Page 50 of Worship
“Thank you.”
“Quando saremo vecchi e grigi, ti dirò che oggi è quando ho aputo che ti amavo.”When we’re old and gray, I’ll tell you that today is when I knew I loved you.
“English?” she sweetly requests.
“Not today, Angel. Go. Sleep.”
I hear her get up, and her footsteps move farther away. I stand from where I’ve been posted and look at the door for a moment, finally turning to walk away down the hall.
It’s not what I want, but it’s what she needs.
Thursday
LIFE IS THE MOST BIZARREadventure. One minute I’m crying on my floor and wishing I was sitting in Luca’s lap. The next minute, I’m awake in my bed feeling slightly guilty that I’m relieved. It’s been a couple of days since I feltallthe damn feelings, and I finally feel…good. Awake from the fog I was in.
I pull myself out of bed and stand to stretch, walking out of my bedroom and into my kitchen without weaving around anything. It’s like my life just got a clean slate.
My grief doesn’t feel like a burden anymore, because I started dealing with it. Or I was pushed into dealing with it by Luca. I’ll love him forever for this.
Whoa, did I just say love?
I push the thought out of my mind and go about making coffee and getting ready for work. I grab my phone off the counter where I left it charging last night and see a waiting text from Luca.
I grin into my warm coffee cup, the steam rising over my lip.
Luca: Good morning. I hope you had dirty, filthy dreams about me.
This has become our weird routine. He calls me every night, and we talk about everything and nothing all at once. And with every start of my day, he leaves me a good-morning text.
Me: I did dream about you. You were single and ready to mingle, and I let you touch my…
Luca: Monster. I won’t forget that, Angel.
Me: I’m not a monster. I’m so much smarter than that…I’m the villain.
Luca: All right, Cruella. 7 tonight.
Me: Done.
“Ms. Andrews, another package for you.”
I look up at my assistant, confused at her tone. She’s grinning from ear to ear. “Sorry, it’s just, my apologies, but I can see into the bag.”
I reach out my hand, and she brings the black gift bag to me. I peek inside and start to laugh, pulling the note out from between the paper to read.
Every great villain has a good ’stache.—Luca
Inside the bag is a variety pack of stick-on mustaches. I can’t hold the laughter back as I pull it out and hold it up to Kate, who is already giggling.
“Whoever he is, he’s funny,” she jokes.
“Yeah. He is,” I agree sarcastically.
Kate walks back to her desk, leaving me in my office alone, so I unbutton my top enough to see my black lace bra and pull out one of the mustaches, a nice handlebar number, and stick it in place. Aiming the camera right where I want it, I take a selfie, showing just enough cleavage and my best evil smile.
Me: Thanks for helping me rep my inner villain.
Saturday
