Joy In Love (Daughters of Cupid Book 1) Page 12

  And it was with that realization and a mad heat rushing through my veins that something cracked inside me, as if I’d been held in a vessel and the essence of who I was had started to leak out.

  I lifted my chin, looked into the heat of those gorgeous eyes, and I knew I was the reason they were as blue and bright as they were. And it wasn’t bitterness in his voice, but fear.

  He feared me.

  I’d done what no mortal could do to him.

  “It’s not poison that has changed your eyes. It’s love.”

  Real love.

  The purest kind, true and without reserve.

  And that crack widened inside me as a rush of something ecstatic like being hugged brought heat behind my eyes. I blinked, holding it in, not wanting to reveal what had happened.

  What was happening?

  I supposed this was love, true love, and what it did to one.

  Never had I imagined I’d feel it. Or it would come to me at a time like this.

  But it was mine to hold onto, to keep me company in the darkest of the moment. And I had Damen De Santis to thank for it.

  Except, he didn’t appear at all happy as Hope had me imagining he might.

  “Do you love me, Cherub? Is that what your kisses are all about?” Hard lines formed across his forehead, and his brows closed in.

  Yes. Tell him, Faith whispered.

  But I couldn’t. My heart jumped in my throat, and I couldn’t get the words to come out. My blood was rushing to all kinds of places, and my hands and face had suddenly fallen cold. I was a creature of love. I was made from love. I was part of everything that was love and good and light.

  Of course, I loved everyone. Didn’t I?

  Some more than others. Some being Damen De Santis.

  Oh my. I realized the trouble I was in.

  Whatever had happened was on me. I was the only one who could save him, save me. Save us both.

  I wrapped my arms around myself. Three little words could change everything.

  I knew what I had to do. What I chose freely to do.

  I loved Damen De Santis.

  Damen’s mouth quirked. “Arrow struck you then?”

  “No.” I forced the words at the same time as making my lungs pump fresh air in my body. Say it and breathe, Joy.

  I lifted my chin and looked him straight in those beautiful blue eyes. “I do.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You do what?”

  “I love you, Damen De Santis. My heart will forever be entwined with yours.”

  “Is that so?” He cupped my face with the palm of his hand. He was going to kiss me. He was going to love me back.

  I could hear Faith and Hope in my head, their little pants of breath as I imagined them holding hands, on the edge as I was. This was it. I leaned toward him.

  “You are so sweet; it is adorable, baby Cherub. You really believe in love? Is that why you’ve been trying to change me?”

  Then his eyes started to darken, and every hair on the back of my neck rose with alarm.

  No. No…

  “I haven’t been trying to change you.” A sickening feeling crept into my stomach.

  “Only my heart? How long did you expect to ‘love’ me? A month? A year? How long does the poison last? Did you really think you could make me forget about Marisol?”

  “No. I could never.” I jerked my face back. His touch turned to ice.

  “You’re right. You could never because no spell can hold for long when it comes to the desires of the heart.”

  He’s right. True love can’t be broken.

  Tell him he’s right, Hope said.

  He needs to know you are his true love.

  Hope sighed, and all the air in the room got sucked away.

  “Your poison is weak, baby Cherub.” His eyes widened. His expression hardened. Staring into my face, but not seeing me. Not while his eyes went from blue to black and those dangerous lips of his curled up in a sneer.

  “Do you see the love in me now?”

  “Damen.”

  “Count De Santis,” he said.

  I swallowed hard to keep the tide of nausea at bay. The room darkened, and Damen’s body became like the night. I felt him everywhere. Cold, nipping, and weighing heavy around me. I couldn’t seem to draw in enough breath with the air growing thick and dense. I coughed and blinked.

  He whispered, “I am the night. I am the terror that fills your dreams.”

  “You are not my nightmare.” My voice went hoarse; I grabbed my throat. Visions of bones and chains at my feet caused me to jump into the smog of darkness that pulled me under. I collapsed to my knees, struggling to breathe. “Please. I c-can’t b-breathe.”

