Chapter 19
MAE
DAMON SHAW IS ALWAYS RIGHT.
And his dress selection, which best compliments my figure and skin tone, is no exception. He delivered me a beautifully wrapped package, its contents an exquisite ball gown, midnight blue in color, with a splash of dark gems sweeping across the delicate Arabian silk.
Smoothing the fabric over my hips, I check my reflection once more before applying jasmine oil below my ears and on my wrists.
There.
Studying my reflection, I realize the last time I looked like this was my wedding day. A grandiose mistake I wish I’d never made. Taking a deep breath, I exhale the nerves responsible for the slight tremble of my hands.
I’m on edge, soon to be in an unfamiliar environment with Peter too close for comfort. Reminding myself that Damon has my back, I allow my feet to carry me toward the door. Retrieving my clutch on the way out, I take to the stairs and see Nour standing attentively by the main entrance. He catches my eye and delivers a gracious nod of approval.
This must be how it feels to be a royal or at least be the guest of the Crowned Prince of Dubai.
I round the corner into the living room, Damon double-taking when he sees me for the first time. His conversation with Jason hangs midsentence, his adoring gaze all for me.
“Breathtaking,” he says while approaching, his stride confident and commanding. “Absolutely stunning.”
Heat colors my cheeks, not only from the way Damon is looking at me but also because Jason and Marco are behind him, watching the interaction. He leans in, tenderly kissing my cheek, and hands me a small gift.
“What’s this?”
“A little something to compliment your dress.”
I open the box, and staring back at me is a stunning white gold necklace with a brilliant sapphire pendant with four diamonds either side.
“Damon, this is too much. This is gorgeous, but—”
“But, it’s yours. Please accept it as a gift from me to you.”
He pulls the piece free and steps behind me, my eyes fluttering closed when feeling his body press against mine. Damon sweeps my loose, straight hair over one shoulder and clasps the necklace around my neck, his fingers brushing already tingling skin before trailing a provocative path down my bare arms. Then he returns to me, admiring what he sees.
“Just as I imagined it would look on you.”
“Thank you. I adore it.”
“Always.” Damon pulls me into his arms—where I feel most at home—his lips drawn to mine for a final kiss before we depart. It’s sincerely tender, intimate, and I sense his longing to lead me up the stairs where we can lock ourselves away.
I wouldn’t say no.
But time is pressing, and a lot is riding on tonight’s success.
“How incredibly handsome you are,” I murmur between kisses. His tailor-made tux compliments his muscular physique, and it’s hard not to be enraptured by his presence. Reluctantly pulling away, I trace a glimpse of his sleeve tattoo peeking beyond the shirt cuff. “You’re like a bad-boy lord.”
His lips quirk, and he raises a brow in amusement.
“Like my own Lord Henry Wotton…” I continue, “… just more intelligent with far less questionable philosophies and certainly better-looking.”
Damon closes in again but this time, his lips brush my ear. “I love it when you talk nerd. It’s incredibly sexy on you.”
I lean into his touch. “And I love that you’re a closet nerd yourself, Mr. First Editions.”
I feel his smile against my cheek, my heart thudding in delight.
Jason, ever our timekeeper, clears his throat. “As much as discussing book characters is exciting for the rest of us, we have a ball to attend in the Arabian desert without the help of a flying carpet. So, let’s go.”
~
“This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”
After driving through a path of endless lanterns between the rolling sand dunes and beneath the diamond-like stars, we arrive in what feels like the heart of the desert, far removed from the city lights.
“Welcome to the Sarab, Arabic for Mirage,” Damon says, taking my hand and leading down the red carpet. “Or at least, the site where it will be built.”
“All the way out here?”
“The prince has an obsession for all things otherworldly, hence the location.”
We walk arm in arm while I marvel at what’s ahead. An enormous stage appears to be levitating above the sand dunes with the help of genius engineering. Clear stairs lined with red carpet lead us to where we’re greeted by black-tie servers, handing us each a champagne. Ahead, a bejeweled opera singer serenades guests with the aid of a quartet ensemble. Everything glitters courtesy of several extravagant chandeliers, all appearing to be hanging from the inky sky.
