We follow her through the house, and I notice just how different it looks in the light of day. When I was last here, it felt eerie, haunted, but now that the sun is streaming through, it’s exquisite.
Seating ourselves in the dining room, I settle beside Damien, as Mallory sits opposite us. She’s had coffee put out as well as a plate with sweet treats, which I really want to try, but I don’t reach for them; instead, I focus on her.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this? When you were at the reception.”
My question stills her, for a moment, before she waves her hand in the air as if it’s nothing. “I didn’t want to upstage your mother’s perfect day.” Guilt flashes in her gaze, but it’s gone within a second, and I’m left more confused than ever.
“But you could have called. This is big news. And it’s exciting.” I try to sound light-hearted, but there’s a hint of heartbreak in my voice when I speak.
She’s been the one woman who’s always given me every ounce of respect, treating me like an equal. But for her not to share something, as major as this, hurts.
“Listen to me, Poppet,” she says, but she doesn’t look me in the eye. “There are so many things that I’ve tried to live with, but your mother’s judgement, over the years, has made me wary of sharing anything with her. Or you.”
“I would never—”
“I know. I didn’t mean you would judge me. We’ve been so close, but… I just needed something for me.” This time, she does meet my gaze, and I notice the tears that shimmer in those familiar eyes. “You’ll understand when you fall in love,” she tells me, sweeping her gaze over Damien, for an instant, before looking back at me. “Anyway. Tell me how you’re loving Thorne Haven. And let’s have some coffee.” The serious part of the conversation is over. And I know I’m not going to get anything more out of her now.
So, instead of pushing like my mother would, I smile and nod.
An hour later, we’re back home, and I’m still not confident that Mallory was being honest about her living here, or even why she didn’t feel the need to tell me.
Her excuse was weak. But the thought of what’s going to happen tonight has my mind playing out scenarios that aren’t helping my anxiety. My focus is on Damien, the moment we walk into the house. In the entrance foyer, we spy suitcases, shopping bags, and shoes, which seem to have been thrown haphazardly on the expensive marble tiles.
“Looks like they’re back,” Damien says, before pulling me back out onto the porch. “I need to do this before we go in there.” Seconds later, his lips are on mine. Heated and hungry, he kisses me, swiping his tongue along mine, as his hands hold my face gently.
My body eases, as the tension melts away into the kiss. But it ends too soon, and I know we’re going to have to face the music.
“Promise me something,” I say, as we step inside once more.
“Anything.”
“Don’t leave me.” The words are choked out, emotion dripping from them. Fear that he will break up with me, even though we’re not officially together. We haven’t spoken about it, but I feel as if I’m ready. I want this with him.
I just hope he wants it, too.
“Not a chance, wild rose, not a fucking chance.”
“Damien,” Bradford saunters in from the kitchen. “I’d like to talk to you in my office. Meet me there. Hello, Nesrin. I hope you’re enjoying your time here.” He seems aloof, different from what he was like at the reception dinner.
“Thank you, yes, it’s a beautiful home you have.” He nods at my assessment, before turning and leaving us in the entrance foyer.
“I better go see what the old man wants.” Damien glances my way before saying, “I’m yours.” And then he’s gone.
I’m not sure where my mother is, but for now, I head to my bedroom to hide away from the judgment she’ll offer me, the moment she lays eyes on me.
Just a few more moments before I have to deal with it.
That’s all I need.
35
Damien
My father sits behind his desk, looking formidable. I know he’s not going to be happy with what I have to say, so when I enter the room, I offer him a swift nod. Friendliness is reserved for others. Between Bradford and me, there’s only cold aloofness that has no bearing on familial affection.
“Father.”
“What is it, Damien?” he asks, sitting back in his chair to regard me. His fingers steeple, his gaze locked on mine, as I settle in the chair facing his desk. I have a feeling he already knows, but he wants me to utter the words, so he can shoot me down.