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He knows who I am.
And judging by the cock of his brow, he now knows of my baby girl also.
“What a wonderful surprise.” He stretches a hand out. “Please, accept my congratulations.”
I stare at his hand before I take it. “Thank you.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“Says the man stranded on the side of the road.”
“True.”
He shrugs as if every car that passed hadn’t ignored him.
They knew who he is.
Just my luck.
Not luck but Fate, my Devil suggests as if she understands the word.
“I have a spare in my trunk.”
He sends me a grateful smile that has my back relaxing. I can’t pin point what this is. It’s not lust. Nothing I’m used to encountering.
It’s human decency. Perhaps even familiarity.
When the tire has been replaced, he shuts my truck and nods his head to the song on the stereo. It’s an old one, where the Bhundu Boys sing about crazy things like Fate and Destiny.
He confirms my suspicions that he knows who I am when he says, “Dalia.” His lips wrap around my name like it’s a present, as if something pleasant hides within. “The goddess of Fate. Do you believe in Fate?”
I don’t, but I answer, “Yes,” because the way he asks makes me feel like he does.
He nods his head and considers something for a moment before his eyes cut through pretenses and narrow on my belly. “Would you like my help?”
I’d like help, yes, but I’m not sure from him.
He and Angelo can be two sides of the same coin, but at least there’s kindness in his eyes, and I’m not in the position to pick and choose which Devil to run from.
Mine or theirs.
“Why?” I finally ask.
“Fate,” he answers, as if it exists.
Chapter
One
Never mind your happiness.
Do your duty.
PETER DRUCKER
BASTIANO ROMANO
The Present
