Chapter 16
Damian
Ididn't move in exactly, mostly because she didn't have any closet space for my stuff. I would have to bring a change of clothes every day, I decided.
Thirty-six hours after I found Emilia crumpled on her floor, she was back to normal
Now after a week of living together and sleeping in the same bed (without having sex), we were comfortable with each other.
Roommates with sexual tension!
"I have a restaurant," I told her as we drank coffee one morning. I got croissants from the bakery across the street. They were damn good, especially with the French butter that Emilia had in her fridge.
"What does that mean?" she retorted, breaking a piece of croissant off.
"I have a fifty percent stake at a French restaurant. We have dinner reservations for Friday night."
"We do?" she mused.
My lips curved into a smile. I don't know why I thought she was mousy and quiet because Emilia Winters was no such thing. She could stand her ground. She gave in to people she cared about because she cared about them and wanted to make them like her.
"Mrs. Emilia Archer, may I have the kind pleasure of your company to a beautiful French restaurant this Friday evening."
She smiled. "Yes, Mr. Damian Archer, you may."
"You need to buy a dress," I added.
"Are you telling me that I need to buy a dress or are you asking, hey, do you need to buy a dress?"
My wife was a pain in the ass. I liked it. I liked her. A lot.
"Do you need to buy a dress?"
She shook her head.
"Because I can have a fashion buyer bring down—"
"I can dress myself, Damian. I've been doing it for many years now.”
I didn't want to insult her or ruin this relaxed place we were in, but I also wanted her to know that as an Archer, she would be expected to dress accordingly—and if she didn't, the gossip sites and the society bitches would tear her apart.
"I'm just saying that I'm not expecting you to have something suitable in your closet." Actually, I'd been there, and I knew she didn’t have date-worthy clothes. Most of her wardrobe was casual, with the rest consisting of dull work attire.
"I got this, Damian. I promise I won't embarrass you."
I put a hand on hers. "You could never embarrass me. You drive me up the wall. You lick your lips all the time and make me hard. You argue with me until I want to spank your ass raw. But you never make me wish you were anything but you."
Her eyes sparkled with tears, and it gutted me to think that she had probably heard the exact opposite of what I had just said her entire life. Her family had always expected her to conform.
"How very Bridget Jones of you!" She lightened the mood.
"I don't get the connection."
"There's this line in the movie where Darcy tells Bridget that he likes her just the way she is. Not thinner, prettier, cuter or whatever, just the way she is."
"Well, call me Mr. Darcy," I said playfully.
She didn't smile.
"Are you okay?" I asked her.
She shrugged. "Why do you and my parents think that I'm going to not know how to behave in social settings?"
I was taken aback by that question. "I don't think that." But I did. I was worried that she'd dress in a way not suitable for an Archer.
"Yes, you do," she stated sadly. "I'm not clueless. I know how to take care of myself. I know how to dress and how to wear makeup. I choose to be comfortable in my daily life, but I know how to…anyway, look, maybe it's better if we just stay home for dinner."
She'd suddenly gone from joking about Bridget Fucking Jones to looking so forlorn that I wanted to buy her a goddamn puppy or teddy bear.
"What the fuck happened?" I demanded.
"Nothing." She picked up her backpack. "I have to get to the museum."
"You didn't have to quit Archer Galleries, Emilia. We could—"
"Do you have any idea how I've been treated?" she cut in.
I did know but I didn't say anything. How could I when I'd done nothing to prevent it; hell, I hadn't bothered to find out about it.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.
"Every time I came by your office, your EA told me you were busy. And she doesn't like me."
"She's friends with Bianca but I hope she's always been professional with you. If she hasn't, I will get rid of her," I assured Emilia.
She laughed mirthlessly. "How many people will you get rid of, Damian? Archer Galleries treated me horribly. I felt like I was back in high school, and no one wanted me to sit with them at the lunch table."
"That's not the kind of company we are."
"All evidence to the contrary."
"I…don't know what to say?" I was embarrassed that my wife had been treated poorly because she was my wife. Emilia as just Emilia would have been liked. Her skill as an artist, her optimism, her cheerfulness…all of that would've made her a beloved colleague.
"That's exactly the kind of company you are," she accused without heat. "I'll come to your restaurant, if just to prove to you that I'm not some uncouth country bumpkin who doesn't know how to behave in public."
Enough was enough.
I stood in front of her, my hands on her shoulders. "Don't put words in my mouth. You have nothing to prove to me. Remember, I like you just the way you are."
"Please!" She rolled her eyes. "Bridget Jones jokes aside, you think I'm not suited to be Mrs. Archer."
I stroked her cheek. "You're not, Emilia," told her softly. It was true. She was too soft for our world.
She stepped away from me and I saw a world of hurt in her eyes. "I know that. The truth is, I don't want to be Mrs. Archer. I just want to always be me and be liked for who I am."
I didn't know what the hell to say to that. But what I did know was that I had things to fix at Archer Galleries, especially in the art restoration department that drove my sweet Em away.