Page 59 of The Diávolos: Part Two
Right after these encounters of ours, when my senses are heightened and adrenaline courses through my veins, I often crash. The aftereffects leave me breathless and disoriented.
Evander is always there to settle the storm; it’s as if he transforms, shedding theDiávolospersona. His touch, once rough and forceful, becomes delicate and soothing.
But confusion always sets in, like a thick fog refusing to lift.
I’m starting to struggle to decipher these moments in the dark from the real ones.
Once I’m cleaned up, Evander helps me in bed and settles behind me, his arms wrapping around my body.
I drift off to sleep, forgetting all my problems—until tomorrow, at least.
17
ANGELICA
“This is the part in the story where someone I love would only appear again in flashbacks.”
—Lang Leav
As I sit in the car on my way to visit my father, my chest tightens with each breath, as if an invisible force is constricting around my heart. My mind attempts to drift to last night, but I stop the memories from rushing back.It didn’t mean anything.
The black iron gates open at a snail's pace when the driver nears my father’s estate.
My hands tremble slightly, and I can almost feel the energy draining from my body.
We’re about to cross the threshold, when one of my father’s guards asks the driver to roll down the back window. I put on what I hope is a brave expression.
The guard recognizes me and nods. “Ms. Kouvalakis. Welcome back.”
Babamust’ve told him I was coming.
I crack the faintest of smiles and he lets us through after briefly searching the exterior of the SUV with an under-car search mirror.
When we reach the entrance, I jog up the steps to knock on the door, but Eldora beats me to it.
“Kardiá mou, it’s so good to see you!” she exclaims in her thick Greek accent. “I’m so happy you’ve come back. I thought you’d leave us for years like last time.”That would’ve been ideal…
“I’ve missed you too, Eldora,” I say as I embrace her. Her hugs are truly the best, warmth and comfort enveloping me already.
Eldora gestures for me to come in. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
In the kitchen, I catch her up with what I’ve been up to—avoiding the subject of my imminent marriage, of course—and ask about her, though I know it can’t have been easy working for my father. During a brief lull in the conversation, I decide I can’t delay the inevitable anymore.
“Where isBaba? I need to talk to him.”
“In his study,” she responds with a sympathetic smile. I nod and stand up, taking a deep breath.
As I make my way to his office, a wave of nostalgia washes over me, dragging me back in time to a place filled with both cherished and haunting memories. The familiar scent and creaking floorboards under my feet transport me to a different era, one I thought I had left behind.
The sight of photos and decor on the walls clashes with the discomfort of revisiting my past. My breath catches in my throat as I pass the doorway to my childhood playroom. A lump forms in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.
When I get to the door of the study, the thudding in my chest is like an erratic drumbeat.
“Come in, Angelica,” my father says before I have the chance to knock.
I step inside, hesitant. “Hi,Baba.”
He gestures to the chair in front of him. “Have a seat.”
