33. Misty
Even through the robe,heat burrows into my spine when Damon’s chest brushes against me. My fingers curl around the edge of the vanity, and I lean my hips further into it for support as I watch him in the mirror. At first, I thought it was sweet he was willing to color my hair, but now I’m wondering if it’s not some form of cruel torture.
The weight of his presence towers over me as he meticulously lifts a strand of my hair and lathers it in lavender lotion. His finger grazes my ear, sending tingles down my neck, and I brace myself to stop my reaction from showing.
Damon’s brows are drawn together as he works his way through each piece, taking care to coat it evenly before moving on to the next. Warmth curls in my stomach as I watch him. There’s something adorable about how hard he’s concentrating.
“Missed a spot,” I tease.
There’s a quirk to his lips, but he doesn’t look away from his task. “No, I didn’t.”
“You know, you’re pretty good at this.”
He grips the back of my nape and twists my head down and to the side until I can’t see him anymore. “Did you have any doubts?”
I wipe a drop of purple from the white ceramic sink and rinse it down the drain. “Uh, yeah. I’ll be honest, this isn’t a skill I expected you to have practiced.”
“You’d be surprised at all the things I’m good at.”
I let out a small moan when his thumb presses into the base of my nape, releasing tension that had been building there.
Finished, he pulls off his gloves, tosses them into the garbage, and leans into me. Lips press into the base of my neck, and his breath brushes against me, heating me to my core. With each moment, the space around us loses focus as my body hones in on him. The scratch of his stubble, the heat of his hands, the scent of sweet smoke that clings to him.
Each of his breaths draws me nearer until he’s all I see, know, feel. Until he’s captured every molecule of my attention with one simple touch of his lips.
“Now what?”
“Wait twenty-five minutes, then rinse.” I turn to face him, and a laugh bursts from my chest. There’s a smear of purple over his brow from when he kissed me. “Oh my God.”
One dark brow raises in question, and his lips twist into a grin. “What?”
“You’ve got…you’ve got dye on you.” I reach back, grabbing the wet cloth I’d been using to keep the color from staining my own face, and wipe it off.
“You don’t think I’d look good in purple?” he asks, low, playfully.
“I think you’d look good in anything, but I’m not sure even you can pull off a blurred smudge on your forehead.”
Damon leaves the room to toss a few things out while I pull my trusty plastic cap over my hair to stop it from making a mess and start tidying up the counter.
“Here.” Damon holds out a sandwich.
“You made me a sandwich?”
“I could barely think over your stomach rumbling.”
I can feel my cheeks heat, but I take a bite anyway. It’s nothing special, peanut butter and jelly, but I moan when the sweet taste of jam bursts into my mouth.
Damon drags his thumb along my bottom lip, catching some of the jelly, then sucks it off. “I’ve been dying to see that up close.”
“Up close?” I let my thoughts drag over his words.
“Do you have a dress?”
“Your mom brought some.”
He dismisses that. “Misty, do you have a dress?”
I think about the gown I made last year but never had the opportunity to wear it. It’s not practical in the least, more whimsy than black-tie.
I shrug. “It’s probably not appropriate.”
“Sounds perfect.”
As Damon and I enter the grand hall, a hush falls over the crowd. The ballroom is awash in soft lighting emanating from the stunning five-foot-wide chandeliers that sway above us. The floor is filled with women dressed in elegant gowns, their arms linked with men in impeccably tailored suits that could rival Damon’s sharp attire.
Their dresses are nothing like the one I chose. If its plunging neckline wasn’t enough, the vibrant emerald green that brightens my eyes and complements my hair definitely stands out.
I glance up and catch Damon already watching me. His hair is styled back, not a strand out of place. Nothing like the wild mess it was while we stood together in my bathroom. My brain freezes, trying to reconcile the Damon who belongs in this room full of stuffy people and the one that spent an hour making sure my hair was the perfect shade of lavender.
He leans in, dropping his mouth to my ear. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re all looking at us,” I whisper back.
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Let them.”
“I don’t belong here.”
He pulls back and cups the side of my neck, using his thumb to tilt my head up. “You belong with me.”
There’s a twist, snap, pop of emotion flooding my chest. The little voice that normally screams that all of this is just temporary is quiet for once. For now, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
My lips twist up into a smile, and I pull my shoulders back and face down the judgmental onlookers. “This is going to suck, isn’t it?” I ask.
His laugh vibrates my arm, and he gives me a slight nod. “I tried not to come. You’re the one that insisted.”
“You were supposed to be looking for a wife!” I scoff.
“I already had a wife,” he says darkly, the low rumble erupting goosebumps along my shoulders.
“Is it too late to turn back?” I gesture to the exit.
