Chapter 23
Damian
My wife looked like a fucking dream—still Emilia, but the most beautiful version of her I had ever seen.
Moana had been in full stylist mode, holding up dresses and accessories to Emilia’s slender frame. I watched in amusement because every time Em saw the designer label, she gasped.
"I can't wear a Giambattista Valli dress."
"I can't walk in those shoes…are they Jim Choo's?"
"I won't take that bag. I know how much Chanel costs. I'll be scared to lose it."
The loot had been my doing though Moana had lied to Emilia that it was her friend who worked at a fashion magazine. The buyer at Nieman had put together a combination of five dresses, ten pairs of shoes and eight bags to choose from.
The buyer had asked me about jewelry, but I said I'd take care of that. I had. I'd gone to my parents' house and gotten some of my grandmother's baubles that I had inherited.
“This one,” Moana finally declared, draping a midnight blue gown over Emilia. It was elegant and simple, enhancing her natural beauty while still allowing her to look like herself. "And no, you can't look at the label."
"It's a very expensive dress, isn't it?" Emilia worried her lower lip.
"Shut up and wear it, bitch." Moana threw the dress on the bed. "Now get naked."
Emilia turned to look at me.
"I'm enjoying the show. You should keep doing what you're doing."
"This is hard enough, Damian, without you hanging around," Moana admonished. "Get out."
I raised both my hands, palms out in a peace offering. "Fine. I'll get ready in the bathroom."
By combining two lofts, Emilia and I had created a genuinely comfortable space.
Em had fought me at every step of the renovation, and I'd been careful about the hills I wanted to die on. The bathroom had to be bigger, the rest I could compromise on.
However, once she soaked in the bathtub before, during, and after sex, she stopped complaining about it.
I needed more storage space than her tiny wooden closet could provide. A wall of closets would allow me to live here without worrying about running out of underwear. She hadn't minded the office because she understood I needed the space. It was a simple partition that didn't reach the exposed ceiling. She had not complained about Liza taking care of the cleaning; and the outsourcing of the laundry.
As I put on my bowtie, I thought about how much my life had changed in the past months since I married Emilia. Her life had altered completely but so had mine. I liked this new life.
But I was also aware that nothing between Emilia and me was resolved, and our relationship felt, at times, like I was walking a tightrope. But tonight, I was going to enjoy my wife. I was going to dance with her and indulge in the way she made me feel fresh, invincible, and happy.
Emilia was ready by the time I was. She looked at herself in the antique mirror I had placed in our bedroom because there was nothing more erotic than watching Emilia watch herself when we made love.
She stole my breath. The dress accentuated her body. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of nerves and excitement. Moana had done a phenomenal job.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, and Emilia blushed, looking away shyly. "Don't move," I instructed.
I went to my office and got my grandma's velvet jewelry box.
She looked suspiciously at the burgundy velvet box when I set it down on the bedside table. "What's that?"
"A fire hose," I deadpanned.
"Ha, ha. Is it very expensive stuff?"
I opened the box to reveal a set of earrings and a necklace, glittering with diamonds.
“I have no idea what these cost,” I explained. “They belonged to my grandmother.”
"They're family heirlooms. That means they're priceless, Damian." She looked completely devastated.
"Girl, wear the damned diamonds," Moana exclaimed. "Shit! Why can't I be married to you, Damian? I'd take full advantage of all your money."
I grinned. She liked to pretend she was a gold digger, but she wasn't. I'd now spent enough time with her to know that Moana liked to buy her own jewelry. No wonder, Emilia and she were friends—two strong-minded independent women.
"Those are stunning. Thank your husband, bitch." Moana shook her head, but I could see the amusement in her eyes. In the past months, I had received her blessing for not being a total douchebag. High praise from her, I knew.
Emilia looked up at me, her eyes softening. “Thank you, Damian.”
I helped her wear the jewelry.
Emilia touched the diamond necklace and swallowed. "What if I lose it?"
"You won't," I assured her.
"How do you know that?"
"Because I'm not letting you out of my sight all night." I was going to keep her close.
Duncan had mentioned that I was getting too attached to Emilia and I'd waved it off. But he was right. I didn't like being away from her. I had even cancelled work travel and asked someone else on my team to go instead of me. I was doing most of my meetings via Zoom. If there was an auction in Europe, I asked Duncan to take care of it; and Dean to manage things in Asia—when, in the past, I would've been breathing down their necks in person.
Despite my assurances that she looked beautiful, and no one would think to ask her to leave the gala because she was not dressed properly (that had been a fear she had), my wife was nervous.
