Chapter 22
Emilia
"Damn it," Moana muttered when Duncan stepped into our home.
The loft had become considerably larger. It had taken a couple of weeks to combine my loft with the one next door but now we had a bedroom, a study, and a large bathroom. I had bitched and moaned but when we took our first bath in the clawfoot tub, I decided to let Damian off the hook for messing up our lives for two weeks where we had to use Moana's bathroom because I refused to go to Damian's blasted Four Seasons fancy-schmancy apartment.
"Duncan," I greeted him with just a little bit of apprehension because he still scared the bejesus out of me. "This is my friend Moana."
Duncan grinned. "Moana, how are you?"
"Good."
"It's been a while."
"It has. Moana suits you much better than Candy."
I looked from Duncan to Moana. "You both know each other?"
Damian sighed. "Please tell me she isn't—"
"She is," Duncan cut in. "But I knew her as Candy."
"She is what?" I asked and was interrupted by Tech's laughter. "What am I missing?"
"Duncan likes to only be with—"
"Women I can pay for sex," Duncan interrupted his brother.
I looked at Moana in horror. "No!"
Moana shrugged.
"I've been waiting for this to happen," Tech announced gleefully while Torture laughed hard, thumping his fist on the dining table. I now had one of those too with six chairs. Damian insisted and when I said I'd think about it, he told me to do that while the table lived in our place.
Our place! I liked the sound of that. I also like it when he said, "Let's go home" or "Do we have food at home" or "We need to get home before I fuck you in the car."
"You've been waiting for one of Moana's clients to walk through my door?" I crossed my arms and glared at Tech and Torture.
They didn't stop laughing.
"Cut it out." Moana punched Torture on his arm, which probably hurt her because T and T were jacked.
"Something smells good." Duncan took a seat next to Moana to her obvious chagrin.
"The paella is almost ready." I had gotten it right this time. The socarrat looked perfect. The burnt crust at the bottom of the paella pan required allowing the paella to cook undisturbed over high heat during the final moments of cooking, which caramelizes the rice at the bottom of the pan. I usually messed it up and Damian and I had ended up eating burnt (not caramelized) rice during my trial runs.
Damian helped me plate food for everyone while Torture opened a bottle of Chianti and filled wine glasses.
It wasn't Michelin-star, but it was the kind of meal I liked. Especially the easy company where I wasn't worried I'd be judged. So, okay, with Duncan here I had thought I'd feel restrained, but he'd just admitted to only sleeping with hookers, so I didn't worry about him giving me a hard time about losing my filter at all the wrong times. It looked like he didn't have much of a filter either.
"So, how many times did you two…ah…meet? Is that the right word?" I mused as we dug into what everyone declared was awesome paella.
Damian went as far as saying it was better than what he had in Spain. That probably wasn't true, but my husband was being sweet.
"Fuck is the right word," Duncan replied without inflection. "Or do you prefer meet, Moana?"
"Fuck is the right word," Moana agreed. "We only did it that one time…right?"
"I think so. I asked for you another time, but you weren't available."
They were talking like this was a normal conversation.
"Why do you only sleep with hookers?" Tech wanted to know. He was a six-foot five black man who was a complete teddy bear. His husband Torture, was a six-foot five Latino man who had the sense of humor of a teenager. If you said penis in front of him, he giggled. They were nothing like I thought military men with big tats and bigger arms would be like.
"I don't like the word hooker," Moana interjected.
"What would you prefer?" Damian asked.
"Sex worker."
"Ex-sex-worker." I raised my glass in a toast. "Let's all congratulate Moana for passing the bar and getting a kick ass job with Davenport but there was a sense of temporariness to it all because we knew that this would end soon.
I didn't want it to.
In the past few months, I had fallen in love with Damian, and I hoped he had gotten past affection to more than that for me as well. The attraction between us—the chemistry—was off the charts unbelievable. I didn't even know I could feel this way about a man. It was all consuming and yet the most freeing thing in the world.
But even as I hoped and dreamed that maybe this could be my life, I waited every day for Damian to tell me it was time to move on and that he'd signed the divorce papers.
At times I wanted to ask him when he wanted to go ahead with the separation, but I didn't have the courage to hear him put a deadline on my happiness.
Damian was a good man. A decent man. He helped out at home. He didn't throw his money around like I'd seen my parents and Bianca do; and they had far less than the Archer family. He did believe in living comfortably as I had learned.
He knew how to do dishes and which side of the vacuum cleaner was up.
Liza came to take care of us once a week. All our clothes were laundered. I hated going to the basement to deal with the coin laundromat, so I didn't mind that luxury.
Liza stayed for dinner the days she came; and though in the beginning she felt uncomfortable eating with Damian and me, she soon got used to it. On Monday nights she cooked; and the three of us ate together. Damian never indicated he didn't want to eat with the help. He was genuinely curious about Liza's life and later told me he was appalled at how little he knew about someone who had been taking care of him for years.
Duncan mentioned the Annual Archer Galleries Gala that took place in early September. "Hottest party in Frisco," Moana said.
"I can get you an invite. The family always has a couple of tables reserved," Duncan offered.
"And how would you introduce me?" Moana asked dryly.
"A friend?"
"Thanks, Duncan but this gala stuff is too rich for my taste." Moana took a spoonful of flan and made appreciative sounds as she ate. "And many of the guests have probably been my clients at some point."
"How about you, Emilia?" Duncan asked. "Too rich for your tastes."
I looked at my plate, suddenly feeling embarrassed about how to answer this question. Did I know about the gala? Yes. Did I want to go with Damian? Oh God yes. Had he asked me? No.
"I haven't brought it up with her," Damian admitted, surprising me. "I wanted to discuss it with you before I committed. If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to go."
"Mom will kill you in your sleep," Duncan warned.
"I sleep with my wife, I'm not worried," Damian joked. The way he said my wife made all my lady parts dance with joy.
Even Moana had mentioned how Damian seemed to be good people and was obviously smitten with me.
"Do you want to go?" I asked in a low voice.
"Only if you're with me." He brushed his lips against mine.
I gave him a shy smile. Maybe, maybe, maybe we were in a real marriage, and this was my happily ever after. I kept thinking he married the wrong sister, had the wrong wife but now I wondered if he thought I was the right wife for him.
"I would love to come with you."
Duncan grinned. "This will be entertaining."
"It'll be a shitshow," Damian agreed.
"Why?" Tech wanted to know.
"Cause my ex who is Emilia's sister will be there as will her parents who've disowned her for marrying me," Damian clarified.
"You rich people have lives like a telenovela," Torture remarked.
"And I'm not even rich," I shuddered.