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“You’re going to marry Callum Griffin in two weeks,” Papa says.
“You will marry Aida Gallo in two weeks,” he says.
This is fucking bananas.
“Since you’re about to be a blushing bride . . .”
care. I’ve got two knees, but only one sister.”
Jesus Christ, I think I just found the iceberg that sank the Titanic.
“I can’t believe this. I’m marrying a child. And not a normal child—a demon hellspawn, like Chucky, or the Children of the Corn . . .”
I content myself with smiling up at him and saying, “In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.”
“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”
One’s wearing a fucking t-shirt and jeans, the other’s kitted up like James Dean.
“Is that jealousy
The great Callum Griffin. He’s their JFK, and I’m supposed to be their Jackie Kennedy. I’d rather be Lee Harvey Oswald.
To show her who’s boss, I seize her by the shoulders and kiss her roughly, forcing my tongue into her mouth. Her lips and tongue taste sweet. Tart and fresh. Like something I haven’t tasted in a very long time . . . Strawberries.
Aida, you little liar. Keep it up, and I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap. Or maybe something else . . .
He gets down on his knee in front of me, placing my hand on his shoulder for balance. He lifts my foot and slides the stiletto onto it, like he’s Prince Charming and I’m Cinderella. His hands are surprisingly gentle as his fingers touch the arch of my foot. He buckles the strap, then puts the other shoe on my opposite foot.
I put my lips up against his ear and I whisper, “Do you want me, Cal?” “I don’t want you,” he moans, his voice husky and raw. “I need you.”
“You’re mine, Aida,” Callum growls in my ear. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to touch you.”
“If you EVER talk to my wife like that again, I’ll empty that clip in your chest.”
“Capisco. Si. Sarò lì presto.” She hangs up the call, turning to face me.
Fuck, I hate feeling guilty. Why did I grab that fucking watch? If I’d never touched it . . .
“That’s in the past, Aida. Let’s concern ourselves with tonight.”
“I’ll always find you, Aida.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?”
Trust is rarer than love. It’s putting your fate, your happiness, your life in someone’s hands. Hoping they keep it safe.
Oliver and I didn’t fit together. Like a shoe on the wrong foot.
“Who in the fuck are you talking about? Because that sure ain’t me.”
“I love you, Aida,” I say.
I grab Aida and I kiss her, tasting blood and smoke on her lips.
I kiss her like I’ll never let her go. Because I won’t. Not ever.
“I love you,” she says. “Did I tell you that yet?” “No,” I grin. “Tell me again.”
