10. Chapter Damian
T his place is loud, and I'm officially fucking annoyed. Right after I punch the guy, the bouncers come our way, trying to understand the situation. With me being pretty well-known and all, they don’t dare look my way once they realize it's me who punched the fucking creep, so they swiftly pick up the guy and kick him out of the club.
I sigh, turning around to see Aria standing there, her face drained of color, eyes bulging in surprise.
“Outside, now ,” I growl, pointing to the door. She doesn't say anything, doesn't even acknowledge me, and simply walks outside.
I’ve never lost my shit like that. I have a reputation to maintain, and being a knight in shining armor is definitely not one of them. This is probably going to bite me in the fucking ass, and I can’t even pretend to care.
I take off my jacket and place it on her shoulders. I’m way taller than her, so my jacket just hugs her whole body, almost like she’s using it as a dress. A primal unfamiliar sensation comes over me as I decide to cover her. It’s not that chilly tonight, but I would gouge anyone's eyes out who dares look at her for one more moment. She has this mini dress that marks her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination and looking dangerously sexy.
Focus. Now’s not the time to be looking at her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, gently grabbing her face.
She looks up at me and nods, her eyes brimming with tears threatening to spill over at any moment. With a sniff, she whispers, “Thank you.” Her voice trembles slightly, and her body shakes from the adrenaline.
I arrived at the club about two hours ago with my cousin, Enzo, and his best friend Matteo. Once we arrived, Enzo went to pick his flavor of the night as usual, and Matteo stayed next to me, waiting for the girls to come in. He doesn’t have to tell me what I know. The only reason he came with us is because I told them Isabella was coming as well. Their history is more than a complicated entanglement, so I didn’t even dare to question why he stayed next to me, just as vigilant, eagerly waiting for the girls to arrive .
I stayed in the VIP area, keeping an eye on the door and the floor for any signs of Aria. An hour later, she walks in with Isabella and Sophia. It takes me a minute to recognize her, because tonight, she has curly hair. I felt like someone punched me right in the gut, taking all my air away, something that always happens when she enters a room. Really, I don’t know how she manages to take my breath away every single time. I’ve seen her countless of times, with messy hair, straight, braids—but her curls take the fucking cake. She looks so fucking beautiful. I wonder why she never wears her hair like that. It suits her, alongside her fiery personality and otherworldly looks.
I wanted to go to her right away and stake my claim like a senseless caveman, but I held back. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was stalking her. I don’t even understand—not fully, anyways—why I decided to show up. It was just a protective instinct calling me like a siren taking a hold of me and not letting go until I listened to it and dropped everything to be here. My gaze was always on her, scrutinizing every move with intent. Not that long after they arrived, a preppy stuck-up guy was leading them upstairs, so I positioned myself in the corner of the VIP bar, hiding from her like a coward. I didn’t want to leave anything up to chance and make her believe that I was there for her. I managed to convince myself that I was there because I felt like going out, the lies slipping out of me easily as Enzo grilled me with questions during our drive here. The girls walked to a table where some guys were sitting, my blood instantly boiling, the place feeling so much more crowded and small at the sight of her smiling at another guy.
The same fucking smile I love to see every minute of every damn day.
I gulped my bourbon to calm down the aggressive sensation and not go to her. God knows I held back, gripping the glass of bourbon so hard I ended up breaking it.
They were clearly flirting, more him than her, but nonetheless—fucking flirting. As they were walking downstairs to the dance floor, I witnessed how he turned around and grabbed one of her curls and swirled it around his finger. My first instinct was to grab a fucking knife and cut his finger off for him daring to touch her hair like that.
My fucking hair.
I shake my head as the thought creeps in, because this is insane. She’s not mine to claim, never will be.
As they started dancing, the place suddenly felt smaller, and smaller. Sweat trickled down my back, my knuckles white from grabbing the table as hard as humanly possible. My body was raging— screaming —at me to go to her and take her away. I kept my eyes on her the entire time, following her every move, every breath, every sway of her hips. Watching with intent, I quickly noticed when she started to feel uncomfortable. Holding back any longer wasn’t an option, hating the way he was touching her without her consent, and the way he started groping her.
