Chapter 16
16
“I’d like to offer a suggestion,” Damien says, barging into my apartment.
Last night was amazing. After he fucked me against the wall, he fucked me in my bed, then fucked me again in the shower. Nothing has ever felt so perfect before.
And this time, when I woke up, the other side of my bed wasn’t empty. Damien was propped up against the headboard, shirtless, with his phone in his hand.
Twenty minutes ago, he left for a coffee run while I contemplated life before rolling my lethargic ass out of bed. Somehow, I have no problem pulling hours-long dance practices, yet I’m exhausted after a night of being fucked by Damien.
He’s freshly showered and clean for the day while I’m dressed in a tank and sweat shorts, my hair swept back in a slick bun. I have the day off from Brew Bliss and no dance practice.
“What’s that?” I ask as he hands me the coffee. I walk into the living room and settle on the couch, stretching out my legs.
“You move somewhere without a thousand fucking steps.” He sets down his coffee to collect my feet in his hands. He positions my legs to create room for him to drop onto the couch and settles my sock-covered feet on his lap.
“The rent is fair, and it’s all I can afford.” I shrug and sip my coffee.
“You could move in with me.”
I gulp to stop myself from spitting out my coffee.
A heads-up that he’s offering batshit crazy ideas would’ve been nice.
The urge to laugh hits me, but I don’t because when his eyes meet mine, there’s no humor in them. He’s serious.
I raise my cup in a hold it, mister gesture. “We’ve had one official date. If we’re counting in terms of steps, we need about fifty more of”—I pause to gesture back and forth between us—“ this before even thinking about living together.”
I worked my ass off to move into this apartment, and it wasn’t easy to find. I won’t give it up for a short-term relationship.
“I’m not a fan of steps.” He leans forward, his six-pack pressing against my feet, and snatches his cup.
“Steps give you exercise.” I smirk as he makes himself comfortable again. “Cardio. A great ass .”
“Use me as your exercise.” He takes a sip of coffee, staring at me in question over the rim.
“You’re a busy man.”
“Never too busy for you.”
While I try to turn the conversation playful, he’s still serious.
Like he’s laying out the perfect business deal in a board meeting.
“Your building also has shitty security,” he continues. “You’re not protected here.”
I frown. “I don’t need security. I’ve lived here for over a year without one problem.”
“You absolutely need security.”
“Why? ”
“Because of your relation to your uncle.” He drums his fingers against the Styrofoam cup before settling it on the table. He tips his head back and cracks his neck.
The mention of Cernach gives me a sudden chill, and I wrap my arms around myself. “My uncle doesn’t exist in my life.”
“Maybe he didn’t before, but he sure does now.” He massages my feet, causing me to squirm, and lowers his voice. “We could have him draft a contract, see what he wants.”
The mood of the morning has shifted. We woke up and had morning sex, and he showered before leaving for coffee. All was good in the Damien and Pippa world, but now, he wants to talk Cernach and contracts?
“What sort of contract?” I hate that I already know the answer.
“An arranged marriage contract.” He shrugs as if his suggestion wouldn’t be completely life-changing.
My head spins as I furiously shake it. “Arranged marriages aren’t for me.”
“What is for you then, Pippa?” His eyes stay pinned on me as he kneads his knuckle into my heel.
“I’d need a year of dating minimum before I ever considered accepting a marriage proposal.”
And that marriage proposal had better not be anything Cernach-involved. Otherwise, I wouldn’t care if it’d been a decade. It’d be an automatic no.
He opens his mouth, but I continue speaking. “I’d also need a hundred-word essay on what kind of husband he’d be.”
Marrying me won’t be easy.
Unlike my mother, I won’t elope in Vegas.
I want it to be perfect.
And that includes not allowing someone to select my husband.
He runs his free hand up my leg. “I believe those are referred to as vows. ”
“No, vows are what’s said during the ceremony. I need a prologue to the vows, a proclamation of why I should even accept a proposal and why he’d want me as a wife before that. Not for the sake of a business deal.”
