Page 37 of Bastian

A goddess. My Goddess.

“Arianna,” I whisper like a man who has finally seen the light after years in the dark. Like a religion. My religion. The barely beating organ in my chest slowly starts to beat for someone other than my child.

For my woman.

A woman who is currently looking at me as if she wishes to reach forward and strangle the life out of me with the cord of the microphone I am holding in my hand.

I hear the mumbles and whispers all around while I am held enthralled by all the beauty that is Arianna Luna Parisi.

Amazement billows through my spirit when the music in the background shifts and the woman who has been haunting me for nights on end struts my way.

Her honey-blonde hair falls straight down her back without a single strand out of place. Not wavy and slightly curled at the ends like before. The adorable bangs are long gone, making her look even more grown now and not innocent like they did when she was younger.

Her big, pouty lips twist in a cruel smile.

My chest pangs.

Because although it is clear she hates me, that doesn’t take away from the fact that she came back. She found her way back to me even if it is just to hurt me. To go through with her plan to make me suffer.

The joy of seeing her again is so full, it is almost painful. But still, I cherish this pain like I cherish every part of her. Time or space didn’t change that.

She is so fucking beautiful that I think my heart might explode.

Fuck.

No longer a girl but a woman.

Slowly, my eyes wander over her curvy body with predatory regard.

A breathtakingly beautiful woman dressed in a white suit that hugs every sharp curve of her body. You would think a modest white suit wouldn’t make a woman look as mouth-watering sexy, as she does right now but it does. Her cleavage is on full display because the little brat opted not to wear anything under it.

She also teetered on these sex-as-fuck, blood-red heels, the same color as her plump lips, which made my stomach clutch.

The sight of her wearing white with a touch of red twists through me like a knife.

Eyes the color of emerald stare back at me, daring me to refuse her. Clearing my throat, I hold her stare, daring her as well.

To challenge me.

To hate me.

To fucking love me.

To give me all she has, I will carry it gladly.

“You can ask anything, darling.” And just like that, we are back to that time. The time when we didn’t know when one ended and the other began. The only difference is that beneath all that once was, there is pain. So much fucking pain in her eyes. But I’m a masochist when it comes to her, and I can’t help myself. “I am so damn proud of you.” Those fiery greens flash with emotions from pain to anger in a millisecond before she clenches her jaw and steps forward with bad intentions. I see the moment she decides to fire back, opening her mouth, to let her venom loose when she’s interrupted by the sweetest voice of a little girl barreling towards me at full speed with her bodyguard not far behind. “Daddy! There are like a gazillion cupcakes here. Gimeeee!” My daughter uses her hungry monster voice, causing the room to explode with laughter. The First Daughter. A sugar addict. Ellaiza wraps her tiny arms around my legs, not tall enough yet to reach my waist. The second she realizes we are not alone, when she burst onto stage, interrupting the press conference, she smiles sheepishly at the audience and waves her hands with a big smile on her beautiful face. “Hello!” Ellaiza says, bouncing on her tiny pink heels. “Thank you for supporting the good guys and voting for my Dad!” She gives them a thumbs-up and a grin. “You all did good.”

My daughter, so help me God, inherited not only my face, but my charm. Lord, have mercy on me because this little girl sure won’t.

The crowd of journalists pick up their cameras and snap picture after picture while smiling and waving back to my daughter.

All minus one.

Arianna.

She stands frozen in place while the world moves around her, staring at my daughter with pain, adoration, and so much love that it has left me breathless. Giving me hope that my girl, the girl who stole my heart, and claimed it for her own, is still there, buried under all the pain I caused.

It gives me fucking hope that maybe, just maybe, I can still make things right.

---