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~ Cara ~
I heard. I couldn’t not hear. It worked the gathering like a raging wild fire, gobbled up with more relish than the crab spread. I couldn’t stand there and watch that woman try to stake her claim on Damian. Paige didn’t know who Grace Grandview was but confirmed she’d showed up with Ivan. I accused Damian of being jealous about Rome, but really, I was the one who couldn’t deal with all the destructive sensations churning inside me. Why would his cousin invite his ex-girlfriend to the same party if not to reconcile?
Bob, Ahmad and his girlfriend, Gus, and Jenny and her boyfriend were at the party, shocked to see me all dressed up. That was why Paige was calling me over. It was wonderful and awkward seeing them. It’s only been a few weeks, but it feels like everything’s changed. Bob was worried about me. He didn’t voice it-it wasn’t the right place-but I could tell by him constantly reminding me to eat.
Damian’s been silent. After giving Colin and Paige some excuse, he rushed me out of the penthouse so fast, my heels left a blazing trail.
He knocked up his ex-girlfriend.
And she offered to have him do it again. At no charge.
How generous of her, I thought bitterly.
It’s what he’s been wanting, isn’t it? Grace Grandview is beautiful. Tall. Probably smart. They’d make great kids.
He must’ve cared about her at some point. They were a F.I., after all. I’m sure it wouldn’t be a hardship for him to do it again.
The two-timing asshole.
Snow coasts down around us, powdering the busy streets. The inept strain between us is just as vicious, as biting as the chill, and I jam my bare hand in my coat pocket. My other is in Damian’s, who’s buried it with his in his much deeper pocket until he’s done murdering the world with his fierce glower. Before we left for the party, he spent a good ten minutes kicking himself for forgetting to get me gloves, but since he always has one of my hands in his big, warm grasp, I didn’t mind. Colin’s place was only a block away, so we decided to walk. Now I’m thinking I should’ve stayed there with Paige.
I wonder if he’ll be holding Grace’s hand instead. I bet hers is perfectly manicured.
“We’re going away.” He’s looking straight ahead, talking to the winter air. “Back to Montauk. Tonight.”
Traffic swishes by, everyone with someplace to go so close to the holidays. Taking my time, I let his words sink in. “My home is here.”
“Your home is with me.”
For how long, I want to demand, but I don’t because I’m not in the position to make even one. Maybe I don’t really want to hear the answer.
“I have your documents,” he continues nonchalantly, as though he didn’t just reveal the best thing he could’ve said to me through the choking fog of tension. “They’re there. In Montauk.”
I should be dancing on the moon with joy, twirling in the snow with elation.
That’s why we’re going tonight, so he can fulfill his promise and get rid of me as soon as possible and still have a clear conscience.
Acute sharpness pricks my lungs, but I don’t show it. Don’t show the harsh breaths asphyxiating me, the desperate sob fighting to erupt out of my tight throat. “Okay.”
In the toasty cocoon of his pocket, a finger smooths over my ring.
We make it through the lobby of his building and up the elevator without exchanging another word. Really, what’s left for me to say?
As soon as we’re through his front door, Damian helps me remove my coat. I step out of the feet tormentor just as his phone chimes.
It must be Grace. She can’t wait to put her hands on him.
Who would blame her?
“I’ll get my things,” I announce to the dim room. That sob, it’s starting to win the battle.
“Cara.”
Pinching up my dress, I hurry upstairs. I can’t bear to listen to his conversation with Grace, the whispers of intimacy they must’ve shared long before me and working to rekindle.
I make it to the bathroom to fall back against the closed door, dejected.
It’s dark, the vanity a mere shape in the shadows. That’s perfect. I don’t want to see myself.
True to his word, Damian will give me what I need. I can start a new life. Go back to Love’s. Get an apartment. Maybe take some classes. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
Funny, Damian will have his heart’s desire, and so will I.
Except I won’t have him.
When did us become so distorted? Weren’t we supposed to be arranged? Black and white? No gray areas. He cares about me, and I care about him. He wants a family. I want security. It made sense to get married.
Then why does it feel like nothing makes sense anymore?
I want those documents. And I want Damian.
That’s my normal.
“Cara?” The door rasps gently against my back. “Are you in there?”
“Yeah.” I quickly wipe at my damp cheek. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Is the light not working?” He tries the handle. “Are you all right?”
I neglected to flip the light switch for the bedroom, so it must be obvious I’m hiding in the dark. “Sure... I don’t need the light. I’m used to it.”
The handle rattles again. “Open the door.”
With one last brief swipe over my face, I unlock the door. Damian towers over me from across the threshold, stunning in the suit I picked out.
To meet his ex-girlfriend.
That’s some messed-up, testicle-cracking shit.
“There are four other bathrooms in this ridiculous house. You can’t use another one?” I snap. I never snap, but I’m snapping now.
He blinks, taken aback by the uncharacteristic outburst.
Sweet Cara. Caring. Soft. Never talks back.
Well, that wimp is gone.
“Ugh.” I elbow the stupid, goggling man aside. “You’re always in my way with your big shoulders and all that hair. You need a haircut, by the way, or are you joining the man bun club with Ivan? Do it. See if I care. You two can be the dumb bun twins.”
Stomping to the closet, I slap at the light switch, not caring if he’s stuck on stupid. With a grunt, I snatch at my black and pink duffle bag and toss it on the floor, stuffing it willy-nilly with my clothes.
“Did you start your period early?” comes the baffled male voice from the dark bedroom.
Red. That’s what I see. A glowing red poker and possessed.
Seizing a handful of wooden hangers, I hurl one through the closet door with all my might. Something clatters and falls to the floor. “Go beat off and leave me alone!”
