Page 21 of The Diávolos: Part One
I oblige and wait for my father to come down after he’s done with whatever he’s doing. I thank God he hasn’t shown any interest in involving me in his business since I came back. I was worried we would slip right back into the same routine, but he’s left me alone. I couldn’t be more grateful. I want to believe that he finally understands I don’t want anything to do with his affairs, but he might have something bigger in mind. And the latter scares the hell out of me.
Eldora hands me a mug of hot java and I bring it up to my nose. Sitting here with her reminds me of simpler times when I was a little girl. I would come down to watch her make our meals, and bake for us and our guests. The whole house would smell like fresh Greek Christmas cookies, the scent of oranges and honey, infused with a blend of spices, invading the air. She taught me how to cook, and it quickly became my stress relief. When I was upset, I would go to the kitchen and make something just to get away from my thoughts. Eldora found me here covered in flour many times, and instead of reprimanding me for messing up her kitchen, she would join me. She’s always had a soft spot for me, and I’ve caught her looking at me with an emotion I could never quite name. Sometimes she’d look almost pained, and I wondered what kind of secrets she kept and if they ate her inside.
I turn around to look outside and decide to wait for my father on the patio. It’s a beautiful day. I might as well soak up some sun before my mood turns sour. My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out to a message from an unknown number. I open up the text box and the message simply says ‘Angelica.’
I focus on the digits and try to figure out if I recognize the number when a shadow appears in front of me. I turn back to find my father standing behind me. “Baba,” I say, startled. I drop my phone in my purse as he sits down on one of the chairs next to me. We both look out to the gleaming water in the pool, and we don’t say a word to each other for a few moments.This is awkward.
“I need you to attend a charity function for me next Sunday. It’s a masquerade ball. Bring a date. Someone withclass.” He looks at me as he says the last part, and I know exactly who he’s referring to.
Of course, the first thing he says to me in over a week is an order, but I have no energy to argue today. “Okay,” I simply respond.
Eldora walks out to the backyard with a large tray in her hands and I get up to help her carry it to the table. I glance down at the dessert platter and notice the mini cheesecakes I love. I look at her and she winks. She knew I would be a ball of nerves meeting with my father and that cheesecake would at least make my belly happy. God bless her. I immediately dig into the moist cake. She tops off my coffee and pours a fresh cup for my father.
We spend the rest of the time talking about the charity ball. Or mybabaspends the rest of the time talkingatme about the event while I half listen. The organization is in honor of the Mouths2Feed Foundation. They raise money for malnourished children in third-world countries. Instead of just dumping loads of food to the families, they supply them with the tools and knowledge to grow and harvest their own fruits, vegetables, and wheat in a sustainable and efficient way. It is a worthy cause that I can get behind, which makes going to the event a lot more tolerable. But I have to buy a new dress. I’ll text Aria to see if she’s free to go shopping with me.
Our conversation is interrupted by a cell phone ringing and my father walks back inside to pick up the call. He probably doesn’t want me to hear his conversation, which makes me even more curious about it. But I take the opportunity to dig mine out of my purse and reopen the anonymous text. Still not recognizing the number at all, I type out a reply.
Me: Who is this?
A few moments later, I receive a response.
Unknown: Your guardian angel.
What the hell?
Me: That’s…cryptic. Sounds more like the devil is at my doorstep.
As soon as I hit send, realization dawns on me and my body stills.Could it be?There’s only one person that comes to mind.
Unknown: The devil was once an angel too, Angelica.
I reply immediately.
Me: Are you here to write down my sins?
I fight the impulse to tell him I know who he is. I want to see how the conversation plays out.
I nervously look back at the patio door to see if my father is back, but he’s nowhere in sight. He must’ve gone up to his office.Surprise, surprise.
Unknown: Indeed. Your sins are mine to uncover. Not even holy water can help you now. A hundred men couldn’t keep me away. I’ve come to burn your walls down.
I can’t help myself.
Me: Are you my secret admirer?
Unknown: Check inside your purse.
My heart starts palpitating and my palms are sweaty. I knew it was him. I wondered how long it would take for him to reach out to me and now he’stextingme. I should feel uneasy, freaked out, panicked even, thinking about how close he’s gotten to me to be able to put something in my purse. But instead, it excites me…And now, I’m concerned for my sanity.
I dig into my bag and find a small note folded in half that I hadn’t noticed this morning.
Je serai poète et toi poésie.
Me: What does it mean?
Unknown: “I'll be a poet, and you'll be poetry.” It’s part of a poem written by the French poet François Coppée, about beauty and inspiration. And you, my angel, are my muse.
I don’t exactly understand what he means, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling a rush of warmth in my stomach. No one is here to see me, but I still bite down on my lower lip to try and hide my smile. I don’t know who my stalker is, and if I’m being honest, the way I feel toward him is reckless and overwhelming. He’s a stranger, yet the sense of familiarity I get when I find his notes, as if I can sense his presence even when he’s not there, turns my denial into acceptance, my chaos into order, and my confusion into clarity.
