Chapter 9
Damen
I didn’t think I could be more attracted to Killian, but watching him stand up to my father to defend me is an unexpected treat. The truth is I don’t need anyone’s protection, but Kill’s gesture is appreciated.
He stands out starkly in the room decorated at the height of the Gilded Age.
All leather, ripped denim, and spikes, he’s the opposite of everything I’ve been taught to embrace.
No wonder Father despises him. His presence is confusing and disruptive—a breath of fresh air in the staleness of the old mansion.
He doesn’t cower, just because he’s an outsider and has no access to the kind of wealth my family has accumulated. His eyes shine with booze-fueled passion, and when he bangs his hand on the table, I grab the other and kiss it to show my appreciation.
I love the scowl it brings to Titus’s face.
Dad seems confused by Killian’s rudeness for longer than I expect, and I love every awkward second of it. “Sit down!” he says to Killian. “There’s no need to get so heated when the marriage is a done deal. You’ve got your cake, so eat it.”
I hope he’s not suggesting Killian is a gold digger, because I chose to shower him with gifts. And I practically abducted him in the first place. I’m not the one drinking, but I seem to be forgetting our marriage is a sham.
Killian eyes my father with a squint, then leans over the table, grabs a massive piece of cake with his hand and puts it on his plate. “I will,” he slurs and sits down.
The dramatics of it all. I love it.
He’s fucking perfect.
“That looks good,” I say. He immediately picks up on my words and tears a piece of the cake off before delivering it straight to my lips. I make sure to kiss his orange-scented fingertips.
“And this is what following your heart leads to,” Titus says, as if he weren’t jealous watching me now. Bree would never.
Samantha blinks at him innocently. “Eating cake?”
Mom was right. I do like her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mom butts in. “I think following one’s heart can be right for some people.”
Of course, because why commit to something as noncontroversial as choosing one’s own path in life, when there’s money and privilege involved? My mother is the mistress of uttering a lot of words without saying anything.
“Maybe tell us how you two met?” Samantha asks.
Kill stops chewing, but his mouth is still full like he’s a little goth hamster. Maybe it’s for the better that I take the lead, because we haven’t come up with a cohesive version.
“He used to be a barista in my favorite cafe in New York,” I say stroking Kill’s back as he adds whisky to the cake in his mouth. “He always remembered my order, and we would flirt, but I didn’t want to be a creep and ask him out while he was at work, so it was a lot of back and forth.”
Killian speaks as soon as he swallows. “And then he brought that one artbook… What was it? But we chose a picture for one of my tattoos.” He pulls up his sleeve to show off a massive snake twisting around his arm. “And then went with me to get it done, held my hand and everything.”
He’s going off-script, which in his drunken state is a little disconcerting, but nothing too wild just yet, so I hope to keep a lid on it.
“He was intent on finishing it during one long session, so he was way too weak to return home by himself once that was done. I ended up carrying him, and then staying over, because I was worried he might be unwell.”
“Wow, aren’t you a fucking knight in shining armor,” my brother snarks, revealing his teeth as his upper lip twitches in an expression of impotent anger. “Doesn’t sound like you at all, Damen.”
Kill sits straighter, though he lolls a bit from side to side. I might need to cut him off the booze tomorrow, because it won’t help anymore tonight.
“Oh, but it’s exactly like him. Fuck. This one time a guy attacked me in a back alley, and he…” Kill must be assessing if he should mention murder at this family gathering, “fought off the guy so proficiently! And then the next day, he took me to a shooting range, and taught me how to use a gun.”
Titus shakes his head. “I hope you don’t think you’ll be taking part in the hunt.”
Killian groans. “Not this fucking hunt again…”
“Yes, the hunt!” Titus insists, because of course that’s what he cares about most. For years now, he’s been the one to finish with the most trophies, but even he knows his reign will be over the moment I join the competition.
Titus looks at our father. “Does this marriage even count if it wasn’t approved by the family? ”
“Fuck. You,” I say, pointing straight at him.
Father leans back in his armchair, his jaw muscles working overtime as he chews through all the shit I’ve dumped on his plate. “Only Van der Horns can participate.”
“Then everything is clear, because Killian is a Van der Horn now,” I say and grab Kill’s hand under the table.
