Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
ROMANCE DARKEST HOUR
Poe
“Nothing says, ‘I’m desperate like a half-price ugly bouquet and some mediocre chocolate.” – A
I ’ve watched enough true crime documentaries to know how to kill the demon of all demons and get away with it. I could ask my Uncle Enzo to do it but honestly. That would rob me of the pure joy of doing it myself.
What would your mother say? That obnoxious little voice in my head pipes up like it pays rent.
She’ll understand, I tell myself. She too wanted to kill dad once or twice.
Who am I kidding? My mom has a soft spot for Azariel. She calls him “charming”. He gave her vintage camera equipment for Mother’s Day last year and now he walks on water and can do no wrong.
Lovely traitor.
But hey, maybe I’ll channel all this homicidal energy into something productive. A murder mystery romance. The plot should be about an author who gets tired of her tyrant publisher slash lover, murders him during a “notes meeting,” and scatters his ashes in his mother’s rose garden like she’s hosting a botanical séance.
Not bad.
Kind of poetic.
I still can’t believe he rejected my idea… again. What does he want from me?
I collapse onto the couch like a pathetic mess and start furiously tapping my phone with the urgency of a black hat hacker trying to break into the President’s phone. One ring. Two. Then the loveliest face appears—Mom, in all her chaotic glory.
I almost laughed out loud when I saw what a mess she looked like. Her shiny black hair is thrown into a loose bun, and there’s about half a dozen strands rebelliously sticking out like she’d had a fight with a leaf blower and lost. For a moment, all my frustration faded.
Then my eyes wandered to the background, where my childhood kitchen looked like a war zone. Dirty pans are scattered everywhere like they’ve been tossed by a lunatic chef. Blue ceramic plates teeter on the edge of the large black marble countertop, as if caught in the wake of a tornado. And then, amid the chaos, I spotted dozens of tiny carrot cake cupcakes, each one perfectly decorated with swirls of cream cheese frosting and a delicate edible green leaf on top.
“Hey, Love Bug! How are you doing? Are you eating? Are you getting any sleep? How’s the writing going?” she asked, all sweetness and sunshine, but I could already see the wheels turning in her eyes. She’s suspicious. I could tell. I knew I looked like a dumpster fire who hadn’t seen a shower in days. Nothing new, though but she worries. Shit.
I groaned and let myself sink deeper into the couch, wrapping my trusty Michael Myers blanket around me like a second skin. It was a birthday gift from my twin along with a ton of Halloween merch. “I’m okay, Mom. I’m just tired…” I lied through my teeth. I was not okay. I was a certified unstable mess. I just want to get over this little rock in the road so I can start writing the book and enter my happy place.
“You’re full of it. What’s wrong?” Her green eyes—narrow and sharp, just like mine—narrow even further. She knows I’m lying. “Let me guess... Azariel?”
Yes, yes Azariel. No one else can rile me up like he does.
I let out a sound that’s somewhere between a dramatic sigh and an exasperated whale call. “He rejected my plot. Again.”
She chuckled like this is the most predictable thing on the planet. “Did he now?”
“Yup,” I muttered, my frustration rising like a volcano. “He said there’s no ‘love’ in it. No spark. No reason to root for the main characters. Basically, that their romance is not believable to him.” I’m no expert in relationships but at least I fake till I make it for the sake of my stories. But what does Azariel know about love? Am I missing something here? Is he secretly a sappy, closeted romantic, like my cousin insists? Does he sit in a dimly lit room, scribbling poetry for the one true love he’s definitely going to settle down with someday? Please. I’ve never seen him with the same woman for more than a week. If he’s a hopeless romantic, then I’m the freaking Loch Ness Monster. Mom tilted her head, giving me that look—the one that said she knew I was being a brat but she loved me anyway. “And is he right?”
No.
Yes.
Okay, he was, but I’d rather be set on fire than admit it.
I sighed. “I thought it was a beautiful plot, Mom. Heartbreaking, even. It had everything— tension, betrayal, a slow-burn dark romance. I even had these fucked-up twists to keep readers on the edge of their seats. But no! Mr. ‘Death itself’ was like, ‘meh, not enough emotional depth or reason to root for their romance.’” I rolled my eyes so hard, I gave myself a headache. Rubbing my temples, I leaned further back on the couch.
Mom sighed like she’d been through this a million times before. She was basically Azariel’s biggest fan and had been for a long time now. I got it. I really do. She got the version of him that only his family saw—the charming heir to the Solonik-Parisi empire. Meanwhile, I got stuck with the “blah” version. Honestly, if he went on a puppy-murdering spree, I’m pretty sure she’d be there with a cute banner, defending his honor like he just cured cancer or some shit. “Well, Poe, the romance is the key component in a romance book.”
No shit, Mom.
“Mom... he’s trying to get under my skin. I swear, the sadistic ass probably gets off on watching me struggle. Do you think that’s why he signed me to his publishing house?” If so, what the hell did I ever do to him?
She raised a thin eyebrow, giving me that “ I’m not buying it ” look. “You know I’ll always be on your side, Love Bug, but have you tried seeing it from his perspective? You more than anyone know that you can’t have a dark romance without heart. It wouldn’t be a dark romance. I’m sure Azariel’s just pushing you to dig deeper. Maybe he wants you to make the readers care about the world you’ve built and the characters. You can only do that with lots of love. You’re a smart girl. Come on.”
She’s right. I know she’s right, but it’s just that stupid face he makes when he’s shitting all over my ideas that pisses me off. Anyone else? Fine, I can take it. But that face? It makes me want to either punch it or, you know, kiss the hell out of it.
The voice in my head is practically cackling.
I ignored it.