I never believed when people say they see red when extremely angry. I’m a cautious, calm man. It’s the way I do business, because losing your cool is not an option—people would eat you alive if you showed any sign of emotion; weakness; fragility. I finally understand the saying, though. My legs took on a life of their own, quickly storming to them. My arms too, pushing people out of the way, yelling at them to move the fuck away from me. My heart pounding— hard —and chest tightening with anger like never before. I gave the guy the opportunity to walk away from a situation, because I’m a gentleman before anything. That’s how my mother raised me, but the way he talked about her snapped something inside of me and my instinct was to punch him. I would’ve killed him if they would have let me get away with it.
Zero fucking regret. I’d do it a million times over.
Extending my hand for her to grab. “Come on, I'll take you home.”
She shakes her head, taking a step back. “Isa and Sophia are still inside with that guy's friends. I need to go get them.”
“It's already taken care of. Now, let's go. This is not up for discussion,” I say sternly.
She hesitates, her eyes traveling from my hand to my eyes .
“Do you trust me?” I ask softly. Desperately hoping she does. It would kill me otherwise.
She bites her lip with a nod, opting to not say anything.
“Your friends are safe, I promise you.”
I texted Matteo as we were walking out of the club, ordering him to look after the girls. He quickly agreed, and I’m sure it had everything to do with Isabella and nothing to do with him wanting to be chivalrous.
She nods and takes my hand without putting up a fight, which fucking breaks something inside of me because her fiery personality is nowhere to be found. She’s shaken up, and I wish I could do something more to make her feel better. An Aria without her witty comebacks and banter is not one I could live with. Guiding her to the valet, they bring my car out and I quickly open the passenger door and wait for her to get in.
Without a word, I get in the car and start driving. I’m still trying to shake off the anger coming out of my pores, because this is the last thing she needs right now. I don’t blame her, at all. She was just trying to have some fun, and it fucking sucks some creep ruined it. I should have stopped her from going to the dance floor with him, if I had let my instincts take over, she would have been safe—probably mad too—but safe nonetheless.
She leans back on the headrest, looking outside at the city lights .
“Are you okay?” I whisper softly. I know this is a stupid question, but I ask it anyway. Not hearing her sweet fucking voice is killing me.
“Yeah. I mean, I probably deserved it. I said yes to dance with him anyway.” She lets out a humorless laugh.
The raging feeling to go back and punch, kick, and break the guy’s teeth for making her feel like she is to blame for the situation comes rushing back.
I shake my head. “No, Darling. Just because you said yes to a dance doesn't mean you signed up to get groped.”
“Why were you there?” she asks in a whisper, changing the topic.
“What do you mean?” I deflect.
“You, at the club. That is not your scene, at all,” she points out, looking at me with suspicion.
I shrug. “I was there with my cousin and his best friend.” Technically, not a lie.
“Uh-huh,” she says, unconvinced. “Well, thank you for saving me or whatever. Very chivalrous of you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Chivalrous, huh? That's an upgrade from arrogant dick.”
“Well, don't get used to it,” she says with a hint of amusement in her voice.
And my girl is finally back with her funny banters, making me instantly relaxed.
'My girl' sure has a nice ring to it.
“Are you hungry?” I don’t want to just drop her off and be on my way. I want to make sure she’s okay, and feels safe. Plus, I selfishly want to make this night last as long as possible.
“Considering I've only had endless margaritas and tequila shots without food because Sophia wanted us to get drunk… Yes. I’m starving.”
“Sophia sounds like a real piece of work.” I shake my head with a laugh. That sounds something my cousin, Enzo, would totally do too.
“Yes. But I love her nevertheless.” She laughs.
We keep driving in silence the rest of the way until we arrive at a Mexican food truck near the gallery that I often enjoy. I park and quickly get out of the car to open the passenger door. The air smells like carne asada and cilantro, the food truck busy with activity.
We order our food, and they quickly call our names. There aren't any seats, and we don't want to sit inside the car, so we opt for the sidewalk. I go to my car and bring out another jacket and place it on the sidewalk so she doesn’t have to sit on the concrete, wanting her to be comfortable.
We eat without saying much, just watching some kids run around the parking lot as we eat our tacos.
