He smooths my hair back from my forehead and blows on the beads of perspiration that have formed there. I don’t really want him to let go of me, but we need to take a breath here. I push gently on his chest and he releases his hold on me.
“So what do we do now?” I try not to sound like a little lost lamb.
“Nothing. Anything. Look, Amanda, we’re two grown adults who share an intimate past and a complicated present. We wouldn’t be human if we could suddenly switch off the feelings we had for eachother, or pretend like we never had them in the first place. I don’t regret anything that’s happened today… do you?”
“No,” I say, and I can feel myself flush with embarrassment.
“Good. What do you think we should do next?”
“Well,” I say, biting my lower lip, “you could finally accept Stirling’s invites to have dinner with us.”
“How do you know he’s invited me to dinner?” he asks. He looks more than a little taken aback that I know. “You weren’t present any of those times.”
“No, but you should remember that he tells Margot almost everything, and, well, she is my sister, so…”
“Of course she told you,” he laughs. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
* * *
I can’t believeI’m sitting across the dinner table from Damon—in his own house—and with my sister and her family at the same time. There’s no mistaking it for times past, though, what with Sylvia doing her best not to make eye contact with anyone, and Cammie grinning from ear to ear with undoubtedly romantic notions. But it does feel good, right, even. I had fantasized briefly about us all being here together under amicable circumstances, and it seems as though it’s come true on a small scale.
Of course, dry humping Damon’s thigh was not a fantasy I’ve had, but it must have been taking up a huge amount of space in my subconscious, because when he kissed me on the beach today I wasted no time in bringing it to the surface. And now heat is rushing up the back of my neck and over my face again, and I hope no one else notices it.
“Seems like you two had a good day,” says Stirling. I know he’s being genuine. Stirling was never one to make innuendos. But when I glance at Margot, her grin tells me she took it just that way anyway. And Damon barely stifles a chuckle when he covers his mouth with a napkin.
“I can’t speak for Damon,” I say wryly, “But I had a lovely day. After a successful conference call, I went to the spa. Had lunch and a massage.” Damon raises an eyebrow at that, and I wince inwardly. “Then I took a walk on the beach.”
“Yeah, it’s been a pretty good day,” adds Damon, without elaborating, thank goodness.
“I want to hear about that later, Amanda,” says Margot, more serious now. “The call, that is.”
Damon masterfully carries the next hour or so of conversation, telling them all about his work, and how he really appreciates being able to stay, especially with the new inspiration he’s gotten, and how he’s getting vibes here that he could never conjure up in New York.
But suddenly, he’s headed back into dangerous territory again.
“Look, I’ve already apologized to Amanda,” he says. “But I want you all to know how sorry I am for how angry I’ve been. Amanda was right when she told me the other day that this situation is no one’s fault. But I’ll do my best not to make you all feel as though I’ve ruined your vacation. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be here before I head for other shores, but I want you all to continue to enjoy the house and the grounds to the fullest. And please let me know if I can do anything to make it more comfortable.”
“Likewise, we don’t want you to feel like a stranger in your own home,” Stirling adds. “We’d love you to continue to join us whenever you’d like.”
“Well, this calls for a drink,” says Margot.
“I should have some decent champagne over at the bar,” says Damon. “Unfortunately, it’s not chilled.”
“Oh, I got some the other day when we were out. It’s been in the fridge since then,” Margot says. “Not quite the same as putting it on ice, but I think it will do.”
The girls grab some Perrier, and we all share a toast. Damon wanders over to the living room and stares at the red heart painting for a long moment.Shit, here we go, I think to myself. And things were going so well.
“I don’t even feel like the same artist who painted these anymore,” he says. Then he turns to me and my knees almost buckle at his next words. “Amanda, would you like to see the studio?”
“What, you mean I’m allowed to enter the forbidden territory?” I say, using humor to hide my utter shock. “Suddenly I feel like Bluebeard’s bride.”
“Ah, don’t worry. If you feel in any danger, there’s an escape hatch called the balcony,” he says with a huge grin. “You can climb down the bougainvillea bush on the side of the house.”
“In that case, I’d love to.”
Stirling and Margot share a knowing look as we excuse ourselves.
“Don’t wait up ‘mom’ and ‘dad’” I say over my shoulder.
