Page 89 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
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When I wake up, there’s already a long text message from my brother on my phone.
Happy birthday, Mari.
You’re nineteen, and I feel old as fuck. How the hell did this happen? I still remember changing your stinky diapers that one time when Ras’s mom wasn’t around, and you had a blowout—scarred me for life.
I cringe at my phone. Dem’s told me this story a dozen times by now. If he’d stop repeating it so often, maybe he’d manage to forget it.
Anyway, this is the first birthday we’re apart, and I hate it. I wish I could take you out for a nice dinner like I always do. I told Vale about our gift tradition, and she loved it. Said she wants to participate next time.
A grin overtakes my face. Ras and Dem each bring an outlandish gift to my birthday dinner and make me guess who it’s from. One year, Ras got me a talking parrot named Churro that screeched “Pretty girl! Pretty girl!” throughout the entire meal. When we walked out of the restaurant, Dem handed Ras the cage and said that under no circumstances would the parrot be allowed to go home with us.
So now Churro lives with Ras and I visit when I can. His vocabulary has been expanded into multiple languages to include “stronzo,” “joder,” and “fuck off.” He says all exceptionally well.
When this is all over, we’ll have a proper celebration, all right? I’m proud of you and the woman you’ve become, Mari. I’ll call you soon.
I type out a quick response and then spring out of bed, my feet landing on the wood floor. The first thing I do is knock on Giorgio’s door to see if he’s there, and when no one comes, I press my ear against it.
Silence.
Disappointment flickers in me, but I put it out. He might be in his office or having breakfast. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.
Padding over to the window, I place my hands on the frame and give it a shove. The window creaks softly as it swings open, letting in a burst of fresh air and sunlight.
Birds chirp. Trees move gently in the breeze. A smattering of small, wispy clouds move across the sky.
For a few seconds, I stand there and take it all in, allowing the cool morning air to caress my skin.
I’m nineteen.
I get dressed in a pretty summer dress—yellow and sprinkled with tiny blue flowers. It hugs my chest and waist before opening into an A-line skirt that ends a few inches above my knees. I dab some blush onto my cheeks and put on a few swipes of mascara before I head downstairs.
Voices filter through the half-opened French doors of the dining room, and as soon as I pass through them, a sweet, heady scent envelops me.
My mouth falls open.
The dining room is laden with what seems to be an endless amount of flowers.
Bouquets of red roses, clusters of white tulips, heaping arrangements of peonies, and countless other flowers I don’t know the names of. It looks like a dream—the kind of thing arranged for over-the-top proposals you can’t help but gasp at on Instagram.
Actually walking into something like this feels like an out-of-body experience. My eyes don’t know what to focus on, there’s just too much beauty to take in.
“What’s this?” I breathe.
Allegra stands, her head popping up from behind a bouquet on the dining table, and smiles. “Happy birthday, Martina.”
“This is for me?”
“Giorgio wanted this day to be special,” she says, a knowing spark in her eyes.
My insides perform a pirouette. He did this for my birthday?
“This was Giorgio’s idea?” The question comes on a single breath.
Tommaso comes to Allegra’s side and nods. “All him. He even told us what flowers he specifically wanted us to get.”
My eyes bulge. Are we talking about the same Giorgio? The grumpy, curt, more-often-than-not rude made man that until yesterday wouldn’t stop pushing me away thought of doing this?