“What the fuck, Cara? You broke the lamp.”
“Oh, like you can’t afford another ugly lamp. There’s a sucker born every minute, and the clock’s in this house.”
“That made no sense.” He’s at the doorway, lancing me with irritability. “You need something for cramps? I’m happy to grab you something.”
His mocking tone and superior male words have me flinging another hanger right at his mega-size, born to be an idiot head. On a curse, he ducks at the last minute.
Straightening, he looks like he’s ready to throw off his jacket and go on the offense, but he only punches a finger my way. “You need to stop this shit right now. And I mean now, Cara. We are civilized individuals. We do not resolve our issues with aggression.”
A hanger smacks him on the chest.
I gesture with the last hanger in dire warning. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to shove this up your civilized pee hole.”
A growl. “That’s it. I’m putting a stop to this ridiculous shit.”
I squeak when he charges at me. I throw up my hand with the hanger like I would a knife. “Stay back.” I thrust it for emphasis. He slows but doesn’t stop. “You stay away from me, Damian Delevan.”
“I’m getting quite tired of you trying to kill me.”
He said it like someone would say I’m getting tired of having steak.
“And I’m getting tired of you always telling me what to do. What to wear. Where to go.”
“I do things with your best interest.” He halts then, right where the corner of the hanger pokes at the center of his chest. “You love the dress. You told me so.” A hand flies up, capturing my wrist. “And we’re going to Montauk, our home, because we need to get away. To be where no one will bother us. You’re going to be my wife, Cara. We’re a team. There is no you, no me, just us.”
With his other hand, he tugs at the hanger and lobs it aside.
I let him study my frustration but not my hope. Or my hurt. “Unhand me.”
He lets me go. Without argument. Without a fight.
It’s a full second where his chest rises with his deep inhale, his gaze direct yet guarded. “You don’t want to marry me.”
It wasn’t a question. The words were uttered as though they were the truth he didn’t want to acknowledge.
For the second time tonight, I nudge him aside. I need more air. Need more space. I’m suffocating in this dress. In my nonstop head.
Light from the closet spills into the bedroom, but it doesn’t illuminate, not for me.
“You didn’t give me a choice,” I grouse with my back to him. Paige’s earlier apprehension haunts me. “You never asked.”
“You have a choice. You always have a choice.”
“Your father.”
“He won’t hurt you. I made that clear to him. He can’t risk the outcome.”
“The official documents you speak of. Are you really giving them to me?”
“Was there ever any doubt? I gave you my word.”
“What about Grace?”
“What about her?” There’s that grumpiness.
I turn, needing to see him when I say it. “She was carrying your child.”
A blasé half shrug, half shake of his head is what I get. “So she claimed. Guess we’ll never know.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“I have my suspicions. Not the least of which is the fact she was fucking around with several other men. She and I were never close to being exclusive. It wasn’t what we were about.”
“What was it then?”
“Sex,” he says simply, easily. “At least for me. For her? Prestige, perhaps. Fucking a senator’s son has a certain appeal to some people. That didn’t mean there weren’t others on her agenda.”
I watch him. Study him. “Did you love her?” I have to ask. Have to know.
“No.” A sigh leaves him. “Sex and love aren’t mutually exclusive, Cara.”
“They’re not?”
He stills, striking eyes seeming to glow as he gauges me. “Is it for you?”
Now it’s too hot in here, way too stifling. Who turned up the heat?
I glance away. The shadows of the discarded hangers are scattered in the room. A wrecked lamp lays on its side on the floor. Ironically, I find comfort in fiddling with my ring, rotating it back and forth on my suddenly damp finger.
“It’s okay if it is,” he whispers gently. “You can tell me.”
“I don’t know, Damian. I’ve never had sex with anyone besides you.”
“And you never will.”
That almost gets a smile out of me. “Then how would I know?”
“There’s no science to this. No formula.” Slowly, he closes the distance between us. “Do you want to have sex with anyone else?”
The question looked like it pained him.
Me doing the mind-blowing, muscle-gripping things I’ve shared with Damian with someone else? I shake my head. “No.” I can’t even stomach the thought.
“Me neither.” He takes my fingers, tugging me with him to the side of the bed. The second he lowers onto it he pulls me onto his lap. “Do you enjoy spending time with me more than anyone else?”
It’s getting really hot in here. I adjust the skirt of my dress with nervous fingers but nod.
“It’s a relief to know it’s not one sided.” A hand smooths over my jaw before turning me to face him. “Do you want to take care of me, Cara? The way I want to take care of you?”
“You mean like in sickness and in health?” Isn’t that part of a wedding vow? I remember reading that in a romance novel.
“That, and more.”
I consider it for a beat, then, “Okay.”
“Okay?” His lips twitch. “Fine. I’ll take it. Brace yourself, baby. I think the diagnosis is that sex and love is mutually exclusive for you.” A thumb brushes over my lips. His gaze glitters with patience and acceptance as he looks at me. “Maybe one day, when you’re ready, you’ll say the words to me.”
There’s a part of me that knew. Through the churning puzzlement, the pitiful denial, the relentless apprehension, I kind of knew I was falling for Damian Delevan.
“You said you felt the same. Does this mean you love me?”
A chuckle. I might take offense, except it was a spine-jittery sound, one that I’ve heard people make when they’re apprehensive about revealing too much.
Instead of responding, he yanks me hard against him, his arms banding tightly around me. His nose is buried in my hair.
“I think...” Voice harsh, he inhales audibly, breathing me in. “I think I’ve loved you from the start.”
My heart absolutely liquifies. “At Love’s.”
“No.” Easing me back, he stares at me with a mysterious yet settling smile. “At Lower East Side.”