Chapter Forty-Three Damion
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“There’s nothing quite like being led through the streets of New York by the girl of your dreams. Grab on to those fingers, and just let her show you the way.”
—Remington
Damion
“You are impossible, Nebraska.”
“But I was right,” she said with a giggle, dropping her pencil onto the table. “So tell me how to say it.”
I rolled my eyes because she was ridiculous.
Ridiculous in my kitchen, praise Jesus.
“Avevo ragione,” I said, leaning closer, my arm resting on the back of her chair while I made sure my lips touched the shell of her ear, because I fucking loved the way that always made her shiver.
“Avevo ragione,” she repeated with a huge grin, and I felt like I’d won something when I felt the shiver. “I. Was. Right.”
“You’re really becoming an obnoxious student.”
“I learned from the very best tutor,” she teased, and then she dropped a smart-ass kiss on my cheek. “Am I done now?”
“One more problem,” I said, pointing my finger at the math worksheet.
“Fine,” she said with a pout, then started in on the equation.
I watched her, the way her arched eyebrows scrunched together and her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip while she made her calculations, and I wondered if I had time to sneak her up to my room before my parents got home.
I knew I didn’t, and I also knew she wouldn’t blow off the math.
My dedicated pupil.
I took a long drink of water and wondered how it’d only been two weeks.
Two weeks of this. Two blissful fucking weeks.
Meeting at her locker every morning so I could get my Julia fix before the day began. Lunches in the courtyard, away from everyone else. Long strolls in the park, walking her cat while the trees shed their leaves, while her gloved hand warmed mine and she attempted to recognize birdcalls.
Texting and FaceTiming, kissing in bodegas, showering her with the Zabar’s chocolate babka she was a hundred percent obsessed with; I was obsessed with all of it.
I was obsessed with her.
Because being with her was different from being with anyone else. She gave me all of her, every little bit, with zero expectations.
She didn’t care what I was going to do with my life, she didn’t care what my last name was, and she didn’t give a shit about what my reputation was at the academy.
She wanted nothing from me, and it was perfection.
Julia just smiled and I was happy, happier than I’d maybe been in my entire fucking life.
That sounded asinine, pathetically lovesick, but it was the honest-to-God truth.
Honestly, life would be perfect if it weren’t for the tiny fact that I was avoiding her house.
Avoiding my lies.
It somehow hadn’t occurred to me until the first day we were “official” that I was screwed.
So, so screwed.
How would I ever explain to her that my uncle was her benefactor and that I’d been in her house hundreds of times—but never mentioned it?
She’d never understand, and with each passing day I didn’t say anything, it got worse.
Suddenly the house I’d always loved was the one place I was avoiding.
“Oh no—look at the time,” Julia said, jumping out of her chair and grabbing her coat. “I have to go before they get home.”
I glanced at my watch and she was right. My parents would be home soon.
She had to go.
I helped her shove her books into her backpack and we were out of there, and the second we stepped outside, I felt better.
Because this was my favorite part of the day.
Walking her home in the dark, listening to her ramble about anything and everything while we traversed the blocks between our houses; I loved it.
“I can’t believe the ball is this weekend,” she said, lowering her chin more deeply into her scarf as the breeze blew in our faces.
God, I love what the wind does to her curls and her cheeks.
“I can’t wait to see you in your dress,” I said, chomping at the bit for that.
I still didn’t want to do the damn thing, but knowing she’d found some long red gown when she was back home, a gown that left her shoulders bare, had me in a frenzy.
It was obscene how into her I was.
“I’m so nervous, though,” she said, and I hated the look that crossed her face, the way that tiny crinkle of concern settled between her eyebrows whenever she worried about being judged.
It made me want to fight every single person who’d ever been an ass to her.
My past self included.
“Don’t be nervous,” I said, pulling her closer as we walked into Amsterdam Marketplace, where we had to stop and get her a side of fries every day on the way home.
It was out of the way, but they were her favorite, so we made it a priority, mostly because neither of us minded extending our time together with a longer walk.
“You’ll be with me, Nebraska, and I’ll take care of you. ”
She grinned up at me as we approached the counter. “Remember that time you told me you weren’t a nice guy?”
“Yeah?” I said, grabbing a bag of cassava chips.
“Well, you lied,” she said, grabbing a pack of bubble gum.
“No, I was telling the absolute truth,” I said, pulling out my phone to pay for the snacks. “I’m still not a nice guy, but being nice to you is my new favorite hobby.”