  I felt his breath upon my cheek against my ear as he said, “Love me now?”

  A thousand little daggers pricked my heart, and in the back of my mind, I heard someone scream my name.

  “Yes...”

  And instantly the smog around me lifted, the darkness gave way to the glare of the morning sun rising. Soft, pale yellows and peaches filtered in from a bluing sky.

  I clutched my chest, fresh air rushing to my lungs. I coughed and glanced around. “Damen?”

  He was gone.

  I glanced over at the woman in the tapestry, her expression unchanged. Her head held high, those eyes looking forward, looking at me.

  Shaken, my knees wobbling, I headed back to my room.

  “You think you’ve won, but you’re wrong. Nothing you do will make me stop loving you.”

  Behind me, I felt the weight of someone watching, but I didn’t turn back. It was just a tapestry, like in my room. They were just painted paper cherubs.

  And soon, my only friend would be Tartarus and his dark blanket of eternity.

  22

  If today was to be my last day on earth, I chose to make the best of it.

  My sisters had gone silent in my head again.

  After returning to my room, I lay back down and slept the morning, exhausted.

  My breakfast was untouched, my body none the lighter after spilling the contents of my heart to the man who held my fate in his.

  For that, I couldn’t blame him.

  One simply didn’t stop caring about another person when their lives took them down a new path. A love that settled and held as long as Damen loved Marisol would never dissolve. My only regret was not being able to open a space for me in his affections.

  Funny thing about love.

  It’s not always returned.

  But his eyes. They’d been blue. So blue…

  Love couldn’t always heal all the hurt or change those into being the people we wanted or needed them to become.

  Rather than give in to Damen’s suggestions of wearing something dark and depressing, I chose pink. I could already hear the cherubs in my room mocking me. Maybe the color had grown on me these past few weeks. Maybe it was because red was too bold and would be the color Damen expected me to wear. After all, he sent Sierra to my room with two red dresses, a navy, and a black, and I turned them all down. Poor Sierra, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sweet Italian woman so stricken. When I explained I wanted something unexpected, subtle, something for me, tears brimmed in her eyes.

  They knew.

  Even Agatha, dear sweet Agatha, sent up a pot of my favorite Bengal Spice tea with jam and croissants. For lunch, she brought a tray, frowning at the gown laying out on the bed. I’d thought about wearing it all day. As she set the tray with a small pizza on the table by the window, it warmed me.

  “I thought you’d like something more like home, si?”

  I’d have hugged her if Sierra hadn’t had me planted in a chair, her hand twisted in my hair. I tried telling her it made no difference to me. In a few hours, what I looked like wouldn’t matter anymore. I’d made up my mind. I’d heard Hope and Faith’s cries. It was my choice to make. Cherish had not answered me. Most likely because this was my task and my task alone.

  Damen wanted Marisol. I tapped the arrow an
d forced a smile as Agatha sat at the little round table in my room. I couldn’t have asked for a better company on a day like this.

  “I almost forgot.” Agatha jumped up and rushed out of the room.

  Sierra twisted my hair and gave it a tug to keep it in place. I sat with my back to the mirror. “These curls of yours, they do not wish to cooperate.”

  I thought back to all the times Cherish fought with my unruly mass of dark curls and tried to manage them into something cute when I was a child. I always ended with a ponytail. Or Faith would step in and pile them all up high on my head. I’d looked like a fairy princess without her tiara.

  I had a feeling if I looked, that was exactly what Sierra was doing to my hair.

  She tilted my chin up, her eyes bright with ambition as she looked at me as an artist would look at their masterpiece. Her expression amused me, her mouth going from grim to curving up into a smile. Those eyes, kind and determined, lit up as she got another curl to bend to her will. “Hearts will be broken today, si?”

  “Si.”

  “You do not sound so convinced.” Sierra put a pin in her mouth.

