I picked up a piece and ate it slowly, in small bites.
But watching her act as though nothing had happened filled my chest with a bitterness I couldn't swallow.
"When did it happen?"
Lola froze for a moment. She poured me a cup of tea, her movements stiff with embarrassment, then answered in a flat voice, "On your birthday."
The blood drained from my body. A month ago, on my birthday, Lola had vanished without a word. I searched for her the entire night, combing every slope and valley, up the mountain and down.
She didn't return until the next day, windswept and dusty, claiming she'd gotten lost while looking for a birthday gift for me.
Then, beaming like a child presenting a treasure, she produced a snow lotus from behind her back.
I hadn't slept all night, but seeing how much thought she'd put into it, I couldn't bring myself to scold her. I took the flower and tended it carefully.
Now she was telling me that on my birthday, she had been with Milton Stephens in secret. Nausea churned through me.
Even so, thinking of everything we'd shared, I couldn't stop myself from wanting to give her one more chance.
"Lola, can you not marry him?"