The dinner is a fancy affair. It’s a far cry from the family gatherings and casual Sunday dinners I enjoyed growing up. Instead of a roast Mom started preparing at dawn, there’s a team answering to a head chef. Instead of my grandmother’s chipped china, there’s an aesthetically balanced color palette that required three changes in glassware until Mrs. Barnes gave her final approval.
Soft rock does not play from a speaker in the corner of the room. Instead, classical music wafts through speakers hidden in the ceiling. It threads through the various conversations like whispered secrets, gentle and soothing.
If it wasn’t for the glass of wine in my hand, I’d be having a mini panic attack. But I promised Damien I could handle this weekend, that I would show up for him. So, here I am, dressed in silk, spritzed in my finest perfume, and armed with my sharp wit, a smile, and booze.
“You had one hell of a season, son.” A man named Wells gestures toward Damien conversationally. He takes a sip of his wine and I try to remember if he’s Mr. Barnes’s business partner or Mrs. Barnes’s long-time interior designer.
Damien straightens beside me. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to next season.”
I turn to Damien. “Training starts in two weeks, right?”
His grin turns genuine as his eyes hold mine. “Yep. A week after you.”
I chuckle.
A woman about my age at the end of the table leans forward. A frown pinches her brows. “What are you training for?” she asks me, not unkindly. Still, there’s an edge to her voice. She’s Wells’s eldest daughter, Cecilia.
“Oh, I work for the Knoxville Coyotes. Our preseason kicks off next week.” I lift my wine glass and gesture toward the entire table. “This is my last weekend of freedom and I’m happy to be celebrating with y’all.”
Cecilia’s sister, Gabby, winces at my use of y’all. Damien’s hand finds my thigh again. Gary gives Gabby a reprimanding look and she lowers her eyes. Fiona’s gaze darts between Gary and Gabby. Charlie chuckles, rubbing his hands together and leaning forward as if things are about to get interesting.
“It’ll be pretty busy then, won’t it?” Gabby asks. “For the two of you to spend meaningful time together.” Again, her gaze cuts to Gary who pointedly ignores her and gulps his wine.
“I’d imagine so,” Cecilia quips, glancing at Damien. “Damien’s skipped our last two ski trips to Aspen.” She pouts and I try not to vomit in my mouth at her desperation.
At how she’s making a play for him right here, at the table, where I am sitting with his fingers curling into the material of my silk dress.
“Oh.” Mrs. Barnes waves a hand. “He’s going to try to make it this year. Right, Damien? Surely now that you’ve made the team, you can have more free time to visit your family. And closest friends.” She smiles at Cecilia.
“Will you and Fiona be joining this year, Gary?” Gabby asks, her index finger slowly tracing the rim of her wine glass.
Gary chokes on his wine and Fiona flushes. The grip on her fork tightens until her knuckles turn white. Damien squeezes my thigh, his jaw ticking.
What the hell is going on?
“Ah, last year was fun,” Wells tosses out, painfully oblivious to the tension brewing around the table. “Garrett had a great time, didn’t he?”
Fiona nods, still staring at her plate.
“You missed out on that, Damien.” Mrs. Barnes pats her hair. “I know men have to work, but you don’t want to miss seeing your nephew grow up.” Her gaze softens as she looks at Fiona. “That’s why it’s wonderful that Fiona stepped back from the business to look after Garrett.”
“Agreed.” Wells raises his glass, glancing at his own daughters. “Gabby is set on studying business administration but really, once she’s married, will she have use for that degree?”
“Ah, but the degree will help her land the husband,” Mrs. Barnes laughs.
Beside me, Damien is so rigid, I’m worried he’s about to crack. Charlie’s eyes ping-pong around the table, lit with amusement. But when he speaks, his tone is sarcastic. “Unless she cheats with her professor first.” He winces as soon as the words land and remorse lines his expression. I feel a pang of sympathy for the eldest Barnes sibling.
Damien winces and shakes his head, but I read the concern in his eyes as he looks at Charlie. Mrs. Barnes shoots Charlie a reprimanding look, more irritated than worried, and he drops his gaze to his plate.
Wells coughs into his napkin, as if the sound will erase Charlie’s comment.
At the end of the table, Mr. Barnes dips his head and I get the sense that while he doesn’t endorse his wife’s, or Wells’s views, he’s not going to publicly contradict them either. Even though Charlie’s comment was unnecessary, it’s obvious that it came from a place of deep pain.
I place my hand on top of Damien’s, flatten his palm to my thigh, and sit back in my chair.
As I listen to his mother speak, my understanding grows. She’s clueless about his career and the type of commitment and discipline it takes to succeed in professional sports. She’s also unaware of the surreptitious glances between Gabby and Gary.
But Fiona isn’t. Fiona seethes silently, her anger masked by her hurt and humiliation.
“Well,” Damien shifts again, one hand scraping against his jawline. “We don’t have to take shots at everyone’s career aspirations. No one thought I’d ever play professional hockey and the Bolts had a great first season. We—”
“But you can’t play hockey forever,” Cecilia cuts him off.
Mrs. Barnes smiles gently. “She’s right, dear. What are your plans for after?”
Ouch. I bite the corner of my mouth to stop myself from speaking out of turn.
“After?” Damien’s brow knits.
Fiona places down her fork, her eyes darting between Damien and me.
“After hockey,” Mr. Barnes takes up the cause. “There’s always room for you at the company, Damien. We’d love to have you.”
Hurt flickers over Damien’s expression but it’s gone in a blink.
