“Now, Alannah. Wait just a second,” he began. “You don’t need to make any rash decisions when you’re—”
The doors of the elevator closed before Kane could finish, and I heard his ‘fuck’ being shouted as the elevator brought him up to his floor, and it made me laugh. With a little spring in my step, I turned and walked down the corridor and into my apartment.
“I’m back.”
The next hour and a half consisted of finishing dinner, then eating it. After we were full and content, Damien and I sat on the settee in my sitting room and turned on a film on Netflix. I leaned against him and sighed.
“I love this.”
“Love what?”
“Just bein’ ’ere with you.”
Damien kissed the crown of my head. “Me too, freckles.”
I leaned my head back on his shoulder and said, “I wanna learn you.”
“You want to learn me?” he repeated. “Is this a language barrier thing because of your accent, or did you purposely mean to word it that way?”
I chuckled. “I meant to word it that way.”
“You want to learn me?”
I nodded. “I wanna learn what makes you, you.”
“That’s cute, but I have no idea what you mean.”
I snuggled against his side.
“Does it not bother you that we have this whole history together, but we don’t really know each other?”
“We do know each other,” Damien lightly protested. “I know every curve of your face and body, your every laugh, and how much you love tea.”
I playfully rolled my eyes.
“That’s lovely, but I want to know the deep stuff.”
Damien stilled, and the slight tension that filled his body was enough to make me take notice.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everythin’,” I answered. “I don’t know anythin’ about your past or your family outside of your brothers. I don’t know about your homeland because you guys never talk about it.”
Damien was silent.
“I mean, seriously, none of you ever talk about your life before Ireland, and it’s all sort of been in the back of me head. Ireland is a part of who I am; you see and hear me country when you talk to me, but apart from an accent, I don’t get America from you, and I think that’s sad.”
Damien cleared his throat.
“There’s nothing to tell, really. The five of us grew up in upstate New York, nowhere near the city. We lived in a small community where everyone knew everyone else’s business. My parents died when I was fifteen in a car accident—”
My gasp cut Damien off.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching for his hand. “Bronagh mentioned they died, but not how, and now I understand why. Her parents died in a car accident, so she probably didn’t want to think about it in case it brought up bad memories for ’er.”
Now it made sense why she brushed the lads’ parents under the carpet whenever I mentioned them. It was a sore subject not only for them, but for her, too, because of how they died.
“Yeah,” Damien said, as he began to play with my fingers. “We just sort of ... floated around for a few years, then we came here and put down roots.”
“Why Ireland, though?”
Damien cleared his throat. Again.
“It was only supposed to be a vacation, really, but within a few weeks, we knew we wanted to stay. Ryder got us enrolled in school for our final year; we had been homeschooled up until that point.”
“Well, shite,” I said, shocked. “No wonder neither you or your brother could just blend in at school and get on with it without makin’ a fuss. You didn’t have the experience.”
“Yup.”
I studied his face.
“Do you not want to tell me this stuff?” I asked. “You don’t seem all that interested.”
“I’m interested in you, not my boring childhood,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. “Things only got interesting when I met you.”
“Puh-lease,” I tittered. “Interestin’ is the last word to describe me.”
“Oh, it’s up there,” Damien said, “but I know a few words that fit you just as well.”
“Like?”
“Elegant, smart, hard-working, beautiful, funny ... sexy as sin.”
He had echoed those exact words to me many years before, and it brought a smile to my face knowing he still thought all those things equaled to me.
“You think I’m funny?”
Damien laughed. “Yeah, baby, I think you’re funny.”
I relaxed against him.
“What was your ma like?”
Damien was silent for a few moments, and just when I thought he wouldn’t respond, he said, “She wasn’t like your mom.”
“Meanin’?”
“She wasn’t maternal.” Damien swallowed. “She wasn’t very affectionate and was mostly cold towards my brothers and me.”
My lips parted in shock. “Why?”
He snorted. “I spent my entire childhood trying to find the answer to that question, and I never found it. My mom and dad ... they just weren’t very nice people, but I couldn’t see that when I was a kid. I thought they were awesome.”