"Ever, I didn't ditch you today. And I'd never push you to do anything you weren't ready for. Believe me." He smiles, cradling my face in the palms of his hands as his lips part against mine.
"I know how to wait."
Twenty-Two
Even though Haven refused to answer our calls, we managed to get ahold of Miles. And after convincing him to stop by after rehearsals, he showed up with Eric, and the four of us spent a really fun night eating and swimming and watching bad scary movies. And it was so nice to hang out with my friends in such a nice relaxed way, that it almost made me forget about Riley, Haven, Evangeline, Drina, the beach-and all of that afternoon's drama.
Almost made me oblivious to the faraway look Damen got whenever he thought no one was looking.
Almost made me ignore the undercurrent of worry bubbling just under the surface.
Almost. But not quite.
And even though I made it perfectly clear that Sabine was out of town and Damen was more than welcome to stay, he stayed just long enough for me to fall asleep, then he quietly let himself out.
So the next morning, when he shows up on my doorstep with coffee, muffins, and a smile, I can't help but feel a little relieved.
We try to call Haven again, and even leave a message or two, but it's not like it takes a psychic to know she doesn't want to speak to either of us. And when I finally call her house and talk to her little brother, Austin, I can tell he's not lying when he says he hasn't seen her.
So after a full day of lounging outside by the pool, I'm just about to order another pizza when Damen grabs the phone out of my hand and says, "I thought I'd make dinner."
"You can cook?" I ask, though I don't know why I'm surprised, because the truth is, I've yet to find anything he can't do. "I'll let you be the judge of that." He smiles.
"Do you need help?" I offer, even though my kitchen skills are severely limited to boiling water and adding milk to cereal.
But he just shakes his head and heads for the stove, so I go upstairs to shower and change, and when he calls me down for dinner, I'm amazed to find the dining room table dressed with Sabine's finest china, linens, candles, and a large crystal vase filled with dozens of-big surprisered tulips.
"Mademoiselle." He smiles and pulls out my chair, his French accent lilting and perfect.
"I can't belieye you did this." I gaze at the heaping platters lined up before me, so piled with food I wonder if we're expecting guests.
"It's all for you." He smiles, answering the question I hadn't yet asked.
"Just me? Aren't you going to have any?" I watch as he fills my plate with perfectly prepared vegetables, finely grilled meats, and a sauce so rich and complex I don't even know what it is.
"Of course." He smiles. "But mostly I made it for you. A girl can't live on pizza alone, you know."
"You'd be surprised." I laugh, cutting into a juicy piece of grilled meat.
While we eat, I ask questions. Taking advantage of the fact that he's barely touching his food by asking all of the things I've been dying to know but always seem to forget the moment be looks in my eyes. Things about his family, his childhood, the constant moves, the emancipation-partly because I'm curious, but mostly because it feels weird to be in a relationship with someone I know so little about. And the more we talk, the more surprised I am by how much we share in common. For one thing, both of us are orphaned, though he at a much younger age. And even though he's a little sketchy on the details, it's not like I volunteer to talk about my situation either, so I don't really push it.
"So where'd you like best?" I ask, having just cleaned my plate of every last morsel and feeling the beginnings of a nice languid fullness.
"Right here." He smiles, having barely eaten a thing but making a pretty good show of moving his food all around.
I squinch my eyes, not quite believing it. I mean, sure, Orange County's nice, but it can't possibly compare to all of those exciting European cities, can it?
"Seriously. I'm very happy here." He nods, looking right at me.
"And you weren't happy in Rome, Paris, New Delhi, or New Y
ork?"
He shrugs, his eyes suddenly tinged with sadness as they drift away from mine and he takes a sip of his strange red drink. "And what exactly is that?" I ask, peering at the bottle.
"You mean this?" he smiles, holding it up for me to see. "Secret family recipe." He swirls the contents around, and I watch as the color glows and sparks as it runs up the sides and splashes back down. Looking like a cross between lightning, wine, and blood mixed with the tiniest hint of diamond dust.
"Can I try it?" I ask, not entirely sure that I want to, but still curious.