“Damon. Jason,” greets an unfamiliar voice belonging to a studious-looking American man. He wears a wide smile on his friendly face as the brothers take turns shaking his hand. When it looks like he’s about to address me, Jason steps in front and blocks my view before steering the man away.
How odd.
I turn to Damon, whose shoulders are now tense. “A friend of yours?”
“An associate .”
“Sir. Madam,” a stunning female host, who’s as glittery as the chandeliers, appears, putting an end to further questions. I’d be lying if I said the Shaw brothers’ reaction to the ‘associate’ didn’t come with a familiar sense of unease. “I welcome you to the Sarab. Please follow me.”
Keeping my hand neatly tucked in his, we’re guided to a white-clothed, floral-adorned table, which will seat Damon, Jason, Marco and me. Since Peter and his newly hired security traveled separately from us, I’m yet to see them. That, however, hasn’t kept the nerves at bay. The man has a strong history for using public spaces to humiliate me, and an event like this could be used to his advantage.
“Masa’ al-khair,” Faheem, the prince’s assistant, greets the table with a warm smile. We all stand, and Damon is first to shake his hand before he addresses me. “Ms. Ellison, it’s a pleasure to have you here with us this evening.”
For a split second, I wonder if there was much of a choice. “Thank you so much.”
“Of course,” he nods. “You are all our special guests, so please personally make me aware of anything you should need.”
“Get them anything they ask.” Now, a man with impeccable English and who I recognize emerges from behind Faheem. I’d seen the prince’s likeness on half a dozen posters and murals on the drive to the desert. Damon and the royal embrace each other like old friends, sharing a humorous exchange before he welcomes the rest of the table.
He turns to me. “And you must be the Mae Ellison.”
Damon places a comforting hand on the small of my back. “That’s me.”
The man who tallies more prefixes than the average royal takes my hand and brings it to his lips. “The talented artist,” he kisses. “You are more breathtaking than I imagined.” He continues holding onto me, mischief playing in his kind eyes. “I am President Ziyad, but you can call me Prince, Sheikh, or just Ziyad, your choice. And I can assure you, I’m much better company than either of these two.”
With a restrained smile, Damon clears his throat. “You might find Mae agreeing with you on that one.”
I steal a glance up at him, his wink sending my stomach into a flutter. Returning my attention to our host, I reply, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He releases my hand and addresses the group. “This is a very important night, gentlemen. One that has been long in the making. It’s an exciting and prosperous chapter for us and something that will get the world talking. I trust you have everything under control?” Prince Ziyad looks between the men.
“Of course. Our engineer isn’t far behind us,” Damon states, referring to Peter.
So, this is what it has led to.
This is the finale of what began almost seven months ago.
This very moment.
It’s an oddly magical way to bring it to a close, and something I didn’t expect after the mayhem of the first dinner party. My mind however, finds itself at war with questions I haven’t dared to ask.
How differently could things have been had I not been blackmailed or Peter’s past been brought to light.
What repercussions would Peter and I have faced individually had he rejected the offer?
What if Damon had never fallen for me?
What if I was at the mercy of his wrath rather than his unexpected favor?
Sensing my apprehension, Damon takes my hand in his. It’s warm and comforting, and when his thumb begins a rhythmic caress, the battle inside my head abates. For now.
“Mae, I would like you to meet my wife as soon as she steps away from conversation,” the prince says. “She has a great patron of the arts, for which she is in charge of purchasing. Damon showed me some of your work last night, and I have to say, I think my wife will very much become your best commissioner.”
“Truly?” I’m floored that a member from a royal family would give my work any consideration.
“Sincerely,” he promises, removing any suspicion that perhaps this was a ‘special favor’ among friends.
“That is so incredibly flattering and unexpected. Thank you.”
“The pleasure is ours. Now, please enjoy your evening.” Prince Ziyad nods to each of us and bids his farewell.
I turn to Damon, who waits to slide me and my chair toward the table. “Sounds like you did an awful lot of talking about me last night.”
The corners of his lip twitch. “Sweetheart, you were all we spoke about.”