  You couldn’t break what had been shattered, but I didn’t say that out loud. Sierra had been so helpful. Without her, I wouldn’t have gotten the feather. I wondered if my father would show up at the wedding, and then thought better of it. He’d send Giles.

  “Do not let worry flood your heart.” Sierra slid the pin in to hold another curl in place. She stepped back and assessed her work. “Bella,” she beamed, clasping her hands together.

  “We smear a little pink gloss on those lips, and no man shall be able to resist true love’s kiss.” She turned and sorted through her makeup bag.

  True love’s kiss.

  Why hadn’t I thought of it? All this time I had been kissing Damen. I’d seen the change in his eyes. Had it been? Could it?

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Here it is!” Sierra turned back toward me. “This one is special.”

  At the same time, Agatha came back through the door carrying the cutest pair of silver and rhinestone heels I’d ever seen. They matched perfectly with the bracelet Damen had given me for my birthday.

  “You don’t like them?” Agatha asked.

  “I’d hoped Count De Santis would have given me back my sandals,” I confessed. “They belong to my sister.”

  “I will try to find them and see they are returned.” Agatha pressed the shoes toward me. “You must wear these ones tonight; they, too, are special.”

  I wondered if I’d get to keep these or if Damen would make me take them off before he plunged me into the arms of Tartarus.

  Before I dressed, I shared a margarita pizza with the two women who had become close to my heart since my abduction. Agatha’s eyes, aged with wisdom, glazed, causing my chest to tighten. I hugged her and gave her a kiss on both cheeks, returning to her the joy I felt fleeing from us both. And Sierra, such a petite, but charismatic woman, held the opposite in her shining eyes.

  As I dressed, her smile broadened. She handed me the pink lip gloss. “Reapply often.”

  I had nowhere else to put it, so I slipped the tube of gloss into my bodice. Not as if anyone would be reaching in there tonight—or ever—for that matter.

  With my silver glittery shoes on, I stood and gave both women one final hug. I took one final glance around the pink room. Those awful cherubs had all seemed to cast their arrows down instead of up as I remembered them. I was torn between finally having to get away from them, and the alternative.

  “Count De Santis is awaiting you at the bottom of the stairs,” Jace’s voice boomed from the doorway. I hadn’t heard the knock at the door or heard Agatha open it.

  Sierra handed me a wrap. “It’s chilly out.”

  Not as cold as I, but I took the thick white and gray fur and wrapped it about my bare shoulders. It was March, and back home we’d be expecting winds with a subzero bite and random snow flurries. I had no clue what to expect when I left this house. With a shiver, I took Jace’s hand and allowed him to lead me down the hall and to the stairs.

  He stopped, and I glanced back at him. In the short time I’d spent here and gotten to know things about this satyr, I still couldn’t read him well. He’d been cautious of me since the night I slipped away from him in Venice. I never did feel any guilt over influencing his inner ambitions and desires to help me escape. Only I’d failed. And I saw how I violated any trust I might have been able to build with him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Jace’s face, its usual unreadable mask, relaxed.

  I took the stairs one heeled shoe at a time. I held onto the railing, the cool polished wood gliding under my hand. My heart soared, as if I, the princess I dreamed of when I was a little girl, and my true love, awaited me at the landing below.

  Standing in a sleek black suit, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, leaving a little of his chest exposed, Damen De Santis stood with this hand extended for me. Dangerous. The man’s eyes drank me in as if I were a glass of pink champagne. He sipped and savored, his eyes lingering and his facial expression going from unreadable to amused.

  His eyes were the bluest I’d seen them. “I see you took my suggestion.”

  “I don’t believe pink was on your list of recommendations.”

  “It suits you, Cherub.” He tucked my hand in his arm. “Had I said so in the first place, you wouldn’t be wearing it, would you?”

  My jaw slackened, and I thought of a dozen things to say to this man, but I quickly tightened my jaw and kept them inside. As if this dress had been his pick all along. Sierra had sent out for it specifically. Selfish as it might sound, I wanted something that had only been mine. Not Marisol’s hand-me-down from her abandoned closet. Mine.

