33. Angélique
33
Angélique
I t feels like an eternity has passed before I realize Elhyor has left the kitchen altogether.
I meant to make it a rule that he teaches me how to make the delicious pasta that he made tonight, but after his comment about me needing a helping hand, everything went sideways.
I know my skin turned red, and it’s not like I have hair that I could hide behind, so I stood like nothing had happened, but inside, I was boiling—still am—because I couldn’t stop imagining how his hand would be a big help.
And then he came my way and said hand touched me. It wasn’t sexual. I know that, but tell that to my wet panties and the pulse I felt deep inside my pussy. They wouldn’t believe you.
I was torn between wanting for the ground to open and swallow me whole or just melt against him and that can’t happen.
First, because he freaking pinned me to a cross like a martyr, and second because if I don’t find a way to kill him, I’m pretty sure my father will follow me to the end of the world.
I wait another minute before I finally decide to stand only for my eyes to fall upon my plate. A quick view of the counter informs me that Elhyor’s plate is still here, too.
Typical.
Well, he did clean everything he used to cook, so maybe it’s not too bad to have to clean two plates and a few pieces of cutlery.
I could leave everything in the sink but I feel bad for the kitchen team who would arrive in the morning to a sink full of dirty plates so I make quick work of everything and slip outside of the kitchen and up the stairs that lead to the cathedral.
In the silence of the night, the cathedral looks so solemn that I almost feel the need to sit at one of the pews.
But who would I pray to?
Aléa’s gods? They’re long gone. If there were any, they wouldn’t have left the dimension to destroy itself and collapse on Earth the way it did three hundred years ago.
Earth’s gods? There are too many. My people might have come as angels, but religion was different all over the world before we arrived. Now not so much. If their gods were real, would they have let that happen? Let their beliefs be replaced by false idols? Let humans offer themselves as offering to vengeful angels who look pure on the outside but are so far from it on the inside?
I’ve zoned out and lost track of time, but I’m reminded that I’m not alone when I hear the sound of a bird. It’s a pigeon that seems to have gotten lost and wandered inside Notre Dame. For a second, I believe it might be one of my father’s men but the bird is picking at something that looks like a small cockroach, and there are a lot of things my father’s men are good at, but they would never lower themselves at that.
It takes a few seconds for my heart to stop beating like I discovered that someone was spying on me.
I need to get to my room. I need to rest and I need to prepare for what’s to come.
Because in two days I’ll be a married woman and I’ll get my best friend back.