Page 16 of Damon

The perfectly laid-out living space looks plucked straight from a magazine. The open-plan design means I can see the state-of-the-art black gloss kitchen, the huge blue suede corner sofa, and the polished oak dining set in one sweep of the room. On the surface of the table, azure blue plates sit between meticulously polished silverware.

The bedroom is located off the living space. A huge black velvet bed dominates the room; the only other furniture is a run of mirrored built-in wardrobes. All the lighting is subdued and integrated into the walls or flooring. The second bedroom has been set up as a workspace, a place for me to study.

I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room that look out over Canary Wharf, the financial district of London. The River Thames is in view, and I watch the river taxis move commuters and tourists up and down the water.

Damon dropped me off an hour ago. I’ve been visiting the apartment, which will be my new home once the baby is born, every day to acclimatize. Each time I come here, most of my time is spent trying to visualize myself living in it. I can’t. The thought of no longer living in Damon’s house is unfathomable. I’ll miss it. I’ll miss him. I’ll miss my bump. The idea of coming to this place and living by myself after these past twelve months doesn’t sit right. The one thing I am sure of…this isn’t where I need to be.

The front door opens. I turn and see Damon walking into the apartment. He smiles when his gaze lands on mine. “Is it starting to feel like home?” he asks, and I shrug. “It’s a stunning place, and in an ideal location for your office.” He says the same thing every time we visit. His attempts to reassure me do no good. I don’t want to be here.

“Yes, it is beautiful,” I agree, but my tone doesn’t convey excitement. “And I don’t even need to catch the tube to work. So that’s a benefit. Think of all the money I’ll save on fares.” He rolls his eyes at my sarcasm. The baby, his daughter, wriggles and kicks again. She’s strong and, at nine months pregnant, she’s due to make an appearance at any moment. The doctors have said if I don’t start labor in the next few days, they’ll induce me.

I wish this little one would get a move on. The horror stories online of induction are terrifying. My hands move to my swollen belly, my fingers splaying across the stretched black fabric of my winter wool dress.

“Is she kicking again?” Damon asks, and I nod. He walks over then places his hand on my stomach. His baby kicks again, and he beams. Genuine happiness seeps from him, his eyes fixed on where she lies. “Freaking amazing,” he mutters to himself. My heart skips again, the way it does every time he shows affection toward me. Though it’s not really aimed at me, it’s for his daughter.

The thought is heartbreaking. He doesn’t care for me the way I do for him. Not that he knows; I’m always careful to keep my emotions in check. If he knew, he would probably refuse to see me again.

Things changed gradually over the past few months. After he secured the lease on this apartment, he seemed to relax around me. Perhaps he felt more settled knowing I was leaving. I know he hadn’t been comfortable with me in his home, especially since losing Connie.

“I need to stop by the office before we go home,” I tell him. “Just to pick up some files,” I add when his face contorts in displeasure at the news.

“You’re on maternity leave, and only meant to work one day a week.” His voice is filled with disapproval. “You shouldn’t be requiring any files.”

“Only until January, then my days are increasing. Harrison has spoken to the school, and they’ve agreed to adapt my degree to allow for more workplace experience. Ninety percent of classes are online anyway. It makes sense. Harrison is officially my mentor.”

“I’m proud of you,” he says, surprising me. “After everything that has happened this past year, you’re still going for what you want. I know you’ll be successful, Emma. Connie would have been proud of you too.” His gaze drops away at the mention of her name. I can almost hear his heart strain with the thought of her. The pain etched across his face tells me all I need to know—he still loves her with every fiber in his body. He’s still consumed by grief at losing her.

“She would be proud of you too,” I whisper as my emotion catches in my throat. I move for his hand without thinking, which still sits on my stomach. Our skin connects and he snaps his away.

“I need to go,” he says harshly then spins on his heel and strides to the door. “I’ll meet you at the car. Don’t be long.”

I watch him leave and my heart aches. Part of me thinks he senses the connection we have; the other part feels like he can’t wait to be rid of me. Maybe there’s truth in both those statements. With one final look at the place I need to call home, I wander out to the lobby and close the door behind me.

The elevator descends to the basement parking area. My apartment is on the tenth floor, so I use the few minutes it takes to compose myself. Damon is sitting, waiting in the subdued Ford Focus he insists on driving around the city. It’s silver with more dents than a golf ball.

“You do know the office is less than a ten-minute walk away,” I say, then grin at him as I climb into the passenger seat. He flashes me a dirty look, but a smile plays on his lips.

“I don’t want you having my daughter on the street, so we’ll take the car.” I laugh out loud. “I’m serious.”

As I sit down and settle myself, I tap my stomach. “This little one isn’t going anywhere soon I don’t think. Nothing seems to have changed—I feel the same as I did last week.”

“And how is that?”

“Sore back, swollen ankles, chronic indigestion, and needing to pee all the time.” He chuckles. “Oh, and never mind my insides being used as a punching bag.”

“You look beautiful,” he says.

I blink at him, shocked by the compliment. He has never said anything like that to me before. We stare at each other for a beat as my mouth dries, then someone rattles on the window, breaking the moment. Damon shakes his head as if waking from a dream, then turns to speak to the man beside him. He presses the button to lower the window.

“Are you leaving, mate?” the man asks. “The guest spaces in this fucking place are always full.” He looks at me, then down to my bump and smiles.

“Yes, we’re leaving,” Damon confirms.

“Brilliant,” he says. “I’ll just wait for you and park here. Thank you, and all the best for your new arrival.” He nods then turns and walks back to his car. Damon clears his throat.

“Let’s go,” he mutters, then starts the engine and we drive off out of the parking space.

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