16. Chapter Damian
I ’ve spent the whole afternoon holed up in my room, drowning myself in work to occupy my mind and maintain a much-needed distance from Aria. Now more than ever, I regret my decision to share a suite with her. It was a stupid idea, and now I’m paying the consequences. Staying away from her seems the safest route for now to keep the tension that has been brewing between us at bay.
My inner self screams at me to just let go of the reins, and stop trying to restrain myself. I’m hanging by a thread that’s growing more precarious every moment I spend looking at those beautiful eyes, or those plush lips that demand my attention, or every bantering moment that happens between us.
Fuck .
I’m already in an irritable mood as it is as I’m getting ready to have dinner with my mother. I love that woman to death, however, her consistent references to my father have always been a sore point for me. We have a complicated relationship, to say the least, and today I’m in no mood for her to go down memory lane and try to revive those distant and very few good memories we had as a family. It sucked being an only child. It’s not like I had any siblings to relate to or play with and overall be a normal child. The closest thing I had was Enzo.
Arriving at the restaurant, I stride to our usual table and find my mother, looking as elegant as ever. When she looks up, her face lights up with joy at the sight of me. Rising from her table, she envelops me in one of her warm hugs.
“è così bello vederti tesoro,” It's so good to see you, honey, she says, her smile radiant. “Sei molto bello.” You look so handsome.
Her touch is tender as she gently pinches one of my cheeks, a motherly gesture that accompanies her compliments.
Returning her warm smile, I take my seat and reply, “Grazie, Mamma. Tu sei magnifica come sempre.” Thank you, Mother. You look beautiful as always.
While my mother speaks English well, she enjoys speaking her native language more often than not, and I always enjoy brushing up on my Italian for good practice. Our waiter arrives and we order our usual wine and appetizers. We talk about my job and her recent travels.
“You’re doing wonderful things with the gallery, honey. Your dad would be proud.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, right.”
Her eyes soften as she grabs my hand and caresses it with her thumb. “I know that your dad was… how do I say this?” she ponders.
“A complete and total asshole?” I say.
She glares at me. “Attento al tuo linguaggio, Damian.” Watch your language.
I bite the inside of my cheek, doing my best to contain my tongue. I love my mother, and the last thing I want to do is fight with her. It’s exhausting having these useless conversations over, and over again. He’s not here anymore, so it doesn’t matter. The damage has been done, and I have the broken pieces of my heart to prove it.
“He regretted everything, you know. He told me so on his deathbed,” she whispers.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Drop it, Mamma .”
When my father’s health started declining, they moved to Italy, so he could spend the last few months he had left in his homeland; close to everything that he knew well. I was angry and resentful at everything he’d done to me and our relationship was so damaged that I never came to visit. The worst part of it all though—what eats me alive—is I don’t regret it one bit. I would never tell my mother, of course, her heart would be broken if she found out. Even though, deep down, she knows I gave up caring a very, very long time ago.
She finally drops the topic and the atmosphere goes back to being warm and inviting. Everything’s going smoothly as we eat and catch up on our lives. My gaze shifts toward the entrance, and time stands still as I watch Aria walk into the restaurant, grasping all of my attention like a shiny, bright diamond. She’s wearing a short, emerald green satin dress that emphasizes her beautiful curves. A small heart gold necklace adorns her neck, complementing her soft pale skin. And those heels, the same ones that she had on this afternoon during our meeting. Her hair cascades in shiny waves, her freckles hidden beneath her full face of makeup, and that fucking red lipstick that’s been haunting my dreams and thoughts over, and over again.
My stomach flutters at the sight of her; my heartbeat quickening as I keep admiring her. My gaze drops to her waist, and my stomach flips and threatens to throw back up the few glasses of wine and appetizers I’ve had as I watch how a preppy-looking guy wraps his hand around her waist, guiding her to a table. I do my best to ignore what they’re doing, trying to focus on what my mother is talking about, but my blood is pumping with anger and jealousy knowing she’s on a fucking date.