“Really?” I whisper when he pulls out his seat next to mine.
He leans close, his scent intoxicating. “I happen to enjoy talking about you.”
“That’s honestly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Damon kisses my cheek and lingers when I lean into him. “Then I’ll have to outdo myself.”
~
MAE
“Showtime.”
Following Marco’s line of sight, I find Peter flanked by two nonuniformed guards walking up the stairs.
A sudden rush of anxiety causes my palms to sweat and my heart rate to spike.
On either side of me, the brothers share a knowing glance before placing their linen napkins on the table and standing.
“I’m sorry to leave you during dinner, sweetheart,” Damon says, kissing my forehead. “This is rather pressing. Give me ten minutes.”
I nod, then watch mingling guests move aside like Moses parting the Red Sea for the two men they know to be in favor with the prince.
Money attracts money.
And money can buy a lot of favors.
Someone who doesn’t hold the same powerful influence is Peter. He weaves through the bodies like it’s a maze, falling in and out of sight. The Shaw brothers don’t acknowledge his presence. Instead, they bypass him altogether, leaving Marco to pull him into line.
I sip my champagne and listen to the dramatic voice of the opera singer performing a rendition of ‘You Broke Me First’ . Then, true to his word, at the ten-minute mark, Damon emerges. Our eyes lock and remain that way as he crosses the floor, powerful in his intent and objective. He’s buttoning up his suit jacket, veined hands making me wish he was undoing me. He grins, reading my thoughts like he does on almost every occasion.
“Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand.
“We’re leaving?”
“No, but I have something I want to show you.” He dangles a set of keys from his fingers as he leads me down the stairs and to the vehicle drop-off point.
Quickstepping to keep pace, I ask, “Where are we going?”
Halting in front of a Jeep, Damon opens the passenger side and helps me climb in. “On an adventure,” is all he says before closing the door. He removes his suit jacket, and once inside, checks behind his seat and then the glove box. He retrieves nothing both times but appears satisfied.
Starting the engine, he puts the Jeep in gear, and instead of driving back the way we came, he turns, cutting through the gap of two lanterns, and takes us up and over the sand dunes. He navigates the terrain with ease like he does everything with skilled perfection. We drive for around five minutes until the ball is nothing more than a dull glow in the distance. Other than the Jeep’s headlights, there’s only darkness ahead.
I look over at him, his features barely illuminated by the muted dashboard lights. “Is this where you kill me?”
Damon laughs but doesn’t confirm or deny.
Finally, coming to a stop with endless desert surrounding us, Damon revisits the earlier areas of interest. He pulls a black torch from the glove box and reaches for a blanket behind his seat. Once exiting the car, I lose him to the night’s shadows.
“What on earth are you up to?” I murmur to no one.
Eternity passes, and he’s still not back. Distracted by squinting into the dark void ahead, I jump when there’s a sudden knock on my window, followed by my door swinging open.
“Holy shit, Damon.” My hand settles over my racing heart.
“Expecting someone else?”
“No, but I also wasn’t expecting to be separated from the pack and driven to a perfect burial location.”
He fights a smile. “Do I make you nervous, Mae Ellison?”
“You have from the moment I met you.”
Damon leans into the cab, and his imposing presence instantly dwarfs me. He reaches around to unbuckle my belt, his lips grazing my ear, “It’s one of my favorite memories of you.”
A shiver of delight creates goose bumps on my skin, and while he can’t see it, Damon is fully aware of the effect he continues to have over me.
Effortlessly, I’m scooped into his arms, and he flicks on the torch.
“You won’t be able to walk in the sand with those heels, and I prefer you keep some protection on your feet.” He carries me past the car, the torch barely illuminating a few steps in front.
“Why, what’s going to eat my feet?”
“Nothing’s going to eat you except me, but you might get stung by a scorpion.”
I don’t know how to react to either predicament. “They’re both a little terrifying.”
“I’m glad you think so.” The promise in his tone has me involuntarily clenching my thighs.
