Page 106 of Deliah
“It’s twenty-four hours.” I laughed. “You’ll survive.”
“I don’t like leaving you.”
“I’m not made of glass, Damion.”
“I know,” he said, kissing my forehead. “But you’re mine. And I like to keep what’s mine close.”
When he left, the place felt hollow. It was stupid, really. I was normally fine being on my own. But now? Without his presence—even just the sound of his shoes on the floor or the way he sighed when he read emails—I felt weird. Unsettled. He texted me from the plane. Then again when he landed. Then again when he got to the office. It was like he couldn’t go five minutes without checking in. And I didn’t hate it. Not even a little.
When Damion got back from England, he told me he had something planned for the weekend. Nothing wild, just a date night, like we often did. Saturday came, and he walked through the door holding a couple of sleek designer bags, the kind that made your heart beat faster before you’d even seen what was inside. He handed me the first one—a Jimmy Choo bag—and inside was a pair of red stilettos. Strappy. Sleek. The perfect shade of bold. I lifted them out slowly, already in love.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “These are insane.”
“Wait for it.” He smirked, holding out the second bag.
A Chanel ribbon was tied neatly around the handle. I undid it carefully, like it might disappear if I moved too fast. Inside was a white silk dress—pure luxury. Cut on the bias, low back, tinydiamantés scattered across the fabric like stars. It shimmered without screaming. Subtle, but showstopping.
I looked up at him, stunned. “Damion… this is too much.”
He stepped closer, hands on my waist. “It’s perfect. Just like you.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. “Thank you. Seriously. It’s gorgeous.”
“You haven’t even put it on yet.” He smiled. “But I already know you’re gonna ruin me in it.” He winked. “Date night’s booked. Be ready for six.”
I spent an hour getting ready, taking my time with every curl, every swipe of highlighter, wanting to feel worthy of the way he looked at me. The shoes fit like a dream. The dress fit like a dream; it gripped my body like a secret begging to be spilled. Damion looked just as good—maybe better. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, black trousers that fit too well, and that quiet confidence that made everything he wore look like it was designed just for him.
When I walked downstairs, his reaction was everything. He stood up slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe it.
“You picked the outfit,” I said, twirling just enough to make him blink. “What? Regretting it already?”
He dragged his gaze up my body like it physically hurt him. “No. Just wondering how the fuck I’m meant to keep my hands off you.” Then his hand slid into mine, grounding me in that steady, familiar warmth.
“I love you,” he said softly. “You look beautiful.”
I squeezed his fingers and smiled. “I love you too.”
Then, with my heels clicking against the marble floor and his hand wrapped tight around mine, we stepped out the door, into the night, and into whatever was waiting for us next.
We pulled into Puerto Banús just as the sky started to melt into velvet. The sun was dipping low, casting that golden, honeyed glow over the water, and the air was still warm—just the right amount of breeze to lift the hem of my dress and make the curls in my hair dance. Everything shimmered: the sea, the lights from the shops, even the pavement beneath my heels. It all felt like it had been dusted with glitter.
Damion came around to open my door, always smooth, always effortless. He extended his hand, and I placed mine in his like it was second nature now.
“Come on,” he said, his voice low and amused. “This way.”
I followed, the click of my stilettos sharp against the boardwalk as we strolled past rows of luxury yachts, each more ridiculous than the last. The kind of boats you only ever saw in movies, sleek lines, glossy decks, champagne buckets just sitting there like it was normal. Then he stopped. And I realised he wasn’t walking past the next one. He was leading us onto it. The yacht was obscene, in the best way. It looked more like a floating palace than a boat. Three decks high. Glass balconies. Polished chrome railings. Lights glowing softly under the hull like the damn thing was levitating.
My mouth fell open. “Damion…”
A suited staff member stepped forward, offering a polite smile. “Sir, welcome aboard.”
I blinked.Sir.
“What is this?” I whispered, trying to take it all in. I could feel eyes on me—staff, crew, maybe even strangers on the pier—but I couldn’t look away from him.
He smirked. “A date.”
“A date,” I repeated, still frozen.
