Page 21 of Forgive Me For I Have Sinned

Professor Elliot pumps his fist in the air. "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Miss Devlin is a true romantic." Snorts and snickers can be heard across the lecture hall, but I ignore them. What catches me by surprise is Valen clapping with a smile. Jess joins in, and surprisingly, so does Gia. Dravin and Reid look at them like they grew three heads and have lost their minds, but I smile.

"Alright, I need your short verses for your assignment turned in next time we meet. No exceptions!" the professor announces before everyone gets up to leave.

I'm about to exit, but a hand is placed against the frame blocking my path. I recognize Valen's tattoo peeking out of the sleeve of his sweater. "Come with us."

I shake my head, stepping outside the classroom when he finally lets me through. "I don't think that is a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because–" I trail off when the sound of my phone pings with an incoming message. I fish my phone out of my bag and look at a message from my mother telling me she made me an appointment for a wax.

"Is it your boyfriend?" he teases. I've never had one, but he doesn't know that. He must think I've had many given my reputation. Sex isn't a boyfriend. It's an act. Sometimes out of choice and sometimes forced. The look on my face swipes the teasing grin off his. "Sorry, I––"

"It's just my mom. I have an appointment at the Galleria."

The Galleria is a shopping venue that also offers different services in the office building attached to the shops, along with exclusive designer boutiques.

"Good, because that is where we are going."

"We?"

“Yeah, the Bedfords, Riodrick-Riordan's, and us."

"I don't think they would like me to come along."

"Jess and Gia want you to come. It can be a girls’ thing, saving me from being the sixth wheel," he says, wincing on the last part.

I have to go there anyway. It's not like I'm going shopping there.

"Fine."

"I'll take you. We can ride together."

Walking out in the sunny afternoon toward the parking lot, I keep thinking that ever since my breakdown in the shower, he's been nice. Too nice and it feels like pity, which I loathe. I click the seat belt and sit in the passenger seat of his Mercedes sports car. "You don't have to be nice to me."

He places the car in reverse, following Dravin and Reid in their cars. "I'm sorry, Veronica."

I slide the hood off my head, combing the blonde tresses of my wig with my fingers, listening to him apologize. It’s the first time I’ve heard someone apologize to me and mean it.

“I don’t deserve an apology, Valen. I’ve done things and acted in ways I don’t even recognize.”

“I don’t care about that. A-are you okay? If someone hurt you, you would tell me, right?”

I meet his eyes briefly, and he lets out an audible breath. “That was stupid. What I’m trying to say is, literally.”

“No, of course not,” I lie.

Why would I tell him the truth? There’s nothing he could do about it. He will marry Melissa before he graduates his senior year, and I will soon be married to someone the Order still has to agree to until the next vote––which is next week. But my silence says more than words ever could. It speaks of truths left unsaid. Because we both know I’m part of a bigger game that has been being played for a long time. A game no one saw coming but me. All I can do is sit back and watch who will win or how it will end. All I know is that I will lose.

I make my way to the designer boutique where Jess and Gia are buying clothes to wear to a party Dravin is hosting. I take my sweet time so that by the time I get there, I don't have to watch them shop while I wait because they would find it odd that I can't participate.

After Valen dropped me off in front of the office building and I finish my appointment, the hour spent waxing every pubic hair on my body, I walk by the outdoor café, near the tables and chairs placed under oversized umbrellas. People are chowing down on overpriced salads, deep in conversation.

A man in a suit stands just outside a table with dark glasses and his arms crossed. I immediately recognize his stance as someone's bodyguard or maybe chauffeur because my father has both. A shrill laugh comes from behind him, causing people to stop mid-sentence and look, including me, but what catches my attention is where the laughter is directed. The man seated across from her is sinfully dressed in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing tattooed forearms, with two buttons undone at the throat, and sunglasses that cost more than my monthly paycheck at the restaurant. His straight jaw, straight nose, and perfect lips make him the complete package.

When I think of a sinner, Alaric is the first one I think about. He's the devil under your skirt. The cause of heat between your legs. The one fallen from grace. A reckoning. His name is a contradiction–– Alaric means noble ruler. But even the devil was an angel, and I was his sacrifice.

The woman tries to make him laugh, telling him something, but he's looking straight ahead. You can tell by the angle of his head, he's ignoring her every word. As I get closer, I overhear her talking about a meeting and how one guy was nervous about his proposal. She must work for Alaric or with him. I've never seen her before, but where Alaric is concerned, I stopped noticing. I stopped caring and ignored his existence because I knew better. He's forbidden. The Order's esteemed member can do no wrong in their eyes.

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