Having reached our final destination, Damon carefully places me on the blanket before joining my side. Then he switches off the torch. “Lay down,” he gently orders, and I bite my lip in the safety of the darkness. Then he adds, playfully interjecting my thoughts, “Don’t get any ideas.”
“How do you always seem to know what’s on my mind?”
“I know a lot about you, Mae. Your fears. Your passions. Your intricacies.” He turns me on my side to face him so there’s a ruler-length gap between us. “How you love moments of wonderment.”
My words are lost somewhere in the Arabian desert. My thoughts, however, are a mess, attempting to make sense of how a man like Damon Shaw is as enamored with me as I am with him, especially given how our relationship was birthed.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He flicks on the torch, its blue light pointing up like a mini lightsaber. “Give it a minute,” he urges, allowing his beautiful eyes to linger on mine. After another few moments, he quietly asks, “Do you see it now?”
Dropping my gaze to the light, I’m in complete awe. “What on earth?”
“The blue light is UV, so it makes everything that’s white or translucent glow.”
The cylindrical blue light has captured hundreds of fine particles of sand and pieces of dust of varying lengths, all moving independently, slowly spiraling or orbiting in the space. It’s a miniature galaxy trapped inside the light, the dust and sand shimmering like stars and traversing like space junk. “It’s as if you have singlehandedly created another universe.”
A smile spreads across his handsome face. “Crazy, isn’t it?”
“It’s hypnotic.”
We both lay still for quite some time, spellbound by having space at our fingertips.
Damon glances up to the sky. “Now it’s time for the real show.” He flicks off the torch, plunging us into darkness once more and pulls me close. “Okay, look up.”
“Oh, my…”
“Isn’t it something…”
The moving clouds unveil a blanket of stars that pepper the black sky like discarded diamonds.
“It’s beyond beautiful.” I’ve stargazed before, but it’s never been this decorated. The stars are huge and feel close enough that I could reach up, plunge my hand into the inky galaxy, and collect a handful of jewels. I search for Damon’s hand, and at the same time, he reaches for mine. My heart lurches. I’m feeling something so unexpected. Something I would never have imagined possible a mere three weeks ago. “Thank you,” I whisper, so grateful for the experience he one hundred percent knew I would adore.
“Always.”
We lay in comfortable silence for quite some time before the clouds start to reclaim the sky. I turn to face him, nestling tight despite the dry warmth. “You know so much about me, but beyond what you do for a living and your love of art and literature, I know next to nothing about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
So many things.
“Are you close with your parents?”
“They’ve both passed.”
I wince, regretting the insensitive question. “I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless thing to ask.”
“Not at all. It’s just a difficult one to answer.” Damon caresses my arm while he takes a moment to put his life into words. “I used to think the word of my father was gospel, as most sons do. He taught us the ins and outs of business, the good and the ugly. But mostly, he led by example in corrupt and unethical behavior. His theory was that no one did honest business, and that with any sign of weakness, the sharks will circle. Our work ethic comes from him. And, I’ll admit, the unethical decisions I’ve made along the way have stemmed from his influence. I’ve come to understand that these last few weeks. Being with you, it’s been quite the revelation.”
Unlike Peter, Damon carries the burden of guilt for the role he’s played. It’s evident in his eyes, his touch, and his promise to make it right.
“This might sound particularly odd given everything that’s happened…” he continues, “… but you remind Jason of our mother.”
I don’t hide my surprise. “Really?”
“The last thing you expected to hear, right?”
“I’m still not sure if I believe it.”
“Well, I was too young to remember anything in great detail when she passed, but Jason holds a lot of memories. We can both agree that you have the same nature. She was warm, genteel, and had this flare for life like she saw color far more vividly than the rest of us. Unfortunately, my mother was also overly tolerant of the men in her life.” He pauses before adding, “Sound familiar?”
Damon’s vulnerability etches onto my heart. The way he’s trying to gather the words, to admit failings, and reflect on a woman he so desperately needed in his life sounds like this may be the first time he’s spoken of it aloud.
“Jason didn’t see it initially which is why he was less than hospitable, and I am sorry that you were not better protected from him.” He takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles. “The contract was my creation, and the pressure of it clouded his judgment. Mine too. But as time passed, my brother saw the effect it was having on you because he’d seen it all those years before.”
