. Her attention had fully drifted. She was watching Leonid bring the cigarette to his lips, the way his fingers held it, the slight pursing of his mouth as he inhaled. Her own lips parted, just a fraction. She crossed her legs slowly, smoothing her skirt over her thighs in a conscious, deliberate motion.
Leonid felt the weight of her stare. He turned his head, just enough. Their eyes met.
Rosé didn’t look away. A faint pink bloomed high on her cheeks, but her gaze held his. It was shy, but unmistakably direct. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
He held the look for a three-count, his expression unreadable. Then he broke it, turning his attention back to the courtyard, exhaling a cloud of smoke that hung between them like a veil.
Jennie, oblivious, rummaged in her new purse. “Oh! I meant to show you the lining. It’s a different shade of pink, it’s so— Rosie, are you even listening?”
“Hmm? Yes. The lining.” Rosé’s voice was a pitch higher. She forced her eyes back to the purse. “It’s lovely.”
Leonid dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot. The gesture was final, slightly sharper than necessary. He pushed off from the tree. “We should go. Your fabric delivery is at the house at four.”
“Already?” Jennie whined, not moving. “But it’s so nice out. And I wanted to get a coffee. Rosie, come with us!”
“I can’t,” Rosé said, too quickly. She was gathering her books, avoiding looking at Leonid now. “I have a study group. For… econ.”
“Since when do you study econ?” Jennie blinked.
“Since now.” Rosé stood up, hugging her books to her chest like a shield. She finally risked a glance at Leonid. “It was… good to see you.”
He gave a single, slow nod. Nothing more.
Jennie stood, wobbling slightly on her heels. She linked her arm through Leonid’s, her small body leaning into his solid frame. “Okay, fine. Let’s go get my fabric. You’ll carry it, right Lenya? It’s probably heavy.”
He let her lean. He always did. As they walked away, the sun casting their long shadows across the pavement, he could feel a different set of eyes on his back. He didn’t need to turn around to know Rosé was still standing by the bench, watching them go. Watching him.
In the car, the silence was thick. Jennie chattered about fabric weights and color swatches, her words a bubbly stream against the quiet hum of the engine. Leonid drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He could still feel the heat of Rosé’s stare on his skin, a persistent, uncomfortable warmth.
He knew that look. He’d seen it before, in other eyes, at other times. It was a look that wanted something. A look that complicated things.
“She’s acting weird too, don’t you think?” Jennie said suddenly, breaking into his thoughts.
“Who?”
“Rosie. She was all spacey.” Jennie adjusted the vent, directing cool air onto her face. “Do you think she’s jealous of my new bag? Maybe I shouldn’t have shown it to her.”
Leonid’s knuckles tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “No,” he said, his voice gravel. “She’s not jealous of the bag.”
“Then what?” Jennie turned her full, wide-eyed innocence on him.
He didn’t answer. He just reached for the pack of cigarettes on the console, tapping one out. He placed it between his lips but didn’t light it. He drove on, the unlit cigarette a stark white contrast against his grim expression, the ghost of a different kind of want lingering in the air-conditioned air of the car.