  And I loved it.

  I loved the way the pale pink shimmered along my skin. I loved the length, right at my knee, of the cocktail party dress. I even loved the added tulle that gave it a little flare at my hips. This was a party dress. Not one of those sleek, long, sophisticated gowns in dark colors I had first been presented with. All Damen’s picks, for sure. No, this was me, right down to the rhinestone five-inch heels. And for once, I stood nose to nose with Damen.

  Outside, a black car awaited.

  Jace stepped out behind us and opened the door for me. He nodded as I got in, shut the door, and I stared ahead. Inside, the car had that new car smell. The leather upholstery had been recently conditioned, and it molded against me in the back seat. A moment later, Damen slid in beside me.

  The entire ride inside the car, I fought the sway of anxiety and sickness I couldn’t comprehend. Nerves? The car? Or maybe it was the eerie silence tearing at me.

  Several times, my head tilted back, feeling heavy, but the guilt of messing up my curls kept me from resting it the whole way back. I didn’t dare look at Damen. That dark thread clung around my heart, thin, but there.

  Would it ever go away?

  I didn’t want it to ever leave. It had become a part of me, as Damen De Santis has become a part of me. My hand touched my waist. My father’s arrow was still there. Now all I needed to do was find Marisol before she walked down the aisle. It was my last gift to Damen.

  23

  The drive through the Florence countryside was filled with beauty and smudged with fog in the low-lying valleys. There were sheep grazing in the hills, and the smell of olives was ripe in the air. The vineyards and Tuscan beige houses with their thatched roofs spotted the land sporadically, but the land rolled and welcomed us on our journey. I couldn’t help watching out the window.

  Damen sat beside me; there was no talking or music.

  Jace gave me the occasional glance in the rearview mirror. I didn’t think I would ever get used to this part of the world and driving on the opposite side of the road as I was accustomed to in America.

  I tried not to think of my home. Where we were going? Why should I care?

  I was a pawn in Damen’s ploy to ge
t Marisol back.

  After last night, he was becoming desperate.

  To what length would he go to keep the woman he loved?

  My eyes burned, and I refused to smear the makeup that Sierra spent so much loving care applying. Women cried at weddings all the time, after the ceremony. Except, I was dressed and ready for what I imagined as my funeral. The car turned up a winding road, steep, and I shuddered to watch us go higher. I pulled my shawl tighter around me.

  We came to a large monastery at the top of the hillside. A mountain as tall as it reached into the sky, and the stairs—the stairs appeared as if they’d go on forever. The entire place was built of stone. There were others around us, a woman in a lime jumpsuit and black heels to match her over-large black bonnet. Next to her stood a gentleman, tall and thin as a rail. His navy suit and tan loafers reeked of money. He had to be a doctor or a rich boy with a trust fund. Either way, several more ladies joined them; their black dresses with a few hints of color made we wonder if this was a funeral or a wedding. I prayed to God that I wouldn’t find a coffin inside.

  “Count De Santis!” An older woman, with silver-white hair twisted back with a pearl trimmed comb, came our way. Damen greeted her with a genuine smile. He took her offered hand and kissed both her cheeks.

  “Ginevra, I did not expect you.”

  “Nor I you,” she said.

  “May I? Unless of course, one of these escorts is yours?” Damen offered his arm to the older woman.

  Her eyes twinkled. “Grandson.” She waved her hand. “But who am I to deny the grand Count De Santis?”

  “You humor me, then?”

  “Very.” She took his arm, glanced over at me, and quirked her lips. Leaning closer to Damen, she murmured something, and he nodded.

  The stairs leading up to the monastery went on forever. I held my hand against the side, as did many other women ahead of us trying to keep their balance on spiked heels. At least I knew Damen had no worries of me running off. At a wobble, a hand grabbed my arm. “Careful, you wouldn’t want to break your neck,” Jace said.