“Unfortunately, there’s no getting away for you.” He entwines our fingers, giving them a little squeeze before guiding me through the crowd.
We zigzag through the crowd. Damon expertly introduces me as his wife to members of his peers. Each time, it’s the same. Hidden under the congratulations of our marriage, the men want to know what it is about me that caught the Everette heir, and the women watch me with envy, delicately dissecting me with their words.
Of course, no one dares to be outwardly rude.
Instead, we play a dangerous game of backhanded compliments and fake smiles.
They expect me to not understand that when they’re welcoming me into the fold, they’re actually pointing out that I’m an outsider. But I know exactly what’s happening. I’ve played and lost this game before. They’ll tolerate me, but even being married to Damon won’t change that I am not one of them.
After what feels like my millionth introduction, Damon’s fingertips trace a trail of fire down my spine over the silk fabric, lingering at the curve of my lower back. He nods toward the back of the grand hall, where a live band plays and couples twirl gracefully across the checkered dance floor. I know the dance, the elegant steps drilled into me by my parents, always desperate to fit in with this high-society crowd that we could never truly belong to.
I struggle to breathe as my eyes are glued to the sheer opulence of it all. The place is practically a palace dripping with money, screaming at me that I’m the one that stands out. Suddenly, I wish I’d done what Damon’s mother wanted. That I’d kept the soft blonde hair and pastel dresses. My fingers tug at my collar, desperately trying to pull the neckline up.
Damon’s lips press against my temple, staying there until my heart rate slows. “Do me the honor and dance with me?”
“You’re kidding. We’re already drawing attention.”
“I assure you, I’m not kidding.” He trails his fingers down my neck, running the thin strap between his fingers. “Half those men wrongfully think they can take you from me. I want them to see my wife in my arms. I want them to know you’re mine.”
The air is pushed from my lungs as he sweeps me into his arms, easily joining us in time with the other dancers. The dance is fast and full of turns, but Damon expertly guides me through it. His sure movements take the lead, making it easy to follow.
His heartbeat pounding against the hand on his chest is the only thing giving away how he’s feeling. I gaze up, expecting his expression to be pinched, closed off from the crowd quickly gathering around us, but I’m captured by his piercing gaze. The room shrinks around us as the air grows thick. His deep cologne fills my nose and makes my head grow fuzzy. He sweeps his thumb over the bare skin at the nape of my neck, then runs his knuckles down my spine until they graze the curve of my ass. I shiver. The simple touch has me wanting more. His arm around my waist tugs me closer until there’s no room left between us. I rest my head on his chest, eyes closed, trusting him to guide us through the spins and twirls.
An overwhelming feeling of being wanted, accepted, fills my chest. One that I’d never expect to feel in a place like this. But Damon’s touch, his breath against my neck, his firm arm banded around my back, allows me to finally exhale. I’m safe in this world, as long as I’m with him. For however long this lasts. The thought has pain piercing my chest at the reminder this is all temporary. That I’m not really his wife, that this is all to fulfill his obligation and to get my visa. An act that I unwillingly started to believe.
I lift my head from his chest, but he squeezes the nape of my neck and says, “Just a little longer. I’m not ready to let you go.”
My fingers dig into his tux, wanting it to mean so much more.
Eventually, the song ends, and a familiar face approaches us. He looks like a younger version of Damon, only his cocky smile separating them.
He gives me a playful bow. “May I have the next dance?”
“Watch it, Xander.” Damon’s voice is sharp with warning.
“Oh, come on, man. I’ve barely had time with my new sister,” Xander replies easily, not worrying about the dark stare Damon’s bearing on him.
I need to stop this before it escalates in front of everyone. “I’d love to dance.”
Damon’s hold tightens, and I smile up at him. “We’re married, remember? People expect me to be close with your brothers.”
His gaze narrows, searching my face before he lets me go. “I’ll be right over there.”
“She’ll be fine. Relax.” Xander is already pulling me toward him, ignoring his older brother’s death glare. “Plus, you have business to handle.” He looks into the crowd, where three gentlemen stand watching.
Damon finally lets go of my hand. “One dance.”
Laughter bubbles in my chest at his possessiveness, even when it’s his brother.
I look over my shoulder as Xander leads me further onto the floor. “Don’t be jealous.”
The side of Damon’s mouth quirks up. “You like me jealous.”
His words zing through me because he’s right.
“You two need to stop looking at each other like that before this party turns into an orgy with the energy you’re putting off.” Xander spins me, but unlike Damon, he keeps several inches between us, and his hand is respectfully placed on my upper back.
I can feel my cheeks burn, but I ignore his baiting words. “So, are you looking for a wife too?”
A bark of laughter escapes him. “No. Do I seem like someone who wants to be tied down?”
