June Diane Raphael Novels & Stories

Diane asked when she finally returned with two glasses. I shrugged. “Not really.” “I did,” she smiled, lifting her glass at a hot stranger a few feet away. I took a sip of my drink and sighed, now searching the crowd for someone hot enough to make my revenge worthwhile. I was serious about getting even with Ryan, and I only had a few hours left before the clock hit twelve. I was getting desperate, didn't want to go home without an apology for Ryan, that's when I saw them. Elena and Marcus Monroe, Ryan’s parents. “Aren’t those your boyfriends' parents?” Diane gasped, we’d met them over summer break a year ago and recently, at his birthday.

he said firmly, but the pink on his face betrayed his embarrassment. “Oh, I’m just getting started,” Raphael replied, leaning casually against the wall. “Damian Wolfe, bringing flowers. What’s next? Poetry? Singing a love song? Should we all hold our breath while you serenade her?” Damian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbearable,” he said. “Unbearable but right,” Raphael quipped. “Admit it, Damian. You’ve gone soft.”

"Or maybe because someone has been keeping it secret all these years." I turned the page, but found it blank. Confused, I flipped ahead. The next twenty or so pages remained empty, as if Diana had abandoned her journal abruptly. Then, near the end, a final entry appeared, dated June 14, 1996—just one day before her reported death. June 14, 1996

It made everyone present itch to see him stripped down, humiliated, and forced to choke on defeat. Before Justin could press further, Raphael’s voice broke through the tension. “Doesn’t the bet still have a few days left?” His words drew every eye in the room. Diana’s face hardened instantly. “Raphael, shut your mouth!” she snapped. Raphael flinched, caught between frustration and helplessness. He had only just returned from a trip abroad with his girlfriend, only to realize during the vacation that she was shallow and vain. The feelings he once had for her dissolved like mist, and their breakup had been swift. Yet, she clung to him even now, pestering him at every turn.

With the closing of the event, June was taking pictures with Sonia while Bernard and Raphael stood far away having a discussion. "You like June" Raphael asked, "Stay in your place young man" Bernard replied, "So can I date her if you don't want her" Raphael teased, "Don't you dare" Bernard frowned, "Then it's certain that you like her" Raphael chuckled. Bernard saw Raphael as his junior brother so he tried opening up to him. "We can't be together, June has a dirty past which no one would want to associate with. The fact that she is strong after all that is amazing but I don't think I can ever date her"

Rissa jolted up and turned her head slightly, her eyes bore into another; a voluptuous lady of about her age range, she had a beautiful smile plastered on her face, and before she could respond, her friendliness extended as she outstretched her hands to her. “I am Diane Donaldson, and you are Rissa?” “Yes, Rissa Stonebridge”, Rissa responded, shaking her hand. “I see you are struggling with getting accustomed to our workaholism here, don't worry, I can always help during my leisure like right now”, Diane said sweetly. Before Rissa could decide on accepting or refusing, Diane sat down on an empty seat beside her, she picked up the first three files at the top and opened the first one. Her eye

I text. Her family name is Okafor, Cora says. I look at the name. Okafor. Diane Okafor. My charge nurse. Nineteen years at St. Raphael's. Who said moon eyes to herself every shift for nineteen years and called it something else. Cora, I text very carefully. Is she related to a woman named Diane Okafor in Chicago? A pause. She mentions a cousin in Chicago, Cora says. A nurse. I look at the window.

“You know my name.” She folded her hands on the table. Calm. Composed. Like she had rehearsed this moment many times. “My name is Diana Holt,” she said. “I was Rachel Knight’s personal assistant for six years.” My chest went completely still. “And I was there,” she continued quietly, “the night your father died.”

“You think I’d keep a red wolf in my house? Ha! Aren’t they dangerous?” “Were you at Papagalli’s Dance Club tonight, miss Wilder?” Caleb rubbed Diana's arm and whispered into her ear, “Breathe, Diana.” “I don’t go to dance clubs,” Chrissie told Thompson, her voice firm but still saccharine sweet. “What makes you think I was there?” “Can I come in?” Diana stepped back. Caleb leaned down and kissed her cheek. “It’s okay, Diana.” Chrissie said to Thompson, “You haven’t established your identity as a cop yet. I don’t let just any man into my house, despite the fact that you’re a pretty hot number.”

“I don’t like any of this.” Raphael’s phone rang and he pulled it out to see that it was Enzo, he answered through the car speakers. “I’ve been following Diane.” “What did you find?” I asked immediately. “She’s been acting very strange.” My heartbeat quickened. “This morning she met a woman outside a café.” “So?” “They spoke for a few minutes.” “And?” “I watched Diane hand her an envelope.” Raphael exchanged a glance with me. “Did you get a picture?” “I did.”