Page 100 of Angel

I breathe in his floral scent, letting my eyes drift shut as I bask in his presence. “Hmm? Do what?”

“That.” He nods toward the front of the sanctuary. “Get married.”

I still, then open my eyes and straighten. Rhys turns to look at me over his shoulder. My stomach is doing that fluttering thing I’ve only ever felt around Rhys. It’s nervousness and excitement. It’s anticipation for something I know will be scary but also amazing.

“Do you?” It’s a cop-out question, but I need to know.

Marriage always seemed inevitable for me, even though finding a girlfriend felt impossible for such a long time. I don’t need marriage to be happy with Rhys, but if that’s something he’s open to, then I would jump at the chance to put a ring on his finger.

“No,” he says with a softness in his eyes, and my stomach drops. “Not before. I never understood the point. But now…”

I gulp. “Now?”

He turns fully in my arms, sliding his hands up my chest and around to the back of my neck. My heart thumps like a drum in my chest, so hard and loud I’m sure he can feel it.

“Now that I’ve found the right person? It makes all the sense in the world.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

RHYS

The wedding isn’t a total disaster. In fact, if I ignore anyone over the age of sixty-five who keeps glaring in our direction, I’d even say the wedding is fun.

The reception is in the church’s community hall. It’s basically a gym that they’ve managed to disguise as a reception space with white fabric strung up across the ceiling and fabric curtains lining the walls. Round paper lanterns and fairy lights cast a warm glow, making the large echoey room feel inviting and cozy. The round tables are covered in white tablecloths and the chairs have big, pale pink bows on the back. White and pink flowers make up the centerpieces on each table, and more flowers sit on pedestals dotted around the room.

The buffet was catered by another obscure relation of mine who owns a restaurant, and the dessert bar came from a fancy bakery in Manhattan that the bride is obsessed with.

Angel and I sit at the same table as Sabrina and Nico and his wife, Ariana. The three of them have been a human shield around us the entire time. No one talks to us unless they’ve been vetted, no one even gets close to our table without an approving nod from one of our siblings.

When I left the old neighborhood, I left Nico, Ariana, and the kids behind too. I didn’t give it too much thought at the time. I was so completely focused on escaping the judging looks, the snide remarks, the overwhelming feeling of oppression. But seeing their unquestioning support for me and Angel today, I think I was too hasty in condemning anything that had to do with my childhood.

Not everything from the old neighborhood is bad. Not everyone thinks I’m that weird Gallo kid who likes to pretend he’s a girl. There are good people here. People who love me. People who I love.

Like Angel.

All evening, when he wasn’t busy making sure I was okay, he was playing with the kids and keeping them entertained. He’s so good with them, and there’s such obvious joy in his eyes when he laughs with them. He would make such a good father.

He could teach them how to throw a ball and how to work with their hands. He could give them rides on his back and hoist them up on his shoulders. My throat grows a little tight at the thought of Angel with a little boy with big brown eyes and floppy brown hair.

I’m not a kid person. I’m not really even a marriage person. Those aren’t things I’ve ever envisioned for my life. But those are things Angel definitely deserves. They’re things I want him to have.

Can I give him that kind of life? Marriage, house, white picket fence and two-point-five kids? In a neighborhood that looks alarmingly like this one. All the things I worked so hard to get away from.

Six months ago, I would have revolted at the idea. Absolutely no fucking way. But now…

Like I told Angel earlier, with the right person—with him—the idea doesn’t sound all that bad.

After the giant wedding cake is cut and the happy couple have their first dance, the DJ cranks up the music.

I catch Angel watching the dance floor apprehensively and I take pity on him. “It’s okay, teddy bear. We don’t have to dance.”

“But you love to dance,” he says, full of concern.

“I can dance whenever I want. I don’t need a wedding to shake my ass.”

For a moment, it seems like Angel will take me up on the offer to stay at our table, but then he sets his jaw and shoots to his feet.

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