With his mischievous smile and gleaming eyes, he really doesn’t. Unease fills my chest, knowing that soon he wouldn’t have a choice. “I’m sorry about your grandfather.”
His head tilts to the side, still moving in time with the beat. “Why?”
My brows pinch in confusion. “Because he’s going to make you get married.”
Xander’s eyes twinkle with some unshared secret. “Ah, yes. The Everette tradition. How could I forget about that?”
Really, how could he? If it was me, I’d be doing everything I could to find someone before I had to marry. Unlike Damon, I doubt he’ll just coerce someone. All the Everette brothers can’t be that insane. “But you’ll?—”
“You look thirsty. I’ll get you some champagne,” Xander cuts in before I can press him further. He looks more amused than concerned.
I swallow, my mouth dry, and let him guide me back to the crowd. “Thank you.”
“Of course. I’ll always take care of my sister.”
I don’t correct him on the always.
Xander disappears into the crowd, and I inhale deeply. I’m flushed from dancing and hungry for air. It’s been so long since I’ve spun like that it’s hard to keep my balance. I reach out to steady myself, my hand connecting with a hard bicep.
I snap it back. “Oh, sorry?—”
Dread sinks deep into my gut, twisting it into nausea at Thomas’s familiar face. “What are you doing here?” My words come out barely above a whisper as fear licks up my spine. But I already know. This is his territory. I’m the one out of place.
“Now, what kind of welcome is that after all of this time? Didn’t you miss me?” He smirks, but unlike Xander’s playfulness, his cuts like glass.
I’m frozen, staring at his near black eyes before sanity descends on me, and I rip my attention away, turning to escape.
He grips my arm, tugging me toward him. “Where do you think you’re going? Don’t want to be seen with me? Are you afraid that your new husband will find out what you really are? That you’re just some used-up, dirty whore. That not even your parents care about you.” His grip tightens painfully. “You couldn’t even stay pregnant right.”
Pain lances like a knife, slicing through my gut. My lungs scream for me to breathe, but it hurts too much to inhale. With everything he did to me. Erasing who I am, raping me. It’s the miscarriage that haunts me. It’s the doctors apologizing that I’ll likely never get pregnant. It’s the absolute devastation of that loss that broke something deep inside. But I’m no longer that scared girl. He can’t control me.
“Let go of me,” I sneer, enunciating every word.
He releases his grip, but his cold smile holds me in place. “What do you think he’ll do? Do you think he’ll keep you around once he knows you’re broken? You’re ignorant, but even you have to know he needs an heir. That the entire reason he married you is to breed you like the bitch you are.”
Tears sting my eyes. I know it doesn’t matter. That it’s never been the plan, but God, does it hurt. “Leave me alone.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him. I’ll leave him to find out just what kind of backstabbing slut you are. Just like I did,” he whispers harshly, then turns away, giving me his back as if nothing happened.
I stumble back, blinking rapidly, trying desperately to get a grip on myself. Not here. I can’t fall apart here.
Not when so many people are looking forward to my inevitable crash.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Xander asks, voice low with concern. He’s holding out a champagne flute toward me.
I take it, downing half the glass before replying. “I’m a little overwhelmed with the crowd. Is it hot in here?”
He raises a brow but doesn’t question me. “You do look a little flushed. Let’s get you back to my brother before he accuses me of making you…uncomfortable.”
He clears a path, moving effortlessly through the throng of people. Damon’s standing with two older men I don’t recognize, their faces drawn in concentration. A Black man in a double-breasted suit, his graying hair the only thing denoting his age, and a thin, prickly looking man whose face is twisted like he tasted something sour.
The second we approach, Damon’s attention is on me, a soft smile on his lips before it slips away and concern replaces it.
He separates himself from the men around him and pushes a strand of hair behind my hair. “Do you want to go?”
How does he know what I need? How does he always know?
The men behind him are still deep in conversation, neither paying attention to us. “I’m just a little light-headed from the champagne and dancing. You stay. I’ll go with Nicholas.”
“No. We go together.”
“Damon, we have the…meeting tonight,” Matthias cuts in, and I can feel Damon go rigid.
He glares at his brother, anger radiating from him. “Take my place.”
“I’m sorry, brother, but this time, you need to be there.”
“Fuck,” Damon growls, and his hands slide up my arms. I clench my teeth to hide the wince when he touches the spot Thomas bruised. “Go straight home. I’ll meet you there.”
“I’m not a child, you know?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and his grip tightens momentarily. “Straight home.”
“Yes, Sir.” I smile, trying to put him at ease, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes.
He kisses me deeply until my lungs burn and my head grows fuzzy.
I want to stay buried in his chest, wrapped in his arms. Safe.
But my past just came to remind me exactly why that’s impossible.