Page 12 of Uriel
“Here we are,” Uriel says, opening a door to reveal a spacious guest room. I step inside, taking in the luxurious space.
“Your clothes and personal items have been organized in the closet,” he explains, moving to slide open a set of ornate wooden doors. I peek inside, surprised to find my belongings neatly arranged on hangers and shelves. It’s a bit unnerving how efficiently he’s integrated my life into his space.
“The en-suite bathroom is through there,” he points. “Take your time to freshen up. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
I nod, suddenly feeling awkward. “Thanks, Uriel. For everything, I guess.”
He pauses at the door, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “You’re welcome... Emilia. I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready.”
As the door closes behind him, I sink onto the plush bed, the events of the day finally catching up to me. I run my hand over the soft duvet, marveling at the surreal turn my life has taken. An hour ago, I was panicking about being kidnapped. Now I’m preparing for dinner with an archangel while the fate of the world hangs in the balance.
With a deep breath, I push myself up. A hot shower and clean clothes sound like heaven right now. And who knows? Maybe after dinner, this will all start to make sense.
But as I step into the luxurious bathroom, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m only at the beginning of a very strange and potentially dangerous journey.
CHAPTER 9
Uriel
I stand on the terrace,surveying the elaborate dinner spread before me. The finest Limoges China gleams in the fading light, delicate patterns of gold and ivory catching the sun’s last rays. Crystal glasses stand at attention, their facets throwing tiny rainbows across the crisp white tablecloth. A bottle of Château Margaux 1982 breathes nearby, its deep ruby color promising velvet complexity.
The air is thick with the mingled scents of blooming jasmine from the garden below and the rich aroma of the meal waiting to be served. I’ve chosen a menu that I hope will impress—delicate oysters with mignonette sauce, followed by a perfectly seared Wagyu beef with truffle risotto, and a light lemon tart for dessert. Everything is perfect, as always. I’ve ensured it.
Yet I can’t quell the uncharacteristic nervousness fluttering in my chest. This isn’t a formal function or a celestial gathering. It’s dinner with... Emilia. The thought alone sends an unfamiliar warmth through me, a sensation I’m not entirely comfortable with.
I adjust my cufflinks—onyx and platinum, a gift from Michael centuries ago—and smooth down my already impeccable suit jacket. The fabric is a deep midnight blue, so dark it appears black until the light hits it just so. I’d deliberated far longer than usual on my attire for the evening, a fact that both puzzles and irritates me.
Taking a sip of wine, I hope to calm my nerves. The Margaux slides across my palate, notes of blackcurrant and cedar mingling with a hint of tobacco. It’s ridiculous, really. I’m an archangel, for heaven’s sake. I’ve faced down the hordes of hell without flinching. Surely, I can manage a simple meal with?—
The thought dies as I turn and see her.
Emilia stands in the doorway, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. The dress she wears is a deep, rich red that hugs every curve of her body like a lover’s caress. The neckline dips low, revealing a tantalizing expanse of creamy skin, while a slit up the side offers glimpses of a toned leg as she moves. Her hair, usually so wild and unruly, is gathered in a messy updo that somehow looks more alluring than any elaborate coiffure. Tendrils frame her face, softening her features in the golden light of sunset.
And those shoes... stilettos that make her legs look impossibly long, the color a perfect match to her dress. How does she even walk in them?
I inhale sharply, choking on the wine I’d forgotten was in my mouth. Coughing and spluttering, I set the glass down, cursing my sudden clumsiness.Smooth, Uriel. Very smooth.
“Are you alright?” Emilia asks, concern lacing her voice as she moves towards me. Even her walk is different in those heels—a sway to her hips that I find myself following before I catch myself.
I wave her off, desperately trying to regain my composure. “Fine,” I manage, wincing at the raspiness in my voice. “Just... went down the wrong way.”
She smirks, clearly not buying it. “Right. Well, don’t die on me now. We’ve got an apocalypse to stop, remember?”
I clear my throat, finally getting myself under control. “Indeed. You look... very nice.”Nice?Is that really the best I can do? Millennia of existence, and ‘nice’ is the word I choose?
Emilia rolls her eyes, but I catch the faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Whoever brought my clothes only thought to pack the fanciest dresses I own and which I’ve never worn before,” she says dismissively, running a hand self-consciously down her side. “I feel a bit overdressed for the end of the world.”
“Nonsense,” I say, moving to pull out a chair for her. The scent of her perfume—something light and floral with an undertone of vanilla—washes over me as she passes. “If anything, impending doom is the perfect excuse for a bit of elegance.”
She laughs at that, a warm, genuine sound that does strange things to my chest. As we settle in to eat, I find myself captivated by the way the fading sunlight plays across her features, highlighting the curve of her cheekbone, the fullness of her lower lip.
“This is... wow,” Emilia says, looking around at the elaborate setup. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“It’s no trouble,” I assure her, pouring her a glass of wine. Our fingers brush as I hand it to her, and I feel that same inexplicable warmth again. “I thought after everything that’s happened, we could both use a moment of... normalcy.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Normalcy? Is this what passes for a normal dinner in angelic circles?”
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “Perhaps not. But I find I enjoy the rituals of fine dining. There’s a certain... order to it all.”
