There is nothing more beautiful than watching an innocent angel fall apart at my sinful actions. I'm going to ruin her.
"Augustine."
And she comes, looking down at me as she does so.
She glows, lighting up the goddamn room. Her feet barely touch t...
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"Remember that officer that led the I.C.E. protocol at the barbershop?" I asked Eros as I cooked him dinner. He sat at the island with his laptop open, glancing at me momentarily. He nodded, curious to hear about my news.
"He was suspended for misconduct just last week. A girl reported him for something even worse than that what we saw in the articles," I informed Eros, turning the heat off the asparagus that was roasting.
"Not surprised," he retorts, his tattooed hands running through his messy hair.
"I can't remember the last time I wasn't scared around those immigration officers, you know?" I muttered, partly to myself and partly out loud.
That caused Eros to raise a brow, his eyes narrowing at my statement. "You would come to me if someone did something to make you uncomfortable, sí?"
He somehow made me feel safer than I already was.
"Mhm," I nodded, furrowing my brows, "You know I would."
Augustine shut his laptop, making his way around the island and over to where I was near the stove. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my head. I smiled softly at the feeling of his hands on my waist, and I blushed as he kissed my temple.
"You're the only thing that matters to me, Angel."
My heart ached.
"You flatter me," I blushed, leaning back into his chest.
This feeling—togetherness caused by the thought of spending the rest of my life with Eros—was heart-warming. But so gut-wrenching at the same time.
My stomach twisted with swarms of overwhelming waves of passion, something I wasn't prepared to feel.
It was so all at once, but I was more excited than apprehensive for it.
I would take on those waves with my whole strength, whether it would end positively or negatively.
"We're sending out those invitations next week, right?" I asked, glancing up at him as I moved the pan off the burner.
He nodded, pulling out his phone to reference the cards we decided on. They were beautiful and elegant, but simple and comfortable at the same time...which was exactly how I wanted the special day to feel.
"Is seven weeks enough of a notice for people?" I asked, worrying per usual, "Maybe we should've already mailed them."
"It's alright, Amorette," he assured, placing a couple of plates down in front of me.
