CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT DAMON
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
DAMON
THEN
TEN YEARS AGO
Ican’t take my eyes off her.
But then again, can I ever?
It’s part of the reason I hate her so fucking much, why her presence makes my skin crawl in a way no one else’s ever has.
Every time she steps into a room, I’m uniquely aware of her every move, of every breath she takes, of every smile she gives. It’s fucking torture.
I move through the motions, accepting congratulations from people I’ve never seen before, forcing a smile when it’s appropriate and holding Mikayla’s hand like it’s my only lifeline.
Which right now it is.
As much as I loathe the idea of marrying her, she’s drowning just as badly as I am, and that’s oddly comforting.
Dad stands beside me, his face stoic as he shakes people’s hands, not a lick of emotion in his cold dead eyes.
The day Mom died, so did he in a lot of ways, and I can’t remember the last time I saw him look anything other than apathetic.
“I’m just so happy for you both, you’re going to make such beautiful babies,” a woman gushes, her hand rubbing my arm in a way that’s too familiar for someone I’d never met before she stepped in front of me thirty seconds ago.
“Thank you for being here,” I grind out, squeezing Mikayla’s hand to stop me from forcibly removing this woman’s touch.
“Of course, dear. Ronald and I are so excited for the big day. Do you have a date in mind?”
“Next fall,” I reply at the same time my fiancé says, “This spring.”
I should have let Mikayla answer. She’s the only one involved in planning the wedding, and I do whatever I can to get out of being involved because I’ve made no secret of how little I want to be a part of this entire sham.
The woman laughs it off, squeezing my arm one last time before she wanders toward the open bar on the other side of the room.
The compound ballroom is rarely used, partly because now Mom is gone and there’s no one left to throw parties, and partly because Dad fucking hates having anyone within the walls.
If he had it his way, no one but our family and a few trusted staff members would ever come within the confines of the fortress he’s built.
But even I have to admit it looks beautiful tonight.
Fairy lights flood the decorative ceiling, while flowers and vines hang between them, transforming the space into something straight out of a fantasy novel.
From the limited time I’ve spent with my future wife, I suspect that was the intention, but I haven’t bothered to ask.
The less interest I show in her, the easier it is to pretend this wedding isn’t going ahead.
But it is, and that’s something I’m going to have to deal with sooner or later.
Probably when I’m standing at the alter being forced to recite vows I don’t intend to keep.
Ronan steps in front of me, his eyes bright and his smile wide as he tugs Chloe beside him.
She doesn’t meet my eye, instead turning to compliment the white dress that clings to Mikayla’s body.
They’re complete opposites in every single way, not just because my fiancé’s dress is bright white and Chloe’s is black with pink flowers scattered across the soft-looking fabric.
But because where Mikayla is tall and lanky, Chloe is short and curvy in all the right places.
Her full tits threaten to spill out over the modest neckline.
Her hair is clipped up with curls framing her pretty face, while my bride’s is pin straight against her back.
And don’t get me started on their personalities. Mikayla is cold and calculating, too similar to me for our marriage to ever truly work. While Chloe is innocent and bubbly, her entire demeanor too pure for the world we live in.
Growing up the way we did should have hardened her, but it never did, and that’s just another reason I have to despise her existence.
“Congrats, bro!” Ronan claps me on the shoulder with the hand he doesn’t have wrapped around Chloe’s waist.
“Congratulations,” she echoes with a small smile that she never directs at me. “We’re really happy for you both.”
I try to remember the last time she looked happy to see me, but I come up empty. She has no reason to, of course. I’ve gone out of my way to make her feel unwelcome for years. Why would she give a fuck about me?
“Thanks, guys. We’re really excited to start our life together.” As if to punctuate my point, I tug Mikayla against me, mirroring the way my brother holds her.
It’s petty and ridiculous, but I can’t help myself, and when Chloe tracks every move and hurt fills her pretty eyes, vindication fills my chest.
Hurting her has become one of my favorite things to do, because her very existence hurts me more than I’ll ever let anyone know.
Ronan’s completely oblivious to the pull I have on his girl as he guides her away, and they’re barely a few feet away when she pulls away from him, telling him that she needs air before disappearing toward the patio.
He doesn’t seem to think anything of it and moves toward the table he and Chloe were perched at earlier. If I know the two of them, they’ll disappear in the next hour or so, preferring each other’s company to anyone else’s.
“I need to take a piss,” I say, tugging away from Mikayla.
I don’t bother waiting for her to respond or acknowledging the line of people waiting to greet the happy couple.
All I see is Chloe’s retreating form, and for some reason I can’t stop myself from following.
Usually I have a better handle on myself than this. I can keep my compulsion to follow her at bay.
But tonight the pull is impossible to ignore.
The sound of the party dulls as I step into the rose garden we used to play hide and seek in when we were kids.
Rain, hail, or shine, the three of us were out here, chasing one another, hiding amongst the flowers and thorns, a glimpse into the future we never knew awaited us.
I force the thoughts from my mind as I catch a glimpse of her dress further down the path, turning for the gazebo we once spent our summers seeking shade in.
Why is she coming out here all by herself?
Does she know I’ll follow? Like a fucking lost puppy desperate for a sight of her? For a second of her time that’s not watched like a hawk?
I glance behind me, making sure I’m not being followed, but when I find no one, I turn the same bend Chloe did just a few moments ago and finally see her.
She has her back to me, her attention looking out over the lake my mother had built when we were kids. I don’t know why she thought a body of water on the grounds for the gators to inhabit was a good idea, but sometimes when the world gets too loud, this is where I come to think.
I don’t bother softening my steps as I approach, and when her soft vanilla scent wraps around me, I step up behind her, my body pressed to her back.
Like it has a mind of its own, my hand lifts, wrapping around her throat and tugging her against me. The first contact I’ve allowed myself in years sends a shock through my chest, making it hard to breathe, but somehow I manage to find words.
“Always running from me, aren’t you, Duchess?”