Page 96 of Destined for the Devil
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St. Barts
Roman
TherewasaGod.I was sure of it now. God allowed me to have Isla back.
She was back in my arms, and I’d given her my whole soul long ago. There was no more pain or suffering, just a pure Angel with me, on my lap, in my eyes, within reach.
My hand glided on her flawless, silky skin, burning with the afterglow of our reunification. I wrapped my arm around her while her cheek pressed into my chest, all of her gorgeous body slumped against me. We breathed in deeply, in unison, perfectly matching. She breathedmein.
She loved me.
I didn’t just love her; I wasconsumedby her. Obsessed. I wanted to serve her. To give her everything she’d ever desired, to be everything for her. My whole life before her didn’t matter to me anymore. All I cared about washerand a future where she was mine.
Time became irrelevant. We simply lay together and touched, unable to untangle.
"Why did it take you so long to come back?" Isla’s angelic voice broke the silence while her fingers traced my tattoos, sending a tingle through me.
"Would you have given me the time of day…if you hadn't read everything you found out today?" I answered back with a question, which I thought was a very legitimate one.
She was silent for a long time, still swirling the pad of her little finger on my skin. Finally, she placed her chin on my chest and looked into my eyes. "I don't know,” she admitted in a whisper. “What I found out today was…pretty earth-shattering."
I had to know. "Will you ever be able to forgive me?" She bit her bottom lip as she considered the question, my heart beating out a wild rhythm beneath her.
"Yes.” Her answer was quiet but confident, and relief flooded me. “I will…I just haven’t yet." Her eyes fluttered closed, and she pressed her sweet angel lips to my chest.
That's when I knew—I knew that nothing would tear us apart from now on. We were forever bound.
Slumber claimed Isla shortly after, and she dozed on top of me, her hot skin burning softly with mine. Silently, I typed an email to my jewelry guy, who had already completed her birthday present. He would fly to New York to show me the ring design we had discussed a few weeks ago.
All the time that we were apart, I refused to believe it was the end. I busied myself with designing her engagement ring, and that gave me the strength not to jump off a fucking bridge. Because deep down, I could never imagine that I’d continue living and not have her be mine. I was going to propose, and we were going to be married, and there would be no more uncertainty.
Morning light peaked through her huge windows, and I opened my eyes to a sleeping angel in my arms. I left her to rest, showered, and was getting started on breakfast—that she taught me how to make—when I heard her come downstairs, pure bliss and happiness on her face.
This felt…surreal. Like I was dreaming. Like she was a hallucination.She was with me again.I repeated it to myself over and over. I’d realized we were apart longer than we were together...a painful thought.
"Do you want to go away somewhere warm? While you have the timeoff?" I asked her, hoping she would agree right away.
Her eyes lit up in excitement. "Yeah! I’d love to!” She nodded quickly. “Oh wait. I told everyone I'm having a big housewarming bash next week…"
"So do it after we come back. Spend your birthday with me." I winked and placed a cup of hot coffee in front of her, momentarily turning around for the milk.
"How'd you know it's my birthday soon?!”
Oh, sweet, sweet Isla.
"You think I don't know when my girlfriend's birthday is?" I asked her, pouring milk into her cup.
"More,” she commanded when I thought it was enough milk. I swear, she was basically drinking milk with a splash of coffee, not the other way around. "When is your birthday? Did I miss it?!" she asked in alarm.
"February fourteenth. You have plenty of time to get me a gift. I'll send you a list of what I want." I teased my beautifulgirlfriend.
She melted into a smile and then added. "So your name is Roman, like the word romance in Russian. Your last name is Agapov, from the Greek word agape, which means love, and you were born on February fourteenth—on Valentine's Day?! Are you just a walking embodiment of love?" She observed me plate her omelet.
I’d never noticed any of that.
"I think Roman is from, like...Rome, not romance." I tried to reject her words, but she continued.