What did I expect? I've had more than enough opportunities to make my move and didn’t. These are simply the consequences of my own actions, but fuck, does it bother me.
I can’t believe she’s on a fucking date and how angry I am right now.
Gripping the sides of the table, my knuckles turn white as my vision blurs. My mother keeps talking, but the ping in my ears from the anger doesn’t allow me to hear one single fucking thing. My mother follows my line of sight to where Aria and her preppy fucking date are sitting. What’s that about, anyway? Who in their right mind wants a guy that looks like that ? He looks like his name’s Chad. What kind of name is fucking Chad anyway?
“You know her?”
I hesitate. “Uh, yeah. She’s the one I was telling you about. The curator from my gallery.”
My mother hums knowingly. “She’s pretty. Like, princess-type of pretty. You have good taste.”
My gaze snaps on hers. “What’s that supposed to mean? She’s just my employee.”
My mother scoffs. “You forget I raised you. I know you better than anyone. You like her.”
“I do not,” I challenge.
Just as I say that, Aria laughs at one of Chad’s—yes, his name is Chad in my head now—jokes. Her airy, soft laugh rings through my ears, and the place starts to feel small; hot. What’s so funny about his stupid jokes, anyway? He doesn’t deserve her laughs. No one does . She’s too worthy .
My mother glances at me smugly as I take my glass of wine and gulp it in one swing, trying my best to act like nothing bothers me.
It’s not my business who she dates. It’s not my business who she dates. It’s not my business who she dates.
I’m hoping if I repeat it enough times, it will stick.
My mother picks up her purse. “You’ve already paid the bill and I’m tired, so I’ll get out of your hair.”
I grunt with a nod, not taking my eyes off Aria and her stupid date.
She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I’ll just say this one thing, honey. If you want the girl, go get her before it’s too late. You are kind; selfless; and have the biggest heart I know, and I don’t say this because I’m your mamma . Open yourself to love. You deserve it.”
I don’t know about deserving love. Much less from the kindest and most wonderful woman I’ve met in my life.
As my mother leaves, I serve myself one last glass of wine and drink it in one gulp, savoring the burst of dark cherry flavor, hoping the alcohol will settle my nerves.
Why is it so hot in here?
I need to walk out of this restaurant before I do something I regret. As I’m getting up, my legs take on a life of their own and I stride to the bathroom which passes right in front of their table. Doing my best to not stare, I feel her eyes on the back of my neck, burning me. Pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door, I clench my hair with a fist as I let out an exasperated groan. This possessive, caveman feeling is eating me up alive. We almost kissed yesterday and today she’s on a fucking date?
Putting my hand on my chest, I make circular motions, trying to ease this achy feeling. It’s not helping; nothing is helping.
Only one thing will.
Making a split-second decision, I make my way to their table before I talk myself out of it. It’s all about split-second decisions; take the opportunity and make it yours before it’s too fucking late.
I want her. Need her. She has to be mine , and only mine .
Sitting down next to her, I throw my arm possessively over her shoulder. My gaze falls on the guy, a smug, condescending laugh escaping my lips. He’s your typical preppy blond guy who peaked in high school and never moved on from those glory days. It's unbelievable this is who she’s having dinner with.
“Thank you for keeping her company while I was at work, Chad.”
She leans in and hisses, “What the hell are you doing?”
Ignoring her question, I turn my attention to Chad , who is still trying to make sense of the situation.
“My name is Hunter, not Chad.”
Another laugh escapes me. I don’t know which name is worse .
I shrug. “It doesn’t really matter what your name is, Chad . I hope you've enjoyed your time with my girl,” I say, my tone firm and controlled. “But you can leave now.”
She stomps on my foot with her heel hard enough that I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from wincing.
Gritting her teeth, she says, “We're not together. You don't have to listen to him.”
The man frowns. “Who the hell are you, man? Leave us alone.”
