Chapter 3
Ivy
Damien and I are getting married. If I had a time machine and went back in time to tell sixteen-year-old me I would marry Damien, sixteen-year-old me would have been ecstatic. I don’t think she would have cared about the circumstances, no matter what I told her. Twenty-eight-year-old me, however, is a nervous wreck and hates it has to happen this way. But I have to do it. No matter what, doing this will not only result in me finally getting what I want, but I will help people. People who depend on me.
As I put on my wedding gown, one person comes to mind. He, of all people, depends on me and hopefully will not hate me if he ever finds out what happens today. I am doing it for him. For Lake. He doesn’t know where I am and thankfully when Damien showed up at my apartment unannounced, Lake wasn’t there. Its lucky coincidence that Lake was away for a week when Damien dropped by. What would I have done if the two met? It doesn’t matter now, because it didn’t happen.
Instead, I went with Damien to Las Vegas. We landed in the city late into the night. Damien was telling the truth about bringing his lawyer with us. Damien’s lawyer, a short and stern woman called Terry, Damien, and I, spent most of the flight hashing out the details of the prenup. By the time Damien’s plane touched ground, we had agreed on a marriage of sixty days, at the end of which Damien would receive shares in Hawthorne Inc. while I receive payment of the shares in full. Half of it in cash and cash equivalent assets, and the other half in shares of Damien’s company. But first he will give me the first ten percent as soon as we sign the marriage certificate. That was the most important part. I didn’t care about the rest of the money. But if I can have that ten percent, then I resolve all of my problems. There were other stipulations as well. We could date whomever we want and would live separate lives.
The marriage is to remain secret until Damien sorts out the paperwork of our deal. It will be up to him when we reveal it to everyone. I couldn’t care less. When my brothers find out, I know they will hate me. I’ve practically gotten in bed with the devil and betrayed the family company for a price.
It was well into the night when we arrived in Vegas and I was sure Damien was going to drag me to the nearest chapel and marry us, but he had booked rooms for us at the Grand Palazzo and we slept there instead. “If we are to marry, it should be in broad daylight,” he had said when I asked him why weren’t heading straight at the nearest officiator. And besides, “You need a dress,” he added. So, after barely resting in a gorgeous suite, I was woken up the next morning by Terry and one of Damien’s assistants, Nicole, who came with us.
“Damien said to help you get ready for the wedding,” Nicole says as soon as I let them into the suite.She has a cool smile plastered on her face, which is a little jarring to me considering all the other times I’ve spoken to her she was unfeeling, and sometimes downright nasty. She was, after all, the barrier between me and Damien all the times I tried to speak to him. But I guess as Damien’s assistant, she was only acting on his orders. It’s not her fault her boss is the devil.
“You don’t have to,” I reply. “I’m sure you have plenty of better stuff to fill your time with.” I’m still a little groggy from sleep and in my gown when I open the door, while these two look like they’ve been awake for hours.
Terry shrugs, the big jacket she has on popping up as she makes the motion. “I’m on the clock and I would rather spend that time on a shopping spree than filing briefs.”
“It’s my job to make sure everything in Damien’s personal and professional life runs smoothly,” Nicole says. It sure is, a small part of me thinks.
I decide to let the two women in. It’s their job, after all, and who am I to tell them otherwise? They don’t seem bothered, and Terry looks slightly amused by the entire situation. I shower while they order breakfast, and after we’ve eaten and dispelled some of the awkwardness, we all go shopping for a wedding dress and accessories. Terry is more into it than I, and Nicole is firmly professional and aloof. She speaks only when we require the credit card or when she is prompted. Maybe she is shy? Or more probably she knows me as the woman who hounded her boss into submission and, therefore, is a little wary of me now that I have succeeded. I do not fail to notice the slight disdain in her voice whenever she speaks.
Even though I am enjoying Terry’s company, I feel odd spending Damien’s money, and as soon as I find the first thing that looks appropriate, I choose that and we return to the hotel.Nicole leaves us after being summoned by Damien, but Terry follows me to my room and eagerly asks me to put on the dress. A few minutes later, I walk out of the bedroom area of the sweet.
“Yeah, this is the right dress,” Terry says, admiring the sheath lace wedding gown. “Not too wedding dressy, but not too dull, you know. Really nice.” She’s turned one of the living area chairs backward and sits wide-legged.
“Thanks.” The dress is elegant in an understated way. Not at all the dress I imagined I would wear when I marry Damien. I’m too embarrassed to even remind myself of the silly dreams I would spin about this day.
“Way better than Nicole’s choice,” she says. “That thing made you look frumpy, and I’m pretty sure it was deliberate.”
I frown. “Deliberate?”
“You didn’t hear it from me, but she has a not so secret crush on our big boss. Two Christmas parties ago, she famously made a drunken confession to the other assistant that she’s trying to get the,” Terry rubs her ring finger.
