“Alright… let’s do this. Smiles and all.” Harold was stressed, breathing hard in that fake smile.
The photographers got ready, and Harold and Damian picked up two pens. Posing with wide smiles, their hands poised above the paper. Flashes firing off as they signed, fast, smiling at each other. Shaking hands. Looking back into the cameras in that still handshake. Harold blanched at Damian’s strength, but he kept that smile on, even if he felt like his hand was breaking in two. Turning from the photographers when they showed the thumbs up, already looking at their pictures.
Harold rubbed his hand. “Fuck… No hard feelings?”
Damian’s eyes went to him. “Of course not.”
“The reporters are in the press room. Standard bullshit. They might poke you about your sanity, though…”
“Well, let’s hope I look normal enough, because if I’m insane, your little contract is void.” He smiled at his distress and pocketed the pen.
“That’s an expensive pen.” Harold’s face pinched.
Damian just patted his cheek, hard enough to make him flinch. “Don’t go cheap on me, Harold.”
“Alright…” His cheek burning, they walked to the press room.
That conference, a mild nightmare, but Damian kept it together, despite the poking, the indecent questions digging into his life. Behind his smile, he had killed them all. Flinging that large knife between their eyes, watching them fall over. Silent. Finally, the end. Shaking hands with Harold. Smiles. Best friends. The company in the best hands.
Harold turned to him on the upper floor. “Well… that’s it. Still friends, though?” That well-practiced lying smile.
Damian blew a small breath, his eyes already on that little boy in the play corner. “No.”
“But…” A genuine shock behind that slight relief.
They faced each other, the best friends, memories flashing in of all those nights and trips when they had done everything together. Of all those deals, like two smooth sharks circling the prey. Drunk. High. On whatever. On power. A foreign light in Damian’s steel eyes.
Harold backed a step when he stepped close, his voice soft. “Don’t come near us, Harold. Enjoy your life.”
“I wish it didn’t end like this… us…”
“There’s no end. Just a new beginning.” He winked and left him, opening his arms to that small boy rushing to him.
Flying on his stick legs, shouting at the top of his voice, giddy with joy. “Papá! Papá!”
Damian’s heart burst, scooping him up. He held him high, making him fly, turning, laughing with him. Holding him tight then against his hammering heart. Papá…
Chapter 25
Thereceptionistrantohim when they arrived back at the hotel. “Mr. Bourne! A letter for you.”
Damian took that white envelope, recognizing the logo. He didn’t open it though, and waited until they got back to the suite. He changed into a loose grey T-shirt and sweatpants, staying barefoot, and helped Armando change into his soft play clothes. Armando shook his head at the socks and ran away on his bare feet. Damian sat on the sofa, flicking that envelope around. Unsure if he wanted to know, even if he knew nothing could change what they had.
Armando sat next to him, curious. “What is it?”
“You remember when we went to that place where they put that stick in our mouth?” He nodded, watching him. “And I said they would look and see if I was your Papá…”
“Yes.”
“So… this is it. The answer.”
He grappled for the envelope, and Damian gave it to him. Watching him tear it open and fish the paper out. Pretending to read. He handed it to Damian then. “Read it.”
There was no way back, so he read it, silently at first, trying to look at those blurred letters.
He looked at Armando when he tugged at his arm. “So? What is it?” That hope in his large, dark eyes.
Damian leant down and kissed his head. Smiling at him. “That I’m your Papá.”
