“It’s easy when you’ve found the right one,” he says, jovially.
“That’s a lie,” her grandmother shouts as Brielle and I change places. I place her hand in mine and offer a polite squeeze. “It’s a choice. It’s a choice every day. And not always an easy one. Sometimes,you wake up and think, ‘There’s my love, my life, the person I can’t live without,’ and other times, you wake up and think, ‘What the hell have I done?’ Those are the days that you have to make a choice, to remember the good days, to value your vows, to believe that no matter what, your life is better because they are in it.”
“Those are wise words, Mrs. Collins,” I tell her.
Brielle says goodbye to a few more people on the way out as I replay what her grandmother said.
Is it really that easy to not let things fall apart?
Just choose each other? Every day?
The idea that a relationship could actually last a lifetime, that it wasn’t guaranteed to fail, ruining everything I’ve built, never crossed my mind.
Sixty years is a long damn time.
They weren’t immune to relationship issues in all that time. They just chose to face them, work through them, and choose each other every day.
The evidence that it could work, really work, is in front of me, but until today, I had never considered it a possibility.
But what if it was?
Chapter 20
Brielle
Damian’smasculinescentenvelopsme, and I lean my head back, resting on his pectoral as we ride up the elevator to our hotel room. He combs my hair away from my face, and a soft sigh escapes. His hand travels down my cheek, my neck, and wraps loosely around the base of my throat.
The elevator doors open too quickly. I wanted more time in his arms, but he drops his hand, holding the elevator open for me to exit first.
He pulls the key card out and unlocks our door. An energy crackles around us. We haven’t said anything to each other on the way over here, but the undercurrent of tension, of desire and need, is thick between us.
He lets the door close, resting his back against it, not coming further into our shared room.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” he asks, the sound of his low, dark voice reverberating through my belly.
“The fun amount,” I answer, locking my gaze on him. “Not so much that I don’t know what I’m doing, but enough to do what I want.”
“And what do you want?”
“You.”
Damian’s eyes get darker. He slowly lowers them, taking me in, devouring me with his gaze.
“Strip,” he says, his commanding tone sending a rush of heat through me.
Nothing has changed. He’s still my boss, but right now, I can’t find it in me to give two shits about that. The power dynamic between us isn’t one of employee/employer. It’s just us. Damian and Brielle. And when he looks at me like he is right now, I know I hold just as much power here as he does. He wants me, and that fact alone sets my nerve endings alight.
I bend down to undo the little buckle of my strappy heels.
“Leave the shoes. I want you naked, in nothing but those fucking shoes.”
“I thought you would like them.” I smirk.
He pushes off the door and makes his way to me. My heart is pumping faster, my limbs tingling with anticipation.
“Did you pick them out just for me?” His fingers thread into my wavy hair. He tugs my head back to look up at him.
“Maybe.”
