The bathroom is a quiet statement of luxury in fossil stone and brass. I swear it’s bigger than our condo. I stand under the hot spray and let the grime wash away. I never thought a hot shower and hair wash could be so luxurious.
During long minutes under the shower spray, I can almost forget how much the world has changed and pretend I've won the lottery and am staying the night in a penthouse in the city. The thought doesn't bring me as much comfort as remembering life in our little suburban house back before we moved into the condo, before Paige lost her legs, and Dad was still taking care of us.
I wrap myself in a plush towel that qualifies more as a blanket. For lack of anything better, I slip back into the slinky dress, but decide the hose and heels can sit in the corner until I need them.
When I come out into the bedroom, a tray of food sits on the table. I run over and lift the dome cover. Boneless short ribs smothered in sauce, creamed spinach, mashed potatoes, and a hefty slice of German chocolate cake. The smell almost makes me faint with pleasure.
I dig in first and sit down as I chew. The fat content of this meal must be out of this world. In the old days, I would have tried to stay away from all of these dishes, except maybe the chocolate cake, but in the land of cat food and dried noodles, this meal is to die for. It's the best meal I can ever remember having.
“Please, don’t wait for me,” says Raffe as he watches me stuff my face. He grabs a bite of the cake on his way to the bathroom.
“Don’t worry,” I mumble through a mouthful, at his back.
By the time he comes back out, I’ve scarfed down my entire meal and am having a hard time trying not to steal some of his. I tear my eyes away from the feast to look at him.
Once I see him, I forget all about the food.
He stands in the bathroom doorway, steam drifting languidly around him, wearing nothing but a towel draped loosely around his hips. Beads of water cling to him like diamonds in a dream. The combined effect of the soft light behind him from the bathroom and the steam curling around his muscles gives the impression of a mythological water god visiting our world.
“You can have it all, you know,” he says.
I blink a few times, trying to grasp what he’s saying.
“I figured we might as well double up on our meals while we can.” There’s a knock at the door. “There’s my order now.” He heads out to the living room.
He’s talking about both servings in front of me being mine. Right. Of course, he’d want his dinner hot. No reason to leave it cooling while he showered, so he must have ordered mine, then his, just before I got out of the shower. Of course.
I return my attention back to the food, trying to remember how badly I lusted after it only a moment ago. The food. Right, the food. I shovel in a giant mouthful of the rib meat. The creamy sauce is a sensual reminder of rare luxuries once taken for granted.
I walk out into the living room and talk with my mouth full. “You’re a genius for ordering this much—.”
The albino, Josiah, walks into the living room with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I finally get to see a female angel up close. Her features are so fine and delicate that it’s impossible not to stare. She looks like she was the mold for Venus, Goddess of Love. Her waist-length hair shimmers in the light as she moves, matching the golden plumage of her wings.
Her cornflower blue eyes would be the perfect reflection of innocence and all that is wholesome, except that there’s something sliding behind them. Something that hints that she should be the poster child for the master race.
Those eyes assess me from the top of my wet and stringy hair to the tips of my bare toes.
I become acutely aware that I was overenthusiastic when I shoveled the rib meat into my mouth. My cheeks bulge and I can barely keep my lips closed as I chew as fast as I can. Rib meat is not something I can swallow in one lump. I hadn’t bothered to brush my hair, or even dry it before diving into the feast after my shower, so it hangs limp and dripping onto my red dress. Her Aryan eyes see it all and judge me.
Raffe gives me a look and rubs his finger to his cheek. I rub my hand across my cheek. It comes away with meat sauce. Great.
The woman turns her eyes to Raffe. I have been dismissed. She gives him a long appraising look as well, drinking in his near-nakedness, his muscular shoulders, his wet hair. Her eyes slide over to me in a quick accusation.
She steps close to Raffe and runs her fingers down his glistening chest.
“So, it really is you.” Her voice is as smooth as an ice cream shake. A shake with ground glass hidden in it. “Where have you been all this time, Raffe? And what have you done to deserve getting your wings cut off?”
“Can you sew them back on, Laylah?” asks Raffe stiffly.
“Straight to business,” says Laylah, strolling over to the picture window. “I make room for you in my busy schedule at the last minute, and you can’t even ask me how I am?”