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I know what I have to do and I know that it’s my only option.
Angel might not actually be as bad as he’s made himself out to be, but I’m not sure if I can ever forgive him for locking me up like a caged animal—still, a new lease on life might help ease my pain.
With no instructions on how to use the new day, I wander out of bed in a soft silk nightgown that had been waiting for me in a fully furnished closet. It fits like a cloud, and I have no plans to take it off, but I also desperately want to go back outside.
Despite my exhaustion, the thrill of not being stuck in a gilded cage still hasn’t worn off. I barely ate at dinner last night, but what little I did manage to stuff down was absolutely exquisite. I’m sure the wine was some kind of vintage, too, but I don’t drink—though, I was tempted to. There are a lot of things I don’t do, that I haven’t done before... but Angel has me questioning them all... and there’s one thing in particular, one thing that raced through my dirty dreams all last night like hot water from that rain forest shower head of his.
It actually came as a surprise when Angel didn’t pounce on me before leaving for the night. Whether or not it was a good surprise, I’m still unsure. Bittersweet, at least. I was looking damn good, if I do say so myself, and the conversation we shared was the kind I’d expect from a soul mate rather than a prison guard.
It’s all just so confusing.
Right now, as I search the fridge for some breakfast, I’m glad things didn’t escalate between us. It might have made my decision to accept his marriage proposal a lot harder. This is now supposed to be a business relationship, after all.
I can do that. It’s the captivity that was driving me up the wall.
It doesn’t appear as though I’m a captive anymore, though. I’m no longer Angel’s hostage or his plaything or whatever, I’m just someone he’s trying to work with.
I can do that... as long as other feelings don’t get in the way...
A sudden buzz makes me jump high enough that I smack the back of my head on the inside of the fridge.
What the fuck was that?
I get my answer quickly enough, when it’s followed by a knock.
I’m obviously hesitant to go answer, but it’s not like anyone else knows I’m here. My bare toes sink into the shaggy condo carpet as I scuffle over to the entryway.
My heart catches in my throat when I see a stranger filling up the doorway. That’s not Angel.
“Ms. Alzate,” the giant respectfully nods. He steps aside and two maids with giant cases of luggage scurry past me.
“What’s this?” I ask, turning around to follow the maids. They disappear behind the corner that leads to my bedroom.
“I’ve been told to bring you to your friend. The maids will pack you some clothes.”
My heart flutters. Angel’s keeping his word. Actually, he’s doing better than just keeping his word. He’s not just letting me talk to Marcela, he’s taking me to her!
My skin tingles as I imagine giving my old friend a big warm hug... then my brain goes foggy at the idea of having to explain everything to her. How do I describe any of this? Two days ago, I’d have had a completely different story to tell her, but now I’m not so sure—especially with the required NDA I’m supposed to be signing.
Angel has me in a weird state of limbo that I’m not sure I can put into words. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to pass up a chance to see Marcela.
“Uh, when do we leave?” I ask, turning back around to the big body guard in the doorway.
“Whenever you’d like.”
The morning sunshine drapes me in a thin blanket of warmth as I help the maids load my luggage into the back of a red sedan. It’s not a luxurious car, but I’m not complaining. I decided to take every last outfit from my closet, not because I plan on staying with Marcela for particularly long, but because I know she’s roughly the same size as me, and she would die to wear some of these outfits.
She’s going to be so happy with all the gifts that she might even forgive me for not calling. I’ve decided that I’m only going to give her a shortened version of what’s been happening. There will be no terrifying tales of jungle dungeons or slimy brothers when I see my friend again. I’m not going to paint Angel as some saint, like all the corrupt journalists on his payroll, but I won’t slander him too hard either. If I do, Marcela’s going to have a real hard time believing that I would want to marry such a man—and if there’s one thing that will make this whole process easier on my soul, it will be her blessing.
We fit the last of the luggage in the trunk just as a familiar roar fills up the quiet morning street.
I know who’s coming long before he skips around a corner and skids to a stop right in front of my car.
Angel’s dark hair is windswept. His eyes are burning, melting big
dark bags beneath them. He looks like he’s just been through hell.
He must have gone out again last night, because it doesn’t look like he’s slept at all since he left me in that new apartment. He’s completely drained and exhausted, but when his eyes fall on me, I swear I see a little green spark jump up behind them.