As she’s taking a bite, I ask, “Are you ever going to follow me back on Instagram?”
She pauses mid-bite and looks at me, surprise lacing her face. She chews and swallows quickly before replying, “ So, you did follow me on Instagram. I thought it was a mistake.”
I take a sip of my pineapple soda as I frown. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you only follow your business accounts.”
I hum, opting for not replying. It’s true. I’m not a huge social media person, and I barely follow anyone, because if I’m being honest, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what people are up to. But Aria isn't like other people.
“Well?” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for my reply.
I bite my taco and chew thoroughly, taking my time to respond. “No comment.” I’m not about to tell her that she’s become my business somehow. Much less confess she’s been invading my every thought.
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t press the issue, just swiftly changes the topic. “Never thought you were a food truck kind of guy,” she says, taking a huge bite of her taco.
I act offended. “What is that supposed to mean? I can enjoy some good street food.”
She places her container next to her and raises her hands in defeat. “You know what I mean. You’re always so put together, in suits, eating at expensive restaurants.”
I shrug. “I enjoy the simple things. Don’t always believe what you see on social media.” My thoughts are raging at me, wanting nothing more than to tell her the truth .
Don’t believe what you see for a second. It’s all a mask. It’s not real. This is the real me. You make me want to be myself around you and it’s fucking confusing.
She looks at me, nodding. “Right…”
She keeps eating in silence as I try my best to not stare and admire the sight of her. My stomach fills with a thousand butterflies, ones I can’t seem to keep at bay. Only she could make me feel such nervousness and a tingling sensation all over my body. She's more relaxed now, and I love how she can still be so beautiful by simply sitting on a sidewalk eating street food.
As she's eating, a bit of sauce lingers on the side of her mouth, and without a second's thought, I gently wipe it away with my thumb. She pauses for a moment, our gazes locking with the movement.
My surroundings get dull for an instant, blocking any distractions and noises. I can only see her —beautiful curly hair, red lips, and those big hazel eyes that invite me to get lost in them. Her eyes are like an autumn forest, a kaleidoscope of green and brown, with a hint of gold. Every time she looks at me, I’m the luckiest man in the world. There’s only one thought floating through my head right now, looming in the back, nudging me to do it.
To find out what her lips taste like. To kiss her until we need to catch our breath, get our lips swollen from all the licking, nipping, and sucking.
I wonder if she tastes sweet. Like strawberries, or maybe caramel.
Fuck, what I would do for one single kiss.
What the hell am I thinking? This is the last thing I need. I can’t do this. We can’t do this. Crossing that line will have terrible consequences I’m not willing to face.
Standing up abruptly, I say, “Are you done? Let's go. I'll take you home.” My tone comes out more gruff than I intended, but this relationship needs to remain professional. The line keeps blurring, but I can’t cross it, and I’ll keep drawing it until it’s engraved in my brain.
She stands up, surprise lacing her face at my tone. “Uh, yeah. I'm done,” she rasps.
Nodding, I walk to the car without waiting for her. She quickly falls a step behind, and we get in.
The rest of the car ride is cold and uncomfortable. She just gives me directions to her home, and I drive in silence. As time ticks, her demeanor changes. She's pissed. Good. I need her to put that distance between us, because I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it by myself. The last thing we need is to get involved with each other. That's simply a recipe for disaster. Too much is riding for me to risk it. The gallery; my empire; the promise I made to myself all those years ago to become someone my father never expected me to be. My mask needs to go back in its place and treat her like I would any other. Keep my distance. The line is blurring, and I don’t know where it ends or where it even begins now. I’m losing control. The control I’ve so carefully crafted my whole life.
Arriving at her place, she mutters a quick thanks, takes off my jacket, leaves it on the passenger seat, and walks away without saying goodbye.
I don't leave until I see her safely pass the lobby and enter the elevators, ensuring she's safe. Leaning back against the headrest, I let out a deep sigh. I can’t think straight when I'm near her. I just punched a guy because of her. I tell myself it's because I wanted her to be safe, and to some extent, it's true. But deep down, I come to the realization that I do know what that unfamiliar, raging, primal sensation was.
Jealousy.