Chapter 26
26
If he makes dinner for you, green flag, ladies.
Green freaking flag.
Don’t side-eye me for ignoring the red ones, though.
Monique has the night off, so Damien offered to cook dinner. When I asked if he knew how to cook, he shared with me that his mother had made it a weekly ritual for him and Julian to spend an hour in the kitchen with her, much to their father’s dismay. She knew the lifestyle was hard for women, and with their lack of interest in an arranged marriage, she didn’t want them to starve to death if they stayed single.
Cooking has never been my strong suit. So much of my time was dedicated to dance that I never learned my way around a kitchen. My go-to meals are ramen, grilled cheese, and simple salads. Since my mother spent so much time at the studio and my father was gone gambling, those are also what I grew up eating.
I rarely get early nights with Damien. Unless we have plans or he’s watching Amara, he works late. It’s usually past three in the morning when he finally crawls into bed with me. Even with him gone so much, I don’t feel alone.
No matter how busy he is, he always makes a point of staying in contact. If he misses breakfast with me, he stops by Brew Bliss to order a coffee and wish me good morning. He texts and calls throughout the day. Despite being the busiest man I know, he always stays in touch.
Words of advice: if my Mafia boyfriend can text me amid his crimes, then so can yours.
It’s so sexy watching Damien in the luxury all-black kitchen. The brownstone, clearly renovated from its original state, makes perfect use of the available open space. The natural lighting illuminating the room prevents it from appearing too dark, and the black marble adds to the polished touch. The state-of-the-art appliances are comparable to ones found in high-end restaurants.
“You know, I feel like I practically moved in with you,” I comment, filling two glasses with wine and sitting on the island stool.
For the past thirty minutes, I’ve watched Damien navigate the kitchen. When I offered to help, he told me to sit there, have a drink, and relax.
“You look pretty comfortable here.” His eyes are on me as he warms oil in a wok. “Might as well move in. I like coming home to you at night.”
“I don’t know if I’d be a good roommate candidate,” I reply, attempting to sound like I’m joking but failing. I reach for my glass and take a satisfying sip. “I’m a terrible cook, I had a near-death experience when I cleaned my bathroom with too many chemicals at once, and I have a history of paying rent late.”
That pretty much sums me up as a whole.
Don’t blame me. Blame my hyperactive brain.
It’s why I love ballet so much.
The constant flow of thoughts in my mind finds solace when I dance.
When I tie my pointe shoes and dance, my outside world fades away, and I’m in the moment.
Damien rests the wok on the burner and stretches across the island to cup my face. “Pippa, those reasons mean absolutely nothing to me. I have a cleaner and a chef, and I’d never take a penny from you.” He runs his thumb along my bottom lip. “There’s nothing I want more than for you to live with me.”
“Steps, remember?” I squeak out against his thumb, causing him to drop his hand from my face. “I’m already breaking so many of them.”
“I’m ready to burn those steps to the ground,” he grumbles.
I sigh.
“If you’re not ready to move in with me officially, I understand, but you’re getting a new apartment with a goddamn doorman.” He presses his finger to my lips when I open them to argue. “And let’s not discuss being able to afford it. I’m covering the cost, and that’s nonnegotiable.” He replaces his finger with his lips, smacking a kiss to them, and pulls back to return to cooking.
“I’m not comfortable with you spending so much money on me.”
“If anyone deserves to be spoiled, it’s you. That’s how I want to spend my money. Give me that, baby.”
“I just …” My shoulders droop.
He adjusts the stove’s heat to circle the island, spins me around in the stool, and perches himself on the edge of the marble.
His gaze penetrates mine. “Pippa, I know this feels rushed, but give me a chance. Forget about the steps, about what anyone else thinks. Block all of that out. Let our relationship unravel on our timing.” He smooths his hand over my cheek, his signature move.
One night, I told him I loved when he did that.
“I do it for selfish reasons,” is what he replied. “I do it to remind us both that you’re mine, and you’ll always be mine. Your face fits so well in my palm that I want to mold it there for the rest of our lives.”
“I’m good with where we’re at,” he says, slipping me back into our conversation. “Are you?”
My heart skips as I gulp and whisper, “I’m good with where we’re at too.”
“Then, that’s all that matters.” He smirks. “Just me and you.”
I blow out a long breath. “I’m scared, Damien.”
“There’s nothing to fear with us, Pippa. I’d sacrifice my heart before I hurt yours. If I’m not making you feel safe enough, let me know what else I need to do.”
Tears prick my eyes. “You make me feel safer than anyone.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but we both stare at my stomach when it rumbles.
He smirks before kissing me once, twice, three times. “Let’s get you fed.”
I slide off my stool as he releases me. “What can I help with?”
He raises his chin. “Alexa, play classical music.” His eyes drink me in for a moment. “You can dance in the kitchen while I cook. Entertain me, my sweet dancer, and I’ll give you a round of applause with my tongue later.”