Turning once more, I walk to my matte black Lamborghini. Slipping behind the wheel, I slam the door shut and toss the invitation onto the passenger seat.
Well played, Mila. Well fucking played.
The sun is beating down over the city, not a cloud in the sky. I linger in the shadows between the church pillars as the clock tower strikes noon. Being a Marocchi in Camarco territory, not one Camarco soldier would hesitate to put a bullet in my head. But seeing Jamila again is worth the risk.
I knew who she was the second she stepped into the ballroom last night, walking alongside her mother and father. The whispers reached our table first of the Camarco girl, out in public for the first time. Everyone wanted to get a peek at her, but no one more than me. Her beauty was beyond compare, captivating me from the moment I laid eyes on her.
If the prophecy is true—which I believe it is—I’ve been blessed with an angel, sent to stand by my side and end this war between our families.
“Sorry I’m late. My father only just left the house.”
I spin around, and there she is. Running my tongue over my bottom lip, I nod, unable to breathe a word. Her black hair is flowing down her back in waves of silk, her eyes wide with wonder and nervous excitement.
“You’re here. That’s all that matters,” I finally say, finding my voice.
Just then, Father Luke steps out through the side door with ten choir boys, and I pull Jamila closer to the wall, out of sight. She doesn’t flinch under my touch, her skin just as soft as I imagined when I thought of her while drifting off to sleep last night.
“I’m not sure why I’m here, though. If my parents find out I’m with you, they’ll kill us both.”
Her voice is like music to my ears—shy, but curious.
“I’ve always believed I’m different from my father. I believe my part of the prophecy because I don’t want to continue with all this murder and violence running rampant over the city, all for power and money. My question to you is: what do you believe?”
She looks away, frowning, and confides, “My mother says I’ll be married soon after I turn eighteen. I won’t reach the level of power to change anything.”
She doesn’t sound happy about it.
“That’s not what I asked. What do you believe when it comes to the prophecy?”
“I don’t know if I believe in the prophecy. I’m nothing but a girl in a man’s world. Yet I’ve always wondered why we, babies brought into a war, were born at the same time?”
Relief surges through me. “Being a girl doesn’t mean you’re weak.”
“You don’t even know me,” she argues.
“We were born into a prophecy, which means we were born with the strength to carry it out. All we have to do is find the courage inside of us to make it happen. Whether you believe it or not, our destiny won’t lead you into a marriage if it’s not for love.”
Her eyes narrow, searching mine as she takes in my words. I burn to reach out and cup my hand over her cheek. When the burn intensifies, and as if the Lord himself is watching over us, a group of sisters file out of the church, causing Jamila to move closer to me, afraid of being caught. I’ve always believed in destiny, and moments connecting to the next for a reason. With her light perfume filling my senses, I find my hands clasping around the sides of her head and lean down, pressing my lips to hers while turning us, keeping prying eyes off of her.
She goes stiff in my hold until my tongue sweeps out over her bottom lip. After a moment, her fingers latch onto my shirt, her warmth seeping through the cotton. It was never a part of my plan to steal a kiss from her today. All I wanted to know was what she thought about the prophecy, and if she saw the possibilities of it being brought to fruition. I can’t bring myself to feel guilty, though. When her grip tightens and she inches up on her tiptoes, I lose all sense. I’ve kissed a few girls in my life, but kissing Jamila Camarco blows them out of the water. The longer our lips are connected, the faster those other kisses fade from memory. She tastes of