Every time I’ve interacted with Nicole, she has been a brick wall of professionalism. I don’t know why, but I can’t reconcile the serious pencil skirt and tight French bun woman with this version Terry is telling me. Suddenly I feel sorry for Nicole and want to reassure her. “Does she know that this is only a temporary, purely business arrangement?”
Terry smirks. “I would tell her, but she’s a bit snotty, so I’m going to let her wallow in her pain.”
I chuckle. Developing a friendship with Damien’s lawyer is weird as fuck, but so many odd things have happened so far, some of which I instigated. But fuck it, I’m going to roll with it.
A knock sounds on the door at this moment and Terry goes to answer it. Damien enters the room, and he pauses at the door, staring at me. Dressed in a black wedding suit that fits him perfectly, he looks like the groom I envisioned him to be in my teenage fantasies. And the longer he stares, looking as handsome as he is, the more nervous he makes me. “Something wrong with the dress? It’s not too much, is it?”
He shakes his head. “Ready?”
I nod.
“Good. Let’s go.”
The car journey to the chapel is silent. Somehow, it feels awkward to sit next to the person you’re about to marry, even when that marriage is as empty as ours. The car feels too small and the air a little constricting. I am afraid to speak. Afraid to say something that would make him change his mind and ruin this hare-brained scheme of mine. After a long bout of silence, Damien says, “A friend of mine has planned a wedding reception of sorts. For us.”
“A reception?” I wasn’t expecting any of his friends to join us, let alone plenty enough for a reception.
He nods. “When he heard we were staying at his hotel, he insisted.”
“I didn’t plan on turning this into a whole thing. I don’t want my family to find out.”
He brushes his forehead. “Don’t worry. I told him it was a private affair, but he still insisted on throwing one just the same. It’ll just be us, him and his wife, plus the witnesses.”
“The witnesses?”
“Seems like you and Terry got on well in just a morning.”
“Who told you that?”
“Nicole. She tells me everything.”
“So she’s your spy?” My voice is more high-pitched than I intended, betraying my highly emotional state. I initially thought we would just go to a New York court and be done with it. But ever since I agreed to the deal, he has flown me to another state, made me wear a wedding gown, and now he is planning a reception. A lot of things are happening all at once and to add to that, he’s been low-key spying on me?
“Of sorts. Our arrangement is unusual? I don’t trust my fiancée. It’s only natural I make sure she isn’t up to any tricks.” I roll my eyes and turn my gaze to the window. As I would do anything to ruin the deal. I need this to work more than he does.
After a short drive just outside the city, the car slows down into a parking lot of a cute-looking chapel and comes to a stop. We’re here. Damien is the first to get out of the car. My hands get clammy and I rub them against the dress, but it’s no use. They clam up again. I’m about to get married.
I am about to get married to Damien fucking Sinclair. My chest compresses as the weight of what I am doing becomes real. That odd flight or freeze feeling grips me.
Damien extends his hand. I take a deep breath and place my palm on his. He helps me out of the car.
The chapel he chose is quaint and more traditional than I expected. It’s a small building styled after a typical roman catholic cathedral.
“I should go first,” he says.
I nod and breathe in deep again. “Right. Of course.”
I watch him as he enters the chapel. Nicole materializes beside me and thrusts a bouquet in my hand. A few minutes later, I hear an organ playing and I enter. The ceremony is short and more romantic than it should be. It feels less like a formal agreement and more like a wedding for two people who can’t wait to be together. The chapel is not as tacky as I imagined. Instead of an Elvis impersonator, the officiator is a stout smiling woman in a white pantsuit. The chapel even went through the trouble of decorating it with blue and white flowers. Damieneven bought rings.
We stand face to face, and the ceremony begins. It’s perfunctory, with zero frills. And after we say our vows, I fully expect the officiator to just say, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” and instead she adds, “You may kiss the bride.” Damien draws me in and plants a kiss on my lips. It’s a small quick kiss, but it still leaves me rattled all the same. Eight years later and he still has the power to disorient me with a brief kiss.
There are more than a few people than I expected. Nicole and Terry, of course, and Damien’s driver, bodyguard, and a handsome couple I don’t recognize. When the ceremony is over, the couple is the first to congratulate us. The man, a handsome Italian-looking guy, takes my hand in his and shakes it.
“Ivy, this is Dante Morelli,” Damien says as Dante places a kiss on my cheek.
“Congratulations!” Dante says.
“Thank you.”
He gives space for the beautiful blonde woman to congratulate me as well. “And this is Corina Morelli,” Damien says, “Dante’s wife.” She, too, places a kiss on my other cheek.
