I chuckle at his childlike solution. “You’re ridiculous,” I mutter, but there’s an undeniable warmth growing in my chest at his silly gesture. “If anyoneshould be in disguise, it’syou. I’m not the one the paparazzi follow.”
“But they should. I’d pay millions for photographs of you.”
“Oh, shut up.” I nudge him playfully as we continue to walk in comfortable silence for a few moments. “How… How are you sleeping these days?” I finally ask, breaking the quiet. “You haven’t had a nightmare all week.”
Damon's expression shifts, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools his features. “I’m fine.” His voice is steady, calm, but it’s lacking his usual confidence. My heart aches for him. “Better, I think.”
I study him for a few seconds, knowing he’s not being fully honest with me. There are ripples of tension under his feigned façade, and I hope that he heals. I hope he lets himself heal. “Are you sure?”
He hesitates, his gaze flickering away for a fleeting moment before returning to meet mine. “The dream I keep having… I think… I think it’s trying to tell me something.”
I swallow. “Tell you what?”
The tendons in his neck tighten. “She never got a proper funeral.”
A chill zaps through my spine. “Oh.”
“She had no next of kin,” Damon murmurs, ashamed. “She was all alone in this world, and…and she left it all alone too.”
“Where…” I clear phlegm from my throat. “Do you know what happened to her body?”
God, it’s such a loaded question. Her body. Thewoman who saved my life. I never even thought about it. What did they do with her? Cremate her? Spread her ashes? Or did they add her to the growing graveyard on Hart Island?
Damon shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe… Maybe Quin knows.”
This conversation can quickly take a harmful turn. Quin and Damon have agreed to keep this topic off the table for the sake of peace and forgiveness, but I know Damon is still angry. He’s angry at himself. At Quin. At Charles. At his own deceased father. Lies breed contempt. He’s trying to end the cycle. Slowly. Painfully. But he’s trying.
“I-I can find out for you,” I add softly, brushing my thumb against his palm. “If you want. I can find out.”
His jaw tenses. “You don’t need to?—”
“I know I don’tneed to, Damon. But I want to. I want to help you. And I-I think she deserves a proper farewell.” My heart quickens between my lungs. Her heart. “She deserves a proper burial.”
Damon’s gaze softens with a flicker of gratitude. “Thank you, Emery. I-I appreciate that.”
I squeeze his hand gently, offering him a small smile. “Of course.”
For a moment, we simply stand there, lost in our own thoughts. But then, Damon exhales slowly, as if releasing a burden he’s carried for far too long. But it’s not entirely gone. It lingers. I can feel its presence.
“Let’s go home,” he says with artificial cheeriness. “Quin’s probably done with dinner.”
I’ve cometo enjoy washing the dishes. It’s such a mundane task, but it brings me comfort, a sense of normal. Warm water cascades over my hands as I scrub plate after plate, mug after mug. The warmth spreads to my whole body as Quin's arms wrap around my waist from behind. I melt into the familiarity of his touch as he presses a gentle kiss to the slope of my neck. I lean back into his muscular frame. My home.
"You know we have a dishwasher, don't you?" he murmurs against my skin.
I chuckle, the tension in my shoulders easing. "I do, but I find it soothing."
Quin's hands roam across my waist, his touch sending shivers down my spine as he peppers kisses across my shoulders. "Is this soothing too, darling?"
"More like distracting.” I let out a contented hum, sinking further into his embrace. "Where's Damon?"
"Reading by the fireplace. Where else?"
A soft sigh escapes my lips as Quin's hips press forward slightly, and comfort is slowly replaced with desire. It’s insane. How easily my body responds to his touch. How my body aches for more friction. I want to give in to him, let him take me to heaven. But I stop myself, the conversation I had with Damon lingering in the back of my mind.
Swallowing, I turn off the water and dry my hands on a nearby rag before spinning around. Quin’s arms remain wrapped securely around me. His grin isinfectious, enough to sweep me off my feet, but I steel myself.
