Sequel of The Devil & The Angel: Volume 1
A year and a half has passed since young Daisy Miller met the dark devilishly handsome Damien D'Angelo. Now the two are smack bang in the middle of a new chapter together, living their passion filled lives...
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Chapter Song - You've Got The Love by Florence + The Machine
"Purple, a very bright choice," I comment. "For a house, that is," I add, staring up at Damien and Jack's old house from my driveway. The new owners decided to paint the old grey exterior a violet purple, and it looks great - don't get me wrong - it's just a very prominent colour.
"Fucking awful," Damien comments.
"Coming from the man who's favourite colour is black," I retort sarcastically, and he rolls his eyes with a small smile. "Where's Jack?" I question.
He was meant to catch a ride with us from the airport, but we waited almost half an hour so we - Damien - left him, and called to say he could get his own ride.
Damien shrugs. "Who knows, but he'll be fine," he says, taking out both our suitcases from the Taxi. Picking up Iris from the ground, her lead dangling around, I head up to the front door. I knock three times, waiting for one of my parents to answer.
"I don't understand why we have to stay here, and not a hotel," Damien complains. "How are we suppose to have any privacy?" he plants his lips on my neck, and I have to nudge him away just as my dad opens the front door.
"Sweetheart- Oh, a dog?" he beams, then pears down at Iris with confusion.
"This is Iris, our new dog," I smile, and his widen with surprise, but joy.
"Cute," he smiles, before pulling me into a hug. "I missed you," he says brightly.
"I missed you too, dad," I reply.
"Damien," he pulls back, placing a hand out for Damien who takes it firmly. "Nice to see you as well," my dad greets kindly.
"You too," Damien replies, before we all head inside, Damien taking our suitcases straight upstairs.
I follow my dad into the kitchen, placing Iris on the floor. The house is exactly the same as it's always been, and it's a strange feeling walking into a place you know so well, yet also feels like a stranger.
"Daisy?" I hear the echo of my mums voice from the lounge room. "Oh, hi sweetie," she smiles, pulling me into a hug.
"Hey, mum," I reply. "How are you?" I ask them both, taking a seat at the island bench.
My dad shrugs a shoulder. "Same old, same old. How about you?" he asks.
"Busy," I say simply, but feel a knot of guilt in my stomach. They don't know about Trent, never have and they're the only people close to me who don't - and they're my parents, they deserve to know.
I just don't want to place unnecessary guilt onto them, create excess stress and anxiety as they trample over the past. But I can't not tell them, it's unfair, and I need every piece of support I can get.