“What happened?” I ask of their mother. I feel him shift and, under the faint glow of the moon, I make out his face staring up in the sky, drawing upon memories that probably haunted him as a child.
“My father dragged my mother through hell purely for enjoyment. Day in, day out. Any chance he could get. He was such a selfish bastard, never recognizing what she did for him or how she forgave all the bullshit. It was just one big, relentless attack. My father broke her just like Peter’s done to you. Like I have done to you. Then, somewhere along the way, she lost touch with the desire to live.”
Oh no.
“She’d endured hours of his abuse. He had this bellowing voice that could shake the entire house. There was never anything he could pin on her because she was an angel. But he used her as target practice, hitting the bullseye every time. He’d essentially hollowed out her reason for living. That day, soon after closing the door on him, she walked straight into another battle with Jason. He was a typical teenage boy not getting his own way, but he carried my father’s abusive traits so the impact was felt deep down into her dying soul. She didn’t discipline him for his outburst. She never even uttered a word. Instead, he told me he’d seen the last flicker of light fade from her green eyes. She’d given up. There was no more reserve in her tank. No more cards to play to have the men in her life love her. But we did love her. We just didn’t know how to show it because we emulated our father.”
I know all too well the feeling Damon is describing, but I hate that two young boys were forced to carry that burden.
“After the damage was done, my mother disappeared down the hall, and Jason stormed off to his room. He said that he felt like something was just wrong , a gut feeling. My only recollection of that day was hearing him yelling, desperately calling out to her as he tore through the house. By the time he ran down the stairs and found her, it was too late.”
Oh my God.
Sitting up, I wipe my damp cheeks and feel Damon do the same. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m heartbroken for the both of you.”
He kisses my forehead and lingers, the confession hopefully bringing him some peace.
“I didn’t bring you out here to upset you,” he says, tilting my face to meet his. “I can’t go back in time to change what happened with my parents despite wanting to. But that doesn’t mean I need to carry on the same destructive traits my father possessed. You’re a fighter, Mae. I’ve always said that about you. But all fighters have a breaking point, and I’m so sorry I contributed to yours. When all this started, I had no idea how you’d affect me. But as soon as you walked into my house for the very first time, things weren’t going to end how I thought they would. I simply wasn’t prepared for you .”
Coming from Damon, the words further entwine us together. There is no going back for either of us. “I wasn’t prepared for you, either.”
“I know you weren’t, sweetheart, in more ways than one. I’m not that man anymore, Mae. I won’t ever hurt you. But that monster that lurks inside me is far from dead because I’d do anything to protect you. I’d kill for you if I had to, and I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”
I don’t proclaim to know the intricacies of his life, but I believe every word of what Damon says, even the bits that terrify me the most. And I’m okay with that.
Like the magnetism that always existed between us, our lips draw together so tenderly, it heals a part of my heart I thought was irreparable. His hand cups the back of my neck, our kiss deepening into something possessive and with a new understanding of each other. With my hand on his chest, I push him back onto the blanket and adjust my dress so I can straddle his waist, his erection pressing between my thighs.
“What you’re doing is illegal, Ms. Ellison,” he says, a smile in his tone.
“Well, lucky you’re a man with all the right connections.”
Reaching underneath, I unzip his pants and pull him free from his underwear while moving my own aside. I rise, aligning his cock before sinking on his great length. We both groan against the sensation, Damon gently lifting his hips under me to break through the tightness. When the pain finally ebbs, I ride him with a slow grind, his hands cupping my face and pulling me back down into another tender kiss, his tongue caressing mine. After putting himself in such a vulnerable position discussing his family tragedy, this, our connection, feels more intimate than all other occasions.
Then he goes and says four little words that break me in the best possible way.
“I love you, Mae.”
~
“Can I have this dance?”
Having only just arrived back at the ball, Damon awaits my answer, and when I smile, he steers me onto the dance floor and guides me into his arms.
“Let me guess…” I smile, looking up at him, relishing the warmth of his body, “… you’re as skilled at dancing as you are with everything else.”