Pft . This man has a death sentence.
With a warning tone in my voice and a death glare, I say, “You really should go now. We don’t want to cause a scene in the middle of this very busy restaurant, do we?”
He gets up irritated, murmuring, “Whatever. This isn’t worth it.”
As soon as he leaves, she rises from her seat with her purse in hand and marches out of the restaurant with a fury that burns in her eyes.
I follow her, urgently calling out, “Aria, wait!”
She quickens her pace. How is she fucking walking so fast with those heels? Seriously.
I take three long strides, quickly catching up, given the height difference between us. Gripping her arm gently, I say sternly, “Aria, I'm trying to talk to you. Look at me.”
She turns to me, her eyes aflame with anger. “Damian, what the fuck was that? Seriously, why on earth did you do that?” Her voice is sharp as she shouts at me, frustration evident in her every word.
I stand in front of her, letting the sounds of cars honking and walking people around us fill the silence, offering no immediate response. What can I say? That I’m jealous? Damn right I am. The reality of this situation is that I want her to be mine, but we can’t and it’s fucking frustrating. This impossible constant feeling that's been eating me alive every waking moment of every day since she walked into my life; a feeling that refuses to go away.
She crosses her arms, her frustration growing as every second passes.
My temper flares, and I lean in closer, my voice low and seething. “Watching you with another man drives me insane.”
Her back straightens as she replies dryly, “You don't get to decide who I see, Damian. That’s insane.”
I know that my actions are insane. But that’s the thing, when I’m near her, rationality abandons me, and all that's left is this uncontrollable torrent of emotions.
A humorless laugh escapes me. “I’m well fucking aware of that, but I can’t think straight when I’m near you. You invade all of my thoughts every waking moment. Your presence is everywhere. It’s suffocating .” I gulp. There’s no turning back now, I’m knee-deep in this already. It’s now or never. I whisper, “I want you, and that’s the fucking truth. ”
She takes a step back, her face shocked by my confession. Her anger softens into something else, something more complex. “This isn’t how it works. You can’t just lay claim to me.”
“Funny, because it seems like I just did,” I deadpan. I sound like an asshole, but I’m done tiptoeing around the situation. The attraction is there, both ways.
She laughs, a sound laced with frustration and disbelief. With exasperation, she raises her hands in the air and says, “I can't do this with you, Damian. One moment, you're cold and distant. Then, you're close to me, almost kissing me!” She’s practically shouting, her chest raising and falling in irritation. “You’re infuriating! I don't understand what you want from—”
I don't let her finish the sentence because I know exactly what I want. Closing the distance between us, I firmly grasp the nape of her neck, and lock our lips in a fierce, deep-seated kiss. I kiss her like she is my only source of air, and I am running out of time because that’s exactly how I feel every time I’m around her.
She’s my weakness; my lifeline; my anchor, all in one.
Her initial shock melts away as she responds to my kiss with equal intensity. Our anger, our confusion, and our desires all merge in this passionate livid moment, like liquid fucking fire. The intensity of our connection grows with each passing second. With every kiss; every lick; every ragged breath. Her lips are warm and soft beneath mine, and the taste of her is intoxicating . Her sweet, light scent is dizzying and addicting in a way I didn’t think possible.
She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer, as though she’s just as starved as I am. The world around us fades, and all that matters is the taste of her, the feel of her, the way her touch makes me feel, and the electricity that unravels between us.
My tongue clashes with hers, and I let out an appreciative groan that she swallows with her lips. This feels right. Good. Meant to be. Made for me. Our kiss is a divine revelation, one I can’t get enough of. Opening my eyes and to the possibility of what we can be.
My hands travel from the nape of her neck, tracing her back all the way down to her ass, where I grip and bring her closer to me. There is zero space between us as we keep kissing, licking, and nipping and she’s still not close enough. I want more, more, more . My lips feel numb, but I refuse to stop, because the sensation is euphoric, too much and not enough, all at once.