“I never thought he would do it,” she says, winking at Damien. “I’m glad he did.” Damien smiles at her and I wonder what he has told the couple. Certainly not the truth, judging by their reaction. Terry, Nicole, and the rest congratulate us as well.
Half an hour later, I am a married woman on her way back to the hotel with her temporary husband on her side. “Thank you,” I say to him.
“I’m getting a substantial sum of shares in return, so I can’t complain.
“I mean the ceremony. Thank you for turning it into one.”
“That’s not me. You can thank Morelli for that. When I told him to arrange a marriage license for me, he arranged not only the chapel but also the reception. He thinks I fell in love and wanted to marry you as soon as possible.”
“Oh.” I feel like I have been doused by cold water. The glimmer of hope I had during the wedding dies. Why would he, of all people, do anything for me? Of course, it’s his friend who did all this. “Well,” I say, trying to sound chipper. “Tell him I said thank you.”
“Tell him yourself at the reception.”
The reception is as small as Damien said. Dante has chosen one of his VIP rooms to host it and had it decorated in a wedding theme. It’s a small ballroom with a dancefloor, a few tables, and even a wedding cake. If you don’t look closely, it feels like a real wedding.
“Thank you,” I say to Corina and Dante as we sit down for the reception dinner. They both protest profusely. “We wanted to give you something,” Corina says as her husband leaves us to talk to Damien. “When I heard Damien is getting married, this was the only gift we could think of in such a short time.”
Corina flashes a brilliant smile. She’s a genuinely nice person and keeps me company throughout the night. And as everyone gets progressively drunk, including Terry, who’s now dancing with one of Dante’s men, Corina, who’s only drinking a spritz, is one of the few people still sober. She has been telling me all about how she met Dante here while working for him, and their relationship got kicked off when Dante accused her of stealing from him.
I raise my eyebrows at that. She chuckles. “And spying. He thought I was working on behalf of his rival.”
“How did you get from there to married?”
“A lot happened. Let me just say that he’s a good man once you get to know him. He protects his own. That’s his best trait.” Absently, she rubs her belly as she casts her gaze toward Dante. I don’t want to ask if she’s pregnant. It feels intrusive, but I have a feeling she is.
“What about you? How did you two meet?” Corina glances at Damien. He has been sitting beside me all evening and yet neither of us has said anything to each other. He has spent most of the night speaking to Dante, and I’ve tried to ignore him. But it hasn’t been easy. I can feel him beside me and that means thinking straight is hard. Each time his hand accidentally brushes mine as he takes a sip of his drink, my heart skips a beat. And whenever he laughs at whatever Dante says to him, butterflies flutter in my stomach. Even now, when he has his arm around my shoulder in what anyone would think is a loving embrace, I have to sit still so I can keep myself from leaning into him.
I wonder what exactly I should tell Corina that isn’t the truth. She seems to have bought into the narrative of Damien and I being in love and my pride won’t allow me to dissuade her from it.
Before I can concoct a believable story, we’re interrupted by Dante, who shouts. “Isn’t it odd? I didn’t see the bride and groom dancing.”
Damien and I lock eyes and then he smiles. It’s so heart-warming that for a moment I allow myself to be fooled by his charm. He extricates his arm from my shoulder, rises, and offers his hand. The music changes to a slow ballad. I take his hand and let him lead me to the dance floor.
Damien is an excellent dancer. I’ve always known this, but I never danced with him, even back then. He was always with some lucky girl or with other women who were lucky to gain his attention. Me, however, he always avoided.
And dancing with him now, even though it shouldn’t, feels life-changing. He holds me by the waist and whisks me around the floor. His feet are quick, but he makes it easy for me to follow his lead. When his hands touch my palm and waist, they ignite my skin, and my body perfectly aligns with his. And his scent…eight years later and he still smells as delicious as he did eight years ago. Sandalwood and spring water. Intoxicating.
Calm down Ivy, it’s just a dance.
We sway and swing along to the music in silence and after a couple of minutes he says, “Are you sure about the no sex thing?”
I’m too shocked by his question and I take a while to understand exactly what he’s asking. No sex between us was the stipulation in our contract. “Weren’t you the one who insisted on it?” I say.
“I can be allowed to change my mind.”
Damien has a talent for wrecking my axis with a few sentences. I’m sure he hates me. He has a good reason to do so. He vehemently stated that he didn’t want me, but now he wants me? What is this?
He sways me around the room, taking my breath at the same time. “What changed?” I ask.
He stares directly into my eyes. My spine tingles. “Don’t tell me you haven’t felt a thing between us?” He presses my waist into his body and I feel his hard cock. “I’ve been like this ever since I saw you in that wedding dress.”
“And you decided you wanted me after spitting in my face time and time again, then saying you’d rather die than fuck me.”