His lips quirk. “I have moves.”
Under the warm glow of the glittering chandelier, the entire evening could be mistaken for Cinderella meets Arabian Nights . Something out of a magical storybook, and somehow, despite it not being on my radar, I’ve managed to find my own prince. Remaining completely enamored with each other, we waltz around the dance floor to the raw and vulnerable lyrics of ‘Wonderful’ by Tones and I.
This entire evening feels like a fairy tale, and I never want to read ‘The End.’
“You’re thinking,” Damon teases with a gentleness he only seems to have just for me.
“I am.”
He cocks his brow in question.
“I’m thinking about how much I love you too.”
His smile is rich in happiness, and it fills my heart with an extraordinary measure of hope.
Then, like all good things, the song draws to a close and Faheem apologetically beckons Damon to join Prince Ziyad, who’s locked in a business discussion.
“Go,” I urge.
Damon kisses my lips with a regret I also feel. “Sorry, sweetheart. I won’t be long.”
Faheem requests Jason to join them, and Marco follows, winking when he passes me. Not long after I sit back at the table, the American friend of the Shaws occupies Damon’s seat.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We didn’t get a chance to meet earlier. I’m Adam.”
“I’m Mae.”
He shakes my hand before sliding his glasses further up his nose. Looking over his shoulder to where the men are engaged in discussion, Adam cuts straight to the chase. “So, you and Damon make a striking couple.”
Feeling the weight of his stare, I can’t tell of his sincerity. He seems friendly enough, but so did Peter when we first met. “Thank you. I’d like to think so.”
“I must say it’s rather strange seeing him with a woman.”
What?
My quizzical expression sees him correct himself.
“What I mean is, he’s always on his own. So, to suddenly see him with a woman means things must be pretty serious. Good for him. And for you, too, of course.”
The flutter in my stomach has me wishing that to be true, but talking about it with someone other than Damon feels wrong like it allows others into the intimacy bubble we’ve created.
So, I move the attention off me. “You and Damon are good friends?”
He smiles and again looks over his shoulder. “Ah… yes. We’ve known each other for quite a long time. We went to school together.”
“Are you a developer also?”
“Oh no. When we graduated from university with complementing degrees, it made sense to work on projects together.”
“Complementing how? How do you fit into all of this?”
He tilts his head to the side while forming his answer. An answer he seems a little unsure about. “Well, I suppose at the moment, you could say I’m the unofficial engineer.”
Engineer? Peter’s role.
“What does that mean, unofficial ?”
Adam hesitates, but his loose lips get the better of him. “I don’t know how much Damon talks shop with you, but this build is a little risky . And that’s putting it mildly.”
I nod, needing elaboration. “Yes, he has mentioned it’s high risk. But I’m sorry, I’m not catching on where the unofficial part comes in.”
“Well, I’ve done all Shaw contracts for the better half of a decade. There’s not one that I’ve refused, except for this one. As I said, it’s risky. The groundwork isn’t what it should be, and realistically, it could never be. The testing performed so far hasn’t been supportive of the monstrosity to which Prince Ziyad is attached. And I’m more convinced something will go wrong with it than I am that it won’t . So, I was happy to walk away from this contract. I told Damon and Jason they should play it smart and follow suit, but I guess once a deal has been made with the prince, it’s difficult to retract. Plus, there’s a whole lot of money they stand to lose by dropping the contract. So, in order to move forward, they came up with an alternative, and here we are. I agreed to work on making the build as safe as possible, but my name is not to be on any contracts or accompanying paperwork.”
Holy shit.
Hearing out loud the real reason behind why Peter and I were dragged into this in the first place has me disgusted and nauseous. Who in their right mind would agree to something so horrendously risky? I had an inkling. There were red flags from the beginning. I raised my concerns repeatedly and was dismissed and attacked by each of the men for standing my ground. I wanted answers. The truth. But these assholes, with seemingly no moral compass, will just fuck anyone over for the sake of money.
