ANGELIC...
The sun's rays hit my face, making me wake up. For the last few days, we've slept with the balcony doors open, listening to the sound of waves crashing against the ocean's horizon. This has been my paradise; sleep and wake up on this island.
I open my eyes, looking around the room for Aaron. He's always the first thing I look for, the first thing on my mind from the first minute of the day. He's not here, but he's left an arrangement of lilies on the bedside table instead.
I get up, pluck a flower from the arrangement, and spin it around, studying the white petals. I'm invaded by an old memory, which used to hurt a lot. I was twelve years old, and right after my mother's wake, I was in the garden at home. I was devastated after losing her, not only to her death but knowing that it meant I would be alone. And for a twelve-year-old girl, being alone in such a big house was really cruel.
I thought I loved my family. I was so loyal to each one of them that I believed I loved them. But the truth is, I didn't know love. At least, not the love I deserved. I felt afraid; fear of losing my mother, fear of not being enough for my father, fear of being alone. But love... I don't know if that was love.
When I look around, my heart swells to such an extent that I feel like crying. The peace of being here. The peace of being with Aaron. Heart racing whenever he's on the other side of the door, because I know I'll never be alone in a big house again. This is Love. This is what I must have felt all those years ago.
Now twelve-year-old Angelic can rest, because we are happy. We are ourselves, with all the qualities and defects. And we are happy.
I return the flower for the arrangement, which will remain with the dozen others on the balcony. The bedroom door opens, and I turn around in time to find Aaron. He's wearing gray sweatpants, which, modesty aside, make his ass look amazing, and a baggy T-shirt. His forehead is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, I think after his morning workout. Ice Cream is behind Aaron, following him every step into the room. He's just a fluffy little ball of white fur and black spots.
"We talked about house rules," my man says.
- Us? - smile.
I feel the weight in my chest go down to my stomach in the form of butterflies. I'm nervous, suddenly afraid to close my eyes too long and miss this scene. Aaron walks past me, leaves a kiss on my forehead, and heads for the closet. I follow him, and Ice Cream too.
- Yes - he stops in front of the long row of shirts hanging on hangers and analyzes the pieces. It's already become clear that he cares more about his appearance than his own life. Aaron chooses a white shirt, which is exactly like the other ten white shirts in the closet, and only he is able to notice any difference between them - We won't have problems if he has understood everything - he continues. Aaron leaves his shirt on the center stand.
I watch him from the back. The view is second only to the moment when he is facing. But, I confess, it's not just his perfect looks, or his muscles, or how cultured he is. It's not your skills, your mastery, or your sexy swagger. It's not about him. What about me. It's about how the colors look so bright, and the stars light up the night. It's about how my feet feel so light, and I long for our hugs. Perhaps this is the time for me to accept that fairy tales exist, and that my cupid has decided to work.
'He heard, I'm sure of it,' I reply, realizing I've fallen silent.
Aaron separates the pieces on the counter so none of them are wrinkled, then removes the shirt with just one hand.
Holy. God.
His back is perfectly defined, and my hands automatically tighten, remembering the firmness of his muscles against my palm. Yes, my Cupid has certainly been working. This man has every string in my body and heart, and he knows how to pull them.
I don't know when it started. Which of the looks. Which of the ringtones. Which words. I don't know what triggered this feeling of emptiness, which only Aaron LeBlanc can fill. I just don't know, but if I can guess, I think I'm in love.
I shake my head, because the notion of the magnitude of my feelings makes me dizzy. It's so comfortable and… spooky.
When I look up, I notice that Aaron is staring at me. He's like a god of body language, so I hope I'm not sounding pathetic. His green eyes flick over my face, then down to the shirt I'm wearing.
- All our clothes are together - he says - I hope you don't have to put mine in bags.
I look around the room. The last few days have been so natural that I didn't realize that our clothes are in the same closet, and our toothbrushes in the same bathroom, and our pillows in the same bed...
Not long ago, I took your clothes out of the closet to put mine on. I assume I was being spoiled and jealous, and that just a few hours later I gave him my virginity, and maybe I don't regret it. Good times, by the way.
- Well... maybe I gave you a little work - I assume.
Aaron turns to me, and the sideways smile on his lips makes my legs go wobbly. He walks closer, and I find myself nervous, as if he can feel the strength of my passion.
Aaron frames my face with his hands, then leans his forehead against mine.
- A little? - he plays.
And maybe that's why I didn't believe my feelings. Falling in love with him was so unlikely. I mean, Aaron doesn't even know the meaning of rules, and I lived by them. But now I realize that he is the rhythm of my heartbeat. It's like I'm falling, and the only thing I hope for is that he catches me when I land.
I rest my hands on his bare chest. I just need one reason, one reason only, not to say I love him right now.
- Aaron, I... - My words trail off when I hear my cell phone ring. I let the air out of my lungs, with the liberating notion that I won't declare myself now.
I turn my eyes to the room. My cell phone is on the nightstand, and I've been waiting for a call about Elliot's burial. I look back at Aaron. It wouldn't be very romantic to propose and then go and discuss my father's funeral.
"I need to get this," I mumble.
"I'm going to shower." He kisses me briefly, then walks into the bathroom.
And even though I'm physically alone, I can still feel your presence in every pore of my body. Being in love is so . . . undermining.
I run into the bedroom and grab my cell phone from the nightstand, disengaging the charger cable. I check the number on the screen, coming from the States. My palms break out in a cold sweat as I start to recognize the numerical sequence that always makes me roll my eyes. And having received your calls for nearly ten years, I know your number by heart.
I take a deep breath.
- Margot - I pick up.
It's curious that she has my number, considering I recently changed it. However, I'm almost glad she called me. Almost.
There is a brief silence from the other end.
- Angelic.
Hearing your voice after so many days apart is strange. I used to feel so uncomfortable in his presence, and now that we're away from each other, I can't understand how we got along for so many years. I was really unhappy.
- I'm sorry... - My voice breaks - I'm sorry.
- No - Margot shoots at the same second - You don't feel it.
Elliot was my dad, although he didn't strive to be the best. Of course I'm sorry. I feel more than he deserved. I feel more than Margot ever will.
"He abandoned me, not the other way around," I say.
There's another minute of silence, then I hear her sniffle. Margot is a bad person, but she's not made of stone. I know losing Elliot hurts because he was all she had. And now all she has is a baby the father will never get to know.
"The body was cremated," she reports.
- Will you keep the ashes?
- Thought I'd play in the garden.
- It's a good idea. He liked the garden before...
Before leaving us.
- I know. I was there - and by that Margot means I wasn't there. Every story needs a villain, and in her story, it's me - Will you go to the seven days of mass?
- Yes.
I am sure that I am a profane in Father Bee's eyes, and that all of Elliot's acquaintances see me as the rebellious daughter who abandoned her father on his deathbed. Margot wouldn't want to clean up my image for any of them. However, I still want to say goodbye decently.
- He is well. We talked in church, so - she sniffs again - Oh, and Genevieve is here. She wants to talk to you.
A spontaneous smile forms on my lips. Suddenly, that apprehension of talking to Margot turns into nostalgia for the best thing about the Donneli mansion: Genevieve's presence.
- He is well. Thank you, Margot - thank you, both for allowing Genevieve to talk to me and for letting me know about Mass. This is far more than I ever expected Margot to do for me.
My ex-stepmother and I will never be friends. At best, she was a shrew. However, she will be my brother's mother. Margot will fulfill Angelic's twelve-year dream of companionship.
- Angelic? - she calls.
- Yes.