Charlie tips his head, his eyes pinned to his father’s.
A handful of silent conversations, nuanced with history, pregnant with expectations, simultaneously unfold. While my family has had their share of disagreements, they’ve always been voiced aloud. They’ve always been solved through honest conversation. None of this prodding while smiling. No hidden agendas voiced through polite conversation. Whatever is happening here is outside my comfort zone.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m here for Damien. I promised to have his back. Taking a fortifying sip of my wine, I lean closer to the table. “What’s wrong with enjoying the moment you’re in?” I ask everyone. All the guests turn to look at me, surprised that Damien’s girlfriend, a newcomer, would speak up. Perhaps I’m breaking protocol. “Damien has worked hard, tirelessly, for his position with the Thunderbolts. If he wants to keep that position, he’ll have to keep showing up, proving his commitment, and his hunger. He’ll have to remain focused on the now.” I glance at Damien. “The future will always be there but to live out your childhood dream, no one should wish that away.”
Mrs. Barnes stares at me, her expression placid, save for a flicker of concern flaring in her irises before she blinks it away. Mr. Barnes nods slowly. “It’s a good point, Harper. Still, Damien, you know we’re always here.”
“Of course,” Damien mutters.
I grin, my eyes darting to Cecilia. “I’m sure there will be plenty of time for Aspen in the future.”
Fiona chokes on a chuckle. Cecilia huffs. Gabby narrows her eyes at me.
Mr. Barnes covers his amusement behind his drink.
Underneath the table, Damien’s hand flips, palm up. He weaves his fingers through mine and squeezes in a silent thank you. I keep my eyes trained on the table and my ears tuned into the conversation.
For the first time, I understand what Damien meant about his world. His family isn’t unsupportive of his career, but they’re not fully behind him either. The circles they spin in require a skill set I’ve yet to develop.
I may have the thick skin and the sharp retorts. But I don’t have the calculated foresight. I don’t know how to wrap words with hidden meanings in a frilly bow.
And truthfully, I don’t want to.
Will Damien ever want this life for his future? Or is living in the present enough?
Could a simple woman like me be enough for a complicated man like him?
By the time we’re eating dessert, the tension at the table has dissipated. The guests are playing musical chairs, or taking drinks around the bar in the corner or in the comfortable chairs in the neighboring den. It’s nice to sit back and watch Damien interact with his siblings, exchange conversation with his dad, and toss an arm around his mother’s shoulders.
Gary disappears under the guise of checking on Garrett, but I notice how Gabby slips from the room a few minutes later. Unfortunately, so does Fiona. And a glowering Damien. Still, no one says a word.
Every now and then, Cecilia presses her interest, sidling up to Damien’s side, placing a hand on his chest, or batting her lashes. And every time it happens, I watch the detached, aloof expression shutter over his face like closing elevator doors. One moment, he’s open and joking, eyes bright. The next, he’s perfectly polite but disengaged, holding himself apart from the rest of the room.
It makes me sad to think that Damien’s lived his whole life this way, only letting his guard down in small, incremental moments with those closest to him. I like that he’s more open with me, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that sometimes, he is hard to read. He does close himself off. He reaches for humor when he doesn’t want to be vulnerable, his default mode is an affable remoteness that is as frustrating as it is confusing.
“Did you have the cake?” Damien’s voice fills my ear.
I turn into him, my body hyperaware of his hand as it slides over my hip. “I thought the party was tomorrow?”
He gives me a playful look of mock horror. “This is the rehearsal dinner.”
I snort out a laugh. “A rehearsal for the anniversary?”
“Us Barneses like to go big at every opportunity.”
My eyes drop to his trousers, and I blush. “I know.”
Damien’s laugh bursts out, loud, unchecked, and genuine. It causes me to blush and laugh with him, my hands slipping up his arms and wrapping around his shoulders. His fingers lace together at the base of my spine, and he cradles me to him, swaying slightly. In my peripheral vision, I see some family members and friends look our way.
I bet Damien doesn’t laugh like that often, at least not at formal dinners. But he doesn’t give anyone else his attention. Instead, his eyes are focused on me, holding my gaze, speaking to my soul.
The bright green, mischievous and playful like a cat, is a soft moss. Deep, soulful, and serious. “I’m happy you’re here, Harper.”
I roll my lips together, dipping my head in agreement. “Me too.”
“No.” He shakes his head. His left hand palms the center of my back as his right moves up my side, until his thumb lifts my chin and his long fingers wrap around the side of my neck. “You don’t understand how significant this is. I’ve never brought a woman home before.”
“Not even friend-girls?” I ask, reaching for levity. Not because I don’t want Damien’s truths, but I’m nervous to hear them in a room filled with his friends and family who I’m certain are now staring at us with blatant curiosity.
“You’re my first that truly matters,” he whispers, dropping his mouth to the shell of my ear. “You’re my first everything that counts. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
I pull back slightly, meeting his eyes. “What do you want to do?”
He holds my gaze for a beat so long, a blush creeps up from my chest and fans out into my cheeks. “So many things, sweet girl.” Then, he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Too many things,” he adds, his voice rough.
His voice, the intent in his eyes, are in direct odds with his actions as he steps back and gives me a long look, followed by a smile.
But I hear the promise in his words and a shiver shimmies down my spine. Tonight, Damien and I are taking things to the next level. We’re crossing the line we’ve carefully treaded for weeks.
This weekend is the tipping point I hoped for. And I have the sexiest piece of lingerie to celebrate it.