Damon looks over his shoulder at me, double-taking when he notices Adam at the table. There’s a flicker of concern before he whispers to Jason, who also turns to meet my gaze. They never wanted Adam and me to make introductions.
Panic sees my heart thudding so hard it hurts.
Before he’s run off, I seek clarification. “So, your name won’t be on the contract because someone else’s will be? That’s very clever protecting yourself.”
He nods, unaware of my angle. “Correct. The poor schmuck was here before signing his name. He must be getting paid a pretty sum, but I still wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. I’m excellent at what I do, but…” Adam sighs, resigned to the grim fate this contract holds, “… I am not a miracle worker.”
“And what happens if something does go wrong?”
“If?” He shakes his head. “ When is more accurate. Here in the UAE, if something goes wrong, for example, the building collapses, the engineer is solely liable. All the blame would fall squarely on my shoulders despite my protests. Financially, one could never recover, but if anyone dies because something structurally fails, well, that poor idiot, if on UAE soil, can expect death too.”
~
MAE
Silence.
It’s deafening.
It’s an hour’s trip back to the Burj Al Arab, and not one word is uttered. Tension hangs thick in the air like a storm cloud, ready burst at any moment. Marco absently stares out the window. Having experienced a brief moment of peace after the contract was signed, Jason has returned to being stony-faced and uptight. And Damon, with an elbow propped on the door, idly strokes his jaw, lost in contemplation.
I want to see the brothers differently after Damon revealed their troubled past, but I can’t accommodate the sinking feeling in my gut. The two of them are a destructive force, lacking even a breath of morality that makes someone human.
Their greed saw me becoming the pawn they needed, and they gave zero fucks about how they could move me around the chess board in order to achieve their insane objective. I was an instrumental piece to be used and traumatized along the way just so they could commit to ridiculous financial gain and recognition, with a when , not if , the occurrence of something catastrophic occurring.
It doesn’t make any sense that he agreed to it in the first place. Damon is a genius. How could he have allowed himself to be put in this position?
As I sit there in the darkness, I realize, that isn’t all. There’s something else at play, and as my eyes dart between them, and when they both make a concerted effort to avoid me, my anger rises from the pits of hell.
When we finally pull up at the hotel, I ignore Damon’s offered hand to help me from the car, and together, we walk to the elevator like a group of strangers.
We enter the express lift to the suite and are greeted by the Nour, “Good evening, Mr. Shaw and Ms. Ellison. How was your evening?”
“Fine, thank you.” While polite in reply, Damon has no interest in further pleasantries, which makes the twenty seconds to the Royal Suite feel like two hours. When the doors open and we step into the foyer, closing us off from the rest of the world, he turns, meeting me head-on, albeit lost for words. “Mae…” With a sinking heart, I realize I’m not going to get the explanation I deserve. “Come join me in the shower,” he says in a way to smooth things over.
“You go ahead. I just need a minute.” I attempt to sound light and unaffected, but he can see it written across my face.
After a long, excruciating moment, he obliges. “Okay.”
He takes to the stairs, and when I hear the shower running, I move to the office. Despite work spread across the desk, his briefcase is open and set to the side. I flick through what looks to be folded building plans, artist sketches of the monstrous build, and contracts with various trades. Nothing that stands out, and there’s nothing referring to the engineer. When I find stapled files pertaining to the conveyancer for soil testing, I pull them out and set them aside since Adam spoke explicitly about the foundations. I keep searching through the suitcase pocket until I recognize the envelope.
That envelope contains images of my husband’s infidelities with his assortment of prostitutes. Next to it is another identical envelope, and while I hesitate even to touch it, I remind myself that it’s all or nothing. There simply is no backing out now. Pulling it free, I search through the series of images, some taken recently, others from CCTV footage taken over a year ago. No matter what version they are in, the purpose is clear.
“What in the hell.”
Why would Damon have these?
I’ve told him everything.
So, unless he knows something I don’t, the photographs should mean nothing. Right?
The problem is, Damon Shaw doesn’t waste time and energy. There are reasons and purpose for every detail he collects.
And now, with the magic of the Arabian desert wearing off, everything suddenly becomes a lie.
Every.
Damn.
Thing.