Page 37 of Raziel
There was a pause.
“Were you with Maya?”
“Yeah.”
“I understand. Logistics talk. Tampa. You were off-grid.”
“Thanks.”
I hung up and dialed Alessia.
She picked up before the second ring.
“Raziel?” Her voice cracked. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“With Priest.”
There was a sharp inhale. “All night?”
“Yes.”
“I called. I texted. I didn’t know if something happened to you. I barely slept.”
“You sound fine now.”
“I’m not fine.” She snapped, then sniffled—perfectly timed for guilt. “You just disappear?”
“I didn’t disappear. I was unavailable for a few hours.”
The silence was back, but this time it was the dramatic kind where she wanted me to hear the tears she was holding back. She let out just enough to sound wounded, not enough to be annoying.
“You could’ve told me.”
“Didn’t think it was necessary.”
Another pause. She was waiting for an apology.
She wouldn’t get one.
“I’ll be home soon.” I hung up without waiting for her to respond.
I slid the phone back into my pocket and stepped inside.
Maya was awake now, stretched out in my bed. The sheets barely covered her hips. Her hair was wild—another style. She called the bob she was wearing her “scammer wig.” Her eyes were still soft from sleep, face puffy, lips pouty. She eyed me for a minute.
“Alessia?”
I nodded.
“When’s the wedding date?”
The question hit without warning.
“February fourteenth,” I answered automatically. I wasn’t even thinking when I said it.
Maya raised an eyebrow. “Valentine’s Day? That’s cute.” Her tone was unreadable.
She sat up, letting the sheet fall, completely unbothered by her own nakedness. My eyes dropped to the stretch marks on her wide hips. I licked my lips before my gaze traveled back up.
