Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

Carmen’s going to lose her shit.
A shaky gasp escapes her, making her eyelashes flutter as I dip one finger
in the moisture collecting on her flesh, dragging it up to draw circles on her
bundle of nerves. She grips my bicep, clawing me to the point of pain, and
swallows audibly.
“Like you’re sorry.”
The sentence sounds like an accusation, something you’d hurl at another
during a heated argument as evidence of wrongdoings. But it feels like
something worse.
Something she’s aware of that I’m not.
Our driver yanks open the back door on my side of the vehicle in the next
second, and I spring forward, ensuring she’s completely covered, cursing
under my breath when I hear the shocked, collective gasp of a crowd.
My head starts to throb before I even hear her voice, violent fury rippling
so abruptly through my veins that I tear myself away from Elena, afraid it
might glom onto her.
“Dio mio! Back for less than a few hours, and you’re already publicly
corrupting her. Great way to prove your innocence, Kallum.”
Elena stiffens at her mother’s use of my full name, pulling the hem of her
dress down as she shoves open her door. Unbuckling from her seat, she
climbs out of the car, rounding the back end, and is met by a round of cheers,
whooping and hollering from what appears to be the entirety of Louisburg
Square.
Taking a moment to collect myself, I scrub my hands down my face,
trying to regulate my shallow breathing. When I turn my head, Elena’s been
engulfed by the crowd, disappearing from my sight within seconds.
But Carmen stands at the door, watching me.