Chapter 8 No.8

The inside of the limo smelled of vanilla and sickness.

Darius practically shoved Jada in to escape the flashing lights, then climbed in after her. Hazel sat in the middle, effectively separating them.

As the car pulled away into traffic, Hazel clung to Darius's arm. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Your hands are cold, darling," she cooed, rubbing his knuckles-the same knuckles Jada had tried to touch at the anniversary dinner.

Jada sat on the opposite seat, facing backward, staring out the window at the blurring city lights.

"I saw some beautiful wedding venues on Pinterest today," Hazel said dreamily. "Just dreaming, of course. Who knows if I'll make it to a wedding."

Darius looked uncomfortable. He shifted his arm. "Hazel, not now."

"Why not?" Hazel blinked, her eyes wide and innocent. "Jada understands, don't you? You're moving on. We're all moving on."

Jada didn't answer.

They arrived at Le Coucou. It was another impossibly expensive French restaurant. The staff fawned over Darius.

"Mr. Long! And Mrs. Long!" the maitre d' greeted them, looking at Hazel.

Hazel didn't correct him. She just smiled. Jada stayed silent, her face a mask of stone.

They were seated at a prime table near the window.

Hazel picked up the menu. "I'll order for everyone," she announced. "Jada shouldn't have anything too heavy. Or alcohol. For the liver's sake."

She ordered a bottle of expensive Burgundy for Darius, then turned to the waiter with a sad, fragile smile. "And just a bottle of Evian for me, please. I do miss the taste of a good wine, but my health won't allow it."

Jada gripped her water glass. The performance was flawless.

Darius looked at Hazel with a mixture of pity and admiration. "You're being so strong through all this."

Hazel's eyes filled with instant tears. They pooled on her lower lashes, glistening perfectly. "I have to be. For you," she whispered, placing a delicate hand on his.

The food arrived. Hazel pushed her peas around her plate.

"I'm so grateful, Jada," Hazel said suddenly, her voice loud enough for the nearby tables to hear.

She reached across the table, trying to take Jada's hand. Jada pulled back.

"It's so noble of you," Hazel continued, undeterred. "To give up your husband and your body parts. You're like a saint."

Jada snapped.

"I gave up the husband gladly," she said, her voice cutting through the ambient noise. "The liver is a theft."

The table went silent.

Hazel gasped, clutching her chest theatrically. "How can you be so cruel?"

Darius glared at Jada. "That's enough, Jada."

"Is it?" Jada leaned in. "She's enjoying this, Darius. Can't you see it? The performance?"

"She is dying!" Darius raised his voice. People turned to look.

"She looks pretty healthy for someone with organ failure," Jada observed coldly.

Hazel started to hyperventilate. "I... I can't breathe..."

Darius panicked. He reached for Hazel's water glass to help her.

In the commotion, Hazel's hand shot out, as if in a spasm, and knocked over Darius's full glass of red wine. It tipped directly toward Jada.

The dark red liquid splashed across the table and soaked into Jada's white silk blouse. It spread instantly, staining the fabric a deep, violent crimson. It looked like a chest wound.

"Oh no!" Hazel cried, covering her mouth. But Jada saw it. The tiny, fleeting smirk behind the hand. "I'm so clumsy! My hands, they just... they shake so much now. I'm so sorry!"

Jada stood up, dripping. The wine was cold against her skin.

"You did that on purpose," Jada stated.

Darius stood up, grabbing napkins. "Stop it, Jada! It was an accident. Go clean up. You're embarrassing yourself."

Jada looked at him. He was dabbing at the tablecloth, worried about the furniture, while his ex-wife stood there soaked in red.

"I'm embarrassing myself?" Jada laughed bitterly. "I'll go clean up. Enjoy your date."

She turned and walked toward the restrooms, heads turning as she passed, a woman marked by red wine and betrayal.