My heart will never be for sale.
“You’re looking for a true happily ever after,” he states matter-of-factly with a hint of disappointment in his tone.
I slowly nod. “I deserve nothing less.”
He cocks his head to the side. “What happens if that’s impossible to find?”
“I guess I’ll have to search until I find it. But I won’t settle.”
“Who’s to say a happily ever after can’t come from a contract?”
“My happily ever after will never come with terms and conditions.” I quickly stop myself. “Other than the typical vows, of course. Monogamy, respect, in sickness and in health. All that stuff.”
A brief silence happens, as if he’s digesting what I said and considering his options. Since he mentioned allowing Cernach to draw up a contract, it seems he doesn’t see it as terrible as I do. I blow out a breath and chug my now-lukewarm coffee. One of my feet slips off his lap when he shifts to collect his phone from his pocket.
He unlocks it and makes a show of displaying the screen. The Calendar app is open.
“It seems I have eleven months to go, then.” He hits the plus button to add an event and types, Pippa is mine , onto the date a year from now.
“I said a year minimum, ” I correct.
I don’t expect this to last a year. Damien will grow bored of me and shatter my heart. He’ll become only a memory, my hot fling with the bad boy.
“You wouldn’t make an exception for me? ”
“I wouldn’t make an exception for the Pope.” I lower my eyes, feeling like I’m letting him down.
“Your mother went against Cernach’s wishes and married for true love. That didn’t turn out that well.”
“My father sold my mother a fairy tale he couldn’t deliver.”
“I’m surprised Cernach didn’t kill him for it.”
“Cernach knew my mother would eventually pay for it.”
And she did. I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering the stories of how badly they treated my mother.
“And the man she was contracted to marry?”
“Cernach paid him off. Rumor is that the price wasn’t cheap either.” I straighten my back. “Her family treats her like discarded trash now—no longer useful to them. Which is why I’ll never allow Cernach to draft a marriage contract with my name on it, not even to find out what he wants out of it. I like my life the way it is. Hard pass on being the Mafia niece.”
“You’d be more than a Mafia niece. You’d be my wife .”
I’m shocked we’re even talking about marriage. The only reason I can come up with for this conversation is that Damien is grieving his family. Other than his brother, who’s as closed off as my feelings when my ex told me dance wasn’t a real sport, he has no one. Damien most likely believes a wife would fill that void.
Or he’s had ulterior motives with me from the start.
Maybe the Lombardis need something from my uncle, and I’m the meal ticket.
“Twelve months,” I state. “No marriage contract. Those will always be my terms.”
He works his jaw, unsatisfied with my answer. “Men like your uncle always get what they want.”
Behind his words, he’s holding back another detail.
He’s just as much mob-affiliated as my mother’s family.
That means he also gets whatever he wants. He made that clear when he forced me out of the casino and into my apartment.
The coffee churns in my stomach. I no longer want to have this conversation. I want contract and Cernach to leave any part of my vocabulary for the rest of my life.
“Did you ban my father from the casino?” I ask, changing the subject. As much as I want to pull my legs to my chest, tucking myself together, I don’t want him to think something is off.
“I did,” he confirms as if it’s no big deal.
“Why?”
“To prevent him from accumulating more debt with us. I settled his loan this time, but I won’t do it again. Vincent won’t be as nice to him next time, and it was my way of preventing him from using you again.”
“What if he goes to another casino?”
“That’s beyond my control.” He watches me closely, studying me, as if worried I’ll make the mistake of helping my father again. “Don’t you dare do it again, or I’ll raise goddamn hell.”
“Why do you care, Damien?” I whisper, my throat tight.
“If something happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I can’t lose anyone else.”
My voice remains a whisper. “We hardly know each other.”
His jaw twitches, and he doesn’t blink once as he says, “I don’t need a certain timeframe to know what I want. It took me less than an hour to know I wanted you—and not just to fuck. When I said you were mine, I didn’t mean that in a temporary way. Marriage or no marriage, there’s no getting rid of me. You are mine, and I’m yours.”