I study him for a few seconds and I hate that I can tell he's serious. On a superficial level, the idea of making him sleep on the floor is satisfying. But my heart decides to pound against myribs at the thought of the man in front of me getting cold on that floor.Ugh, can we please go back to being a bitch to him?But of course not.
"Fine," I say, my voice low but every word sharp. "But if you try anything, Damien, I know several ways to castrate a man."
"I promise I won't initiate my own castration, except in cases of extreme emergency. If I sense you need me…well, what can I say? I just hope you don't want a lot of kids," he says, pulling me by the hand while I'm still stuck on his response.
Note to self: book him another therapy session.
His bedroom is in the west wing of the house, perfect for sunsets. A low, natural wood bed frame sits centered in the room, flanked by two simple nightstands of the same material. A gray rug covers nearly the entire floor.
"Thank God you have good taste in furniture," I say, taking in every detail.
"Not just in furniture, but you already know that, baby," he says, and I roll my eyes at his flirting.
I feel him come up behind me, and I hate how my body wants to lean back into his.Remember you threatened to castrate him not five minutes ago.
When I work up the courage, I turn around and see he’s holding a credit card.
"I want you to use this for whatever you need, whether it's for the wedding or not," he says and I raise an eyebrow.
"Anything and everything?" I ask. I’d like to say I have more dignity than this, but I have a weakness for expensive things, especially earrings, and that black card surely has a more than generous limit.
His hand reaches for mine and places the piece of metal in my palm.
"Absolutely anything. If you go over the limit, the bank will contact me, and I'll approve it."
"And what would that limit be, let's say?" I ask, biting my lower lip.
I look up and notice his gaze is fixed on my mouth. As if I have no control, my hand reaches out and smooths over his T-shirt.
He swallows hard.
"The limit. Right. A hundred thousand," he answers.
"I can manage on a hundred thousand a month," I say, though I have no intention of ever spending that much.
He frowns, then a slow smile spreads across his face. He leans in to kiss my cheek and whispers, amused, "A day, baby."
I know my eyes are wide as I'm the one swallowing this time.
"What if I actually spend that much every day?"
"I'd be impressed," he says with a laugh. "I have to leave to handle a shipment, but make yourself comfortable. If you need anything, Tirana can help you. Or, if you miss me, you can call me anytime."
"Don't wait by the phone," I say, but a smile takes over half my face.
He shakes his head, and just before he walks out the door, he turns back, takes my face in his palms, and kisses both my cheeks.
My heart beats an alarm in my chest. He’s so sweet, so attentive, and what’s even more dangerous is that optimistic voice in my head starting to whisper that he'smine. And just like when I was little, that voice has only ever broken my heart.
I'm at one of my venues, organizing a birthday party for a businessman, when my interim assistant tells me some people have shown up who aren't on the list. The poor girl is trembling like a leaf when she explains the problem. After telling her to go drink some jasmine tea to calm down, I head over to see what's going on.
Ten minutes later, after cross-referencing with the client's wife, I discover they're last-minute additions her husband requested. My stomach sinks when I scan the names: my ex, along with several of his coworkers.Of course.I clear them for entry and force myself to breathe through the knot forming in my chest.
At the entrance, I spot two of Damien's soldiers. With their grim faces, they stick out like sore thumbs, so I make my way over to them.
"I know your job description probably includes the ability to make people bleed with a single glance, but this is a birthday party and you're scaring the guests," I tell them.
They look at each other.
