Page 32 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride
“I know… um… I just…” She shrugs, smiling shyly.
Instead of taking the car, we catch a ride to St Lawrence Gap. One of the most colorful streets in Barbados. And at this time of the day, when the sun is starting to sink lower into the ocean, it starts to thrive with life, music, and color.
Angelika walks close by my side, her eyes wide, her face glowing with the ambiance of everything happening around us. We walk past colorful storefronts and villas, with bright flowers decorating doorways, arches of green vines, and tropical leaves. Everyone is dressed in bright, cheerful clothing and wearing relaxed smiles.
Angelika seems tentative. Holding back, nervous even.
“Are you doing ok?” I ask, reaching out to her and placing my hand on her lower back. As soon as my fingers graze her skin, my body stirs into heated desire.
“I’m ok,” she smiles.
“No one here knows you, Angel. No one cares. No one is looking for you. This place is your freedom that you deeplydesired. Let go… like you did at the club. There is no one here to stop you.”
She studies my face for a moment, her eyes flickering with thought as she decides what she wants to do. Then a mischievous grin splashes onto her face. “Ok, we need a cocktail. Something really colorful. And for dinner, we’re going to have something fresh from the ocean. You know, because we’re on an island after all!”
Suddenly, she is fully into it.
Her body language shifts from nervous caution to excited boldness as she grabs my hand and pulls me toward a bar, elegantly lit with fairy lights and a big neon sign that reads’Summer Vibes and Sunset Smiles.’
She pulls me right to the bar and points to the menu, grinning at the bartender. “Can we please have two of these?” she asks, her finger pressing against a pink, blue, and yellow striped cocktail.
“Two Rainbow Sunsets, coming right up for the beautiful girl in the yellow dress and her handsome companion,” he says cheerfully, wiping his hands on a checkered black and white cloth. He winks at Angelika and declares, “This one needs extra strawberries, I think.”
Angelika stands on her tiptoes to watch him spin the mixer. Her toenails are painted a neon pink, and she’s wiggling them in time to the music playing from speakers mounted on the wall behind the bartender.
Watching her is like watching a summer storm slowly roll in—the sky is filled with electrical energy, sharp and bright, as the rain pushes toward you like a curtain, and your heart beats faster, waiting for it to splash against your upturned face.
She thrills me.
She makes me feel alive.
Angelika grins when the barman hands us two tall, rainbow cocktails decorated with too many strawberries and bright yellow pineapple slices.
She bites her lip, trying to figure out where to sit.
“Let’s sit at the table near the street, so we can watch people coming down the street,” she suggests.
“I’ll follow you, princess,” I say, picking up both cocktails.
Angelika sits, one leg folded neatly over the other, her lips wrapped around the bright green straw. Her eyes glitter over the crowds as she takes it all in, and the late afternoon sun splashes against her bright green eyes, making them glow.
“You look happy,” I tell her.
“I can’t describe this feeling. When you told me—no one knows me here, and no one cares—I suddenly felt… invisible. But in a good way. The best way…”
“Like you could just be yourself and no one would tell you not to,” I say with a smile.
“Yes!” She nods, her brows shooting up. “You understand!”
“And it’s why I love this place,” I grin. “That’s why I told you, Angel. Let go. Be free.”
We drink our cocktails, and she whispers fashion commentary on the people walking past, pretending it’s fashion week in Paris and making a mockery of what is considered real fashion these days. One man walks past carrying a chicken, and she declares, “This feathery purse was designed by none other than Sir Cockalot. With only three made in the entire universe,it retails for eight billion US dollars and will give you a lifetime of free butt nuggets to incorporate into your daily routine,” she giggles to herself at her own silliness. Her sense of humor, which I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing before, is making me laugh so hard I’m snorting. Sometimes it’s playful and childlike, and other times she adds a dark twist that makes me choke on my drink.
The sunset is magnificent, putting on a special show just for her. Lighting the sky with orange and pink that fades to lilac before it goes dark. After cocktails, we walk along the noisy street, exploring each place, taking in the night, one colorful drink at a time. Angelika spots a man selling giant kebabs of fruit that he builds in front of you, and grabs my hand to take me there, and when we get there, she seems to forget to let go of my hand and threads her fingers through mine while she watches him make our fruit sticks.
When she does let go, I realize how much I was enjoying having her hand in mine.
The night sky is dark but scattered with stars as we walk slowly back toward our starting point, eating fried calamari out of cardboard bowls. She leans her head against my arm and whispers, “This was amazing.”