I didn't think she realized the elegance she exuded, no matter what she wore. There was such humility and curiosity within her, the zest for life that no makeup, no clothing, and no jewelry could replace.
Once we were on the road, I reached over and took her hand. Her fingers were cold, and she squeezed mine tightly. “Stop worrying."
She gave me a small smile, but her eyes betrayed her anxiety. “I just want to get through it without making a fool of myself.”
“You won’t,” I promised. “Just be yourself.”
"That's the problem, Damian. Being myself, that's never been enough."
I hated that she felt like this. I also knew why. "No fucking way you're bringing your parents along on our date."
"Damian," she groaned.
"Em, you're lovely. I can't look away. And I sometimes have to because I can't just fuck you all the time. We have to eat, sleep and sometimes even work."
She smiled at that. "You really think I'm nice to look at?"
She wasn't fishing for compliments. She really wanted to know, wanted me to say it again and again. I had no problem doing that until she believed me. "You're irresistible. And stop biting your lip or we'll have to find a quiet corner so I can check out what you're wearing underneath that dress."
"The dress came with an inbuilt bra." She looked out of the window.
"And?"
"Moana recommended not wearing any panties because, you know, panty lines. I never had such problems in the past."
She was teasing me. I loved it. I loved that even though she was nervous, she retained her sense of humor.
"No panties equals easy access." I traced a finger up the slit of her dress and was rewarded with a shiver. "You shouldn't have told me that, Em. I'm going to spend the whole night tempted to feel how wet you are."
She shifted in her seat. "Stop it. I can't believe you turned the tables on me. Here, I thought, I was seducing you."
"You just have to breathe to do that."
I caught her look of shock when I stopped at a red light.
I stroked her cheek with a knuckle. "You're beautiful, both inside and out. I'm going to tell you that every day." Forever.
I dropped my hand at that bizarre thought and thankfully the light had turned green, so Emilia didn't see my turmoil.
We drove in silence for a while, the city lights flickering past us. I could feel the weight of what tonight represented—our first public appearance as a married couple. My mother and father were against it. Mom actually suggested I sit with Bianca at their table. I told her I'd rather fuck a duck on stage.
As we approached the Archer estate where the gala was taking place, I glanced at Emilia. She was lost in thought. I squeezed her hand again, bringing her back to me.
“Whatever happens tonight,” I said softly, “we face it together.”
She turned to me, her eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. “Yeah?”
Her insecurity was palpable and did something to my heart. I wanted her to feel confident, certain—know that she could walk with her head high, that she fucking deserved it.
We arrived at the venue, and I helped her out of the car after handing the keys of the Maserati to the valet.
Flashes of cameras greeted us, and I could feel her tense beside me. I kept hold of her hand, grounding her—and myself—in the moment.
The paparazzi was in full force.
"Damian, how are things with the new missus?"
"How are things with Bianca? You have a comment on the video from Le Saveur?"
"Emilia, who are you wearing?
"Give us a kiss, guys."
"Do you have a comment on the lunch you had with Bianca recently at Restaurant Bastille?"
Emilia froze at that. Fuck! I should've told her about that lunch. It hadn't been planned. I'd been there with a client and friend, Kaden Hart. He'd asked Bianca to join our table when he saw her and found out that her lunch appointment had cancelled at the last minute. It had been completely innocuous, and there was nothing I could have done about it without sounding immature and rude.
I usually didn't respond to reporters screaming questions. I didn't care to. This was the first time, however, I had to curb my overwhelming need to speak up because I wanted to defend my wife and my marriage.
But the Archer media manual was clear on this. Shut up. Don't talk to the media. Smile. Show no emotion.
Instead, I drew Emilia close and kissed her cheek. "You look so beautiful. I need you to smile, Em."
She did. It was a plastic smile but the assholes snapping pictures didn't know the difference.
"I didn't invite her for lunch. She was there and she joined my client and me. That's all." I spoke in a low voice, and she nodded as I did.
As we stepped into the ballroom, all eyes turned to us.
I turned her chin and kissed her lips; gave them a fucking show.
"You okay?"
She smiled and this time it did reach her eyes. She went on tiptoe and kissed me. It was a deep, made-for-the-movies kiss. I even dipped her to the applause of our audience.
"I have so much fun with you," I exclaimed. "Usually, these galas bore me, but I have a feeling, with you, I'm going to be entertained."
She winked at me. "No doubt you'll return the favor."
I cupped her ass and squeezed. Let the photographers outside put that on the gossip sites and comment on my lustful behavior because my wife's ass was fucking luscious.
"You weren't joking, you really aren’t wearing any panties."
"I never joke about underwear," she murmured, and I laughed out loud because God, my wife made me so fucking happy.