He looks at me as if I’ve single-handedly saved Christmas.
“This lightweight?” Titus points to Kill. “You have to be joking—”
Bree butts in. “Leave it, honey. It doesn’t matter. You know you’ll get the most trophies anyway.”
I don’t know if it’s supposed to help Titus’s ego or act as a silent challenge, but it’s not my relationship, so I don’t care. But I do imagine Titus losing to me at the hunt and having to sleep on the sofa for a week because his wife can’t stand the sight of a loser.
Serves him right.
Kill frowns. “I never did shoot a gun before.”
Samantha raises her brows. “Didn’t you just say Damen took you to a shooting range?”
Fuck. Kill is too drunk for this.
“He just watched that time, but we have over a week until Christmas,” I say quickly.
Kill bites his lips. “Ah, yes. I watched. Damen is such a good shot.”
“That’s what love is all about. Appreciating one another,” I say and lean in for a kiss. Kill tastes of booze, and I can sense him trying to dive in with his tongue, but I think I’d rather wait with that, especially as the whisky is hitting him with increasing force. “My cheerleader.”
“Hear that, Karl?” Mother says with raised eyebrows. “I’ll drink to that.”
Kill leans in to whisper. “Where is the bathroom?”
This is a good excuse to take him to bed. We’ve had enough excitement for tonight, and the rest of the family can stew in their confusion. I bet Bree has already been texting my sister throughout this nuclear explosion of a dinner. At which I didn’t even eat, but that’s fine.
“I think we’re both very tired,” I say, rising from my seat. “We’ll see you all at breakfast.”
Kill’s soft gaze captures mine, and he grabs my arm, using it to pull himself to his feet. He’s cute that way.
“Goodnight.” Samantha gives a little wave, and I hold her gaze, because anyone would be happy to have a woman like her at their side. Maybe Uncle Roger could introduce her to one of my single cousins? They’ll be arriving in droves tomorrow.
While Kill’s walk is wobbly, he manages not to trip all the way to the corridor where I catch him.
He waves it off. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he says, but I pick him up regardless. He’s not tiny, but definitely on the compact side, so I don’t struggle, especially as he’s not unconscious and holds on to me. “No! I can walk!” he argues, but still laughs and doesn’t fight me.
“That went well,” I say, passing one of the staff on my way toward the main staircase.
With his arms wrapped around my neck, Kill giggles (actually giggles). “That’s one way to put it,” he slurs his words, but at least he’s not blacked out. “Titus is such a little bitch.”
Nobody ever talks like this about the reigning champion of the Christmas hunt, and I laugh, giving my fake husband a smooch.
“Finally, someone agrees with me! We’re a match made in heaven,” I tell him, climbing the steps to the second floor, where most of the bedrooms are located.
I don’t live here anymore full time, but there are so many rooms in this house that nobody would even consider redecorating and repurposing my old room.
Kill arches up to kiss my neck so abruptly I lose balance for half a second, but he’s so adorable I don’t chastise him.
“Your mom is trying at least, but your dad—” He pulls back to look into my eyes, his own wide as saucers. “Oh fuck. Did I swear at your dad? I think I did. Oh, no… I’m fucking sorry.”
“I’m not,” I say, walking down the corridor upstairs, toward the room at the end, where I spent much of my child- and teenagerhood. “He deserved it.”
Kill’s expression softens. “If he tries to kill me, you’ll protect me, right?”
Poor boy, already so stressed, and it’s only the first evening of our stay.
“You’re always safe with me, baby.” I kiss his forehead and press my elbow on the door handle, opening the room I call mine, even though I didn’t get to modify it much to my own taste.
The maid has left one of the twin bedside lamps on, and it provides more than enough light for me to find my way to the massive sleigh bed.
In the warm glow, entering the brown-and-green space feels like a walk through the woods at sundown.
The velvet curtains are all drawn. The thick Turkish carpet is dense as moss under my feet, and the pillows will surely ensure restful sleep for us both.
I shut the door behind us with a gentle kick, and deposit my fake husband on the mattress, immediately making sure he doesn’t fall asleep in his slippers. “There’s an ensuite here,” I say, pointing out a door to the right.