Chapter 3
955 Words
Alexander POV
The moment I saw Angelica dancing, something inside me cracked open.
I hadn’t expected that.
I stood there, unseen, watching her move like the world had never hurt her—like pain, power, and blood didn’t exist. Every step she took was deliberate, full of emotion, and painfully honest. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt… free.
I haven’t felt that way in years.
Not even in my own home. Not with my mother. Not with my uncle.
After my father died, my life stopped being mine. I stepped into a role that was chosen for me long before I had a say. Power. Responsibility. A crown made of expectations and violence. I’ve been living someone else’s life ever since.
But when Angelica dances, she looks like she belongs to herself.
And somehow, watching her makes me feel like maybe—just maybe—there are still things in this world that can anchor you instead of destroy you.
Maybe I should start sketching again.
And I already know who my first subject would be.
After our walk in the garden and dinner with the family, I’m left with a strange sense of calm. Angelica isn’t what I expected. She’s soft, yes—but not weak. There’s strength in her honesty, in the way she doesn’t pretend to be something she isn’t.
We may not be in love.
But fascination can be just as dangerous.
I’m staying in the guest room tonight. They insisted—family rules, tradition, appearances. Normally I’d refuse, but tonight, I don’t argue.
Later, thirst drives me downstairs. I know the house well enough, so I move quietly through the halls toward the kitchen.
That’s when I hear it.
Singing.
Soft. Clear. Beautiful.
Greek words I don’t understand, but the emotion needs no translation.
I stop at the doorway.
Angelica stands by the counter, barefoot, wearing something light and simple. She pours herself a glass of milk, still humming under her breath. The sound settles deep in my chest.
She finishes, washes the glass, and turns—
“Oh!” She gasps, hand flying to her chest. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say gently. “I was just getting water.”
She exhales, then smiles faintly. “Let me.”
She pours me a glass.
“Cold?” she asks.
“Yes, please.”
She hands it to me. “How do you say it… stin igiá sou?”
I smile. “Perfect.”
She watches me drink, relaxed now.
“I had heartburn,” she explains. “Milk helps.”
“Good to know,” I say softly.
She turns to rinse the glass, and before I can stop myself, I step closer—close enough to feel her warmth. I place my arms around her, carefully, tentatively.
She jumps slightly.
I rest my chin near her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She’s trembling.
I pull back immediately. “Angelica… are you okay?”
She doesn’t answer at first.
Then it hits me.
I turn her gently to face me, lifting her chin so she has to look at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t think. I should’ve asked.”
She swallows. “It’s not your fault. You just forgot who my family is.”
I smile faintly. “True.”
There’s embarrassment in her eyes—but no fear.
“I don’t have a problem with waiting,” I say. “With taking things slow.”
She nods.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I add. “I just… couldn’t stop myself.”
“It surprised me,” she admits softly. “That’s all.”
I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then cup her cheek. She leans into my touch without thinking, eyes fluttering shut.
Her lips are full. Tempting.
“May I kiss you?” I ask.
She opens her eyes. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
I frown slightly. “You couldn’t.”
She hesitates, then nods.
I kiss her slowly—carefully—like she’s something precious. She responds almost instantly, hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer. There’s heat there. Want.
Someone clears their throat.
We break apart.
Maria stands by the fridge, spoon in hand. “Sorry,” she says, laughing. “Pregnancy cravings.”
Angelica laughs nervously.
“It’s fine,” I say, amused.
When Maria leaves, I turn back to Angelica. “May I walk you to your room?”
She smiles. “Yes.”
We move quietly upstairs. At her door, she turns to me.
“Tomorrow,” she says. “After my wedding shopping—we’re meeting downtown, right?”
“Yes.”
She opens the door, then pauses. “Goodnight.”
I lean in and kiss her again—longer this time. She melts into me, hands sliding up to my shoulders, her body fitting against mine like it was made to be there.
I force myself to pull away.
“We should stop,” I say, breathing hard. “Not like this.”
She looks confused. “Why?”
“Because you deserve better than rushed moments in hallways,” I say honestly. “Your firsts should be special.”
Her cheeks flush.
“I want you,” I admit. “But I want to do this right.”
She smiles—soft, trusting. “Okay.”
I kiss her forehead once more. “Sleep well, Angelica.”
As I walk away, every instinct in me screams to turn back.
By the time I reach my room, I know one thing for certain:
This woman is going to ruin me.
And I might let her.
- Writer