“Mom, let me complain,” I said with a small, sugary smile. “Can you at least try to make it less obvious that you’re Team Azariel?”
Mom smirked. “I’m not on his side.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sure, you’re not.”
She laughed, and it made my heart soften. My mom had the best laugh and it could lift my spirits even on the worst days. “Okay, maybe just a little on his side. But I really do think Azariel’s trying to help you push past your comfort zone, baby. You’ve got the talent, Poe. Maybe you just need to trust him.”
“Trust him?” I gasped, laying it on thick with a level of drama that could win an Oscar just to make her laugh some more. “The ass who rejects everything I do and then critiques the ‘emotional depth’ of it? Sure, let me just hand over my heart to the emotionally dead iceberg and pray for the best.”
She shook her head, looking amused. “I’m serious, Poe. You’ve got it in you. Maybe Azariel’s a little... blunt, but I don’t think he’s out to get you. I truly don’t. Will you trust me, baby?”
I slouched further into the couch like a couch-burrito. “I trust you with my life and more, Mom. But a little blunt? He’s more like a sick son of?—”
“Poe.” She cut me off with that small, knowing smile, then shrugged like it’s no big deal. “I think he cares, in his own messed-up, weird way. You just have to dig through the frost to find the heart. Trust me, I had to do the same to win your father’s heart. We don’t all get to live a fairytale life like you and your brothers did, my beautiful girl… Some of us have to go through hell before we get to heaven.”
Crack.
Shit.
Suddenly, I felt like total garbage. My parents didn’t have the best childhood—hell, they didn’t even have a childhood. And for the first few years of his life, Azariel didn’t have one either. By the time his parents found him, it was too late. At least, that’s all I know.
“I tried more than once…” I whispered, suddenly feeling like that little girl that I keep hidden under sarcasm and cynicism so she didn’t get hurt again. All I ever wanted was to break through his icy edges. I would’ve loved them all, beautiful, jagged pieces and all, but he shut me down with a twist of his sharp knife.
“Poe…” Mom’s voice softened, and she leaned closer to her phone, her eyes brimming with both love and sadness. “It hurts me, sweetheart, that you don’t see what’s right in front of you. I know love hasn’t always been kind to you, but you can’t just shut yourself off from the idea of it. Love is beautiful, and I know this because love gave me you and your brothers. I fear that you don’t see how worthy of it you are—and how beautiful it can be when you finally open your eyes to what’s been there all along.”
She paused, her tone gentle but firm. “Yes, he was a little shit to you when you were younger, but have you ever stopped to think about how broken someone has to be to build walls so high around their heart, so no one can get through? Evil people don’t do that, sweet girl. Only the broken ones do.”
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
My heart started to pound painfully in my chest as I processed my mother’s words. I knew this. I’ve known this for so long, yet I’ve buried it deep, tucked away in the corners of my mind, where I thought I could protect my heart from the truth. Azariel Solonik has always been my Achilles’ heel. And the worst part? He didn’t even know it.
But maybe that’s for the best. Maybe he didn’t know how to love or maybe he’s too broken. And maybe girls like me? We were meant to write about epic love stories, to dream about them, but never to live our own—with beautiful, heartless princes like him.
For a moment, with my mother on the phone, I let the cynical and love-hating mask slip. I’m… me. Or at least, the me that no one else ever gets to see. The girl who wonders if a love like my parents’ will ever find me, or if I’ve already missed my chance with the men I let slip away because I was too afraid to let anyone in.
Mom gave a soft yet sad smile—the one that says she’s been there too. “Sweetheart, I know it’s frustrating. But you need to put aside any issues you have with him and realize that he’s not trying to crush you. If you believe in your story, you’ll figure it out. When you do, it’ll be amazing. Azariel won’t be able to say no.” There’s something about her voice that made me feel like everything would be okay if I just took a deep breath and stopped sulking— if I just put my confusing as hell feelings aside and did what I’m being paid to do. Write .
“Okay,” I said, sitting up with a new perspective. “Fine. You’re right, Mom. I’ll give it my all.”
Mom beamed like I’ve just told her she’s going to be a grandmother soon. “That’s my girl. And maybe throw in a little more romance and filthy spice, huh?”
Filthy spice?
“Mom!” I laughed, mortified. Spice and filthy are not words I want to discuss with my mother. Nope.
She laughed too, and it’s exactly what I needed. I needed someone to set me straight and get me out of my feelings. Mom always did that. Yes, she lets me dream in the clouds but she also grabs me by the feet and pulls me down to reality when I need it. “You’ve got this. You’re your father’s child, and he’s a literary genius.”
That he was.
I snorted. “You’re the best cheerleader, Mommy.”
“Only for my babies and my man,” she winked.
Oh, she was.
Hell, she even cheered for Vade when he got into a fight in middle school. To be fair, the jerk had been picking on our little brother, Cassian, just because he was bigger and stronger. When Vade found Cassian with a busted lip and his uniform covered in cafeteria food, he completely lost it. And, well, shit hit the fan. Mom showed up just in time to see her nine-year-old son kicking the ever-loving shit out of a bully, and she cheered her eldest son on like he was fighting for a gold medal in the Olympics. When he was done, she kissed his bloodied knuckles and walked with him and Cassian to the principal’s office to fight for her youngest. When Vade got suspended, she just smiled at us, told us to always have each other’s backs, and then took us out for ice cream.
“I know,” I reply, feeling lighter. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, my baby. Now go shower,” she said, and just before the call ended, she added, “And don’t forget the spice, okay?”
“Lots of spice. Got it,” I said, chuckling. “143, Mom.”
“143, Love Bug.” And with that, the call ended, leaving me feeling like I could do anything I set my mind to— even change the mind of the beautiful heartless prince.