Page 66 of The Diávolos: Part Two
“No, no, no. Look at me, angel. I’m here, I’m back.”
“I’m sososorry, Evander. How can you even look at me?” she asks, devastation in her tone. “What you did to me wasn’t okay, but I understand now. I get it, Evan. I would’ve done anything to get revenge if someone had killed a member of my family.” Angelica sobs onto my chest.
Relief pours into me. I won’t justify what I did to betray her, the bad intentions I first had, but I’m glad she recognizes the turmoil I felt about getting my own justice for the murder of my uncle.
Now, it feels like we have a shared understanding, as if a bridge has been built between us. But it pains me that she thinks I can’t love her for who she is, that I’d ever judge her for the actions of her father.
Angelica lets out a huff of air. “Evan, you can’t marry me. Myfatherkilled your entire family!” she cries, her sobs now frantic.
“You are not him, Angelica. When I look at you, I see my angel. My saving grace.Psychi mou.” My soul.“Not a monster like Peter.” I grab her face into my hands, wiping away the tears. “You have to believe me.”
We cling onto each other for what feels like an eternity, and I’d happily stay wrapped like this forever. Her warmth and touch slowly soothe some of the pain and grief inside me.
“We’re getting married tomorrow, and nothing will change that,” I state with finality. Angelica doesn’t respond, allowing this moment of truce between us, and burrows deeper into my arms.
The next afternoon, Angelica emerges from our bedroom wearing a simple black dress that clings to her every curve.
Time seems to pause as I take in the sight before me. “You look beautiful.” The way her hair cascades down her shoulders, framing her face like a work of art, adds an extra layer of beauty. “But we’re not going to a funeral.”
A small smile appears on her lips. “Getting married to you, I might as well be,” she retorts, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
I shake my head and laugh. I’m in for a ride.
When I woke up this morning, the weight of yesterday’s awful news still clung to my consciousness, refusing to be shaken off by a night’s sleep.
I moved through the day like a shadow of myself, carrying the emotional residue of the revelation. Despite the passing hours, the anger and sadness stayed. The only thing that kept me from succumbing to the turmoil was Angelica. I’m still teetering on the edge of losing control, the intensity of my emotions threatening to engulf me again. But I have something else to focus on today.Her. My beacon of hope, my silver lining.
When we arrive at the courthouse in downtown Cebrene, I spot Dion waiting for us at the curb. To get married, we have to bring at least one witness each. Angelica invited Aria.
“Where’s your friend?” Dion asks Angelica.
She checks her phone. “She should be here any second now.”
Right then, a black town car pulls up next to the sidewalk. Aria steps out of the backseat, also wearing a black dress and sunglasses.
“Jesus. You’d think someone fucking died,” I quip.
Aria lifts her sunglasses and narrows her eyes at me. “You think you’d be used to all the black by now with the amount of death you surround yourself with,” she snaps back.
Dion watches our exchange, captivated by the feisty woman before him. Aria ignores him, but his gaze follows her every movement. Pretty soon, his jaw is going to hit the floor. I shove him with my elbow. “Get a grip,vlakas.” He glares at me.
We head inside the building and locate the officiant.
“Mr. and Mrs.almostVasilakis,” he says by way of greeting, a big grin on his face. “I will officiate your wedding today.” He shakes our hands enthusiastically.
Angelica slightly tenses next to me when she hears her future last name. She looks nervous.
Last night, after our shared moment of vulnerability, Angelica decided to sleep in another room, saying she wanted to hold onto the semblance of a traditional wedding, even though she insists that we are only getting married for practical reasons—a strategic alliance—devoid of any romantic fervor.I call bullshit.
I know she was trying to put some space between us again because our moment had been too raw, too real. She refuses to let her mind believe that our transactional union could be something genuine.
But Angelica’s plea to sleep apart struck a chord within me. Maybe,just maybe, there’s more to this arrangement than she’s letting on.
Begrudgingly, I allowed her the solitude of her own room. Now, the warmth from yesterday’s conversation has dissipated, replaced by an awkward silence that hangs heavy in the air.
Her eyes meet mine, guarded and distant.No more playing games.
I slink my hand up the nape of her neck and pull on the strands of hair, enough to tip her head back. Her breath hitches. With everyone’s attention elsewhere, I put my mouth to her ear. “I’m looking forward to calling you my wife, Angelica. Mrs. Vasilakis suits you.” I pull harder, and she whimpers. “And so help me, God, if you try to leave me, I will hunt you down. You belong tome.”