His hand slides up my body to the top of my back and down my waist, caressing my back in a way that makes my center pool with desire. “You feel it, don’t you? Or are you afraid that I’ll fuck you and you will remember how good that night was between ”
My phone rings at that moment and my attention darts to it. Lake. I want to answer it. It could be important. But if I do and Damien catches part of our conversation…
“What’s the matter?” Damien asks.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been obsessed with that phone the whole day. Is your boyfriend looking for you?”
“No.” I say too quickly and afraid that I might have exposed something about me, I add, “How long are we staying here? We leave tomorrow, right?”
His hand tightens on my waist. “You don’t want to go on a honeymoon?”
“I have work waiting for me.”
“Only work?”
“I thought you had a business thing you need to attend.”
“It got canceled.” We slow down as the music slows down, about to end. “Or are you afraid your boyfriend will know you’re secretly getting married? Wait, is that the reason you want to keep this on the down low?” I glare at him and he chuckles. “Fine. I’ll drop it.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
His nostrils flare. “Then you shouldn’t have an issue making love to your husband on your wedding night.”
“Making love?”
“Fucking. Don’t you want to know if things are still good between us?”
I do. I want to so much. But what happens after that? I don’t trust myself to have unemotional sex with Damien and call it a day. Any other man, yes. Damien? Never. “I would rather sleep in my bed alone, thank you.”
The song ends and Damien comes to a stop, but he doesn’t let go of me. He continues to stare into my eyes as if looking to see if I’m telling the truth. It is only after Dante and Corina clap he pulls away and turns to them.
“I think it’s about time Ivy and I went to bed.” I hate the implication of his statement. That Damien and I will be sleeping together, and it’s obvious that’s what his friends think as well.
Dante whips out a key card and comes over to us. “Here’s a honeymoon suite,” he says, handing Damien the card, “complements of the hotel.”
Damien slides his arm around my waist, takes the card with his other hand, and places it in his pocket. “Thanks.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Ivy?” the unspoken line is, “let’s go.” I should reject him. I should show him I won’t play along with his game. But I need him more than he needs me. I nod, take his arm, and bid goodbye to everyone while a drunk Terry screams ribald jokes at us. The ever-professional Nicole, however, sits still, her attention on her phone.
“Are you sure you don’t want me?” He says as soon as the elevator doors close and the glass cylinder whisks us up to the suite. Leaning against the rail, he appears like a carefree aristocrat with his undone bowtie and the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looks tempting. Deliciously so. “It could be our only night together. No one has to know.” He says the last sentence in a low and sultry tone that shakes my resolve.
“So you can spit at me the next morning? You already did that, remember?”
His mood darkens. The playful seductiveness is gone. “And whose fault was that?”
Mine. That’s what I get for playing with fire. The consequences reverberated and are still reverberating to this day. Hell, I am here because of what happened that night. Damien is a burning ember that should not be toyed with. I would be a fool to not have learned that lesson.
The elevator comes to a stop and opens to a corridor with very few doors. This must be an exclusive floor, from the looks of it. There was no one else on it except for a man just coming out of another elevator and going to a room a few doors down from our own.
Damien stops in front of the door and hesitates putting the card in. While staring at the card, he says, “I wanted you too. That night. When we made love and almost killed each other with passion. I wanted you before you approached me.”
I take a sharp intake of breath and feel as if the wind has been taken out of me. He has to be lying. He’s saying this now because he wants to get in my pants. “Damien. If you think—”
He turns around, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me.
The kiss is explosive, wild, and magical. His tongue teases and taunts mine as it prods deeper and deeper, coaxing. Demanding. My knees go weak and I cling to his jacket as he swings me around and presses me against the door. I hear a click, followed by the support of the door disappearing.
We enter the room. Him dancing forward and I dancing back. I am aware of nothing else but him. His body. His lips. His hard erection. I rub myself against it. Fuck. I want him.
“You do?” he says.
I must have said it out loud.
“Yes,” I whisper against his lips and reclaim his mouth. My lips brush against his for a few seconds before he leans back. I lean forward, but I don’t feel his lips. I open my eyes. He is staring right into my eyes, victory shining in his.
“I knew you were lying,” he says. “You’ve always been desperate for me.”
The fire burning inside me cools in an instant. All of this is a play for him. Suddenly, I feel embarrassed about my wanton behavior. Eight years later, and I can’t resist him. I pull myself out of his arms and dart my gaze around the room, taking it in for the first time. It’s an enormous suite. We’re in the foyer and I can see the trail of petals going from the foyer to a sunken living area, then beyond the enormous bedroom with the doors open. There’s a hot tub in the corner. Bottles of iced champagne and strawberries are strategically placed around the suite. Everything in here is mocking me. My husband most of all. He incenses me. He irritates me. Smiling. Smirking. Fuck him.
I slap his obnoxious face.