I, however, have mixed feelings on the matter. She fucked over my dad. Sure, he can be a dick. Like me. But did he deserve to be cheated on for a damn decade? Did he deserve to be shot because he was angry about the affair? He sure as hell didn’t deserve to lose his ability to walk because she couldn’t keep from having sex with Niles Fucking Nikolaides.
Is that what happened to Talia? Did she run off with her secret lover?
No one fucking knows. Especially not me.
“Maybe when you’re not getting fucked up, you can come over for dinner one day. Make some décor suggestions to Selene.”
“Maybe,” I grumble. We both know I’m not leaving this fucking hotel to go give interior decorating advice to my brother’s whore wannabe wife.
Aris leaves the room and returns shortly with a glass of ouzo. He smiles as he sets it down next to the plate. “My peace offering.”
“Who knew you could be so cordial, brother?”
He grins. “Someone has to take care of your broody ass.”
I suck down the ouzo and then slam the glass back down on the table. “You out?”
“Yeah. I’m out. See you tomorrow.”
“Any leads?”
A frown mars his features. “If I had any, you’d be the first to know.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “We’ll find her, Kostas.”
Bones in a ditch.
Hair hanging from a vat of acid.
Her big diamond ring at the bottom of the sea.
That’s how I imagine we’ll find her one day.
I hate that I’m losing faith we’ll find her alive. It’s been so long. Her mother is devastated. Phoenix is damn near crazed. And me, I’m fucking destroyed.
A year.
A motherfucking year.
It’s not getting better. It’s getting much, much worse.
“If you want me to stay with you and talk,” Aris says, “I can tell Selene we’re working more leads. I don’t like that look in your eyes.” He clenches his jaw. “You can’t do to me what Mamá did to us. Don’t leave me with our damn dad all alone.”
He thinks I’m going to kill myself.
It’s like he doesn’t know me at all.
I don’t want to kill myself…
I want to kill anyone and everyone involved in the disappearance of my wife.
And if Talia left me of her own accord, well, I’ll deal with her ass when I find her.
“Go,” I grunt. “Go play house.”
He smirks. “You’re jealous.”
“Jealous you’re going to get your dick sucked? Fuck yes. But by Selene? Hell no. Sorry, Aris, but she’s a snotty bitch.”
Rather than be offended, he shrugs. “She gives good head.”
We both laugh and then he lets out a sigh.
“One more peace offering and then I’m gone,” he grunts. “You can get your lazy ass up off your couch if you want any more. Tomorrow, come to the office sober and we can shake up some more leads.”
He disappears and once again returns with my glass refilled with ouzo. With a tip of his head, he leaves me with my alcohol and my depressing thoughts. After I suck down the drink, I stumble into the bathroom, shedding my bloody clothes along the way. I take a long, hot shower and lean my head against the cool tile. My hand rubs at my dick, but between the ouzo and my shitty attitude, it’s not interested in release.
“What the fuck ever,” I grunt out.
Once I’m dry, I wrap my towel around my waist and fall onto the bed. I reach into the drawer, pulling out my iPad. Turning it on, I open the pictures app and find ones I have saved of Talia.
In the photos, her blue eyes are alight with fire. She was so alive. She loved to challenge me. I loved it right back. Loved her.
Now?
I still fucking love her, which is why this shit hurts so bad. I let her leave that day pissed at me when I should have dragged her back to bed to leave love notes with my mouth all over her body. I should have spoken those words. Maybe it could have made a difference. Maybe she would still be here with me.
Scrolling past several pictures, I find my favorite. One of her lying in bed, her hair messy and her tits exposed. They’re red from my mouth and her nipples are hard. The sultry look on her face just begs me to come back to bed and fuck her again. Again and again and again. That’s not the look of someone who’d willingly leave. Deep down, I feel that in my heart. But my head? My head wonders if she was acting all along.
Refusing to think badly about her when all I want is to fucking come, I undo my towel and fist my cock that’s come to life upon seeing her picture. She’s still my wife. Until I know she’s dead or left me, I’ll go on the assumption she’s alive somewhere out there missing me. I stroke and stroke, fixating on her plump lips. Her full tits. Her hooded eyes. Closing my eyes, I remember back to how tight she felt when I’d push into her slick cunt. How her tits would jiggle and she’d moan so fucking sweetly. Her fingernails would scrape down my shoulders and she’d beg for release. I groan when my nuts seize up. Heat splatters on my stomach and my chest heaves. When I reopen my eyes, I realize I’ve accidentally slid to the next picture. It’s one of her at the opening of Pomegranate that her mother took. I stole it from her mom’s social media like a fucking creepy stalker.
God, she’s beautiful.
She’s still out there.
She has to be.
As my eyes droop, I silently make a vow.
I’m coming for you, moró mou. I’m always coming for you.
And one day I’m going to find you.
Talia
“In the underworld, Proserpina has grown to love Pluto, who treated her with compassion and loved her as his Queen. As she would have up in Olympus, she remained eternally beautiful in the Underworld. Pluto admired her kind and nurturing nature. However, Proserpina missed her dear mother greatly and wished to spend time on earth with her. When Hermes reached the underworld, he requested that Proserpina come back to earth with him to rejoin her mother and father.” I turn the page of the book, and a tiny hand swats out at the page, wrinkling it slightly.
“No, no, sweet girl,” I tell her gently. “We have to be nice to the book.” She looks up at me with her radiant bright blue eyes and giggles, and my heart feels as though it’s thumped straight out of my chest. But I guess that comes with the territory. My mom used to always tell me being a mom means removing your heart and giving it to your children.
Wiping a drop of liquid emotion from my cheek, I continue to read my favorite part of the book. “Pluto knew he could not refuse the commands of Zeus, but he also could not part from his beloved Proserpina.” A golf ball sized lump fills my throat, and I have to set the book down for a minute to gather myself together. It always happens when I get to this part. Thoughts of him surface and I have to force them away. It’s the only way.
With a deep breath, I continue to read the story. “Before she departed from the underworld, Pluto offered Proserpina a pomegranate as a farewell. This was, however, a cunning move by Pluto. All the Olympians knew that if anyone ate or drank anything in the Underworld they would be destined to remain there for—”
“That book again?” a shrill voice, equivalent to nails grinding on a chalkboard, says, ruining story time.