Page 94 of Deliah
Tommy glanced over, oblivious. “Didn’t we just go out last week?”
“To a bar that smells like deep-fried failure and plays Pitbull on repeat,” she snapped. “Yeah, super romantic.”
Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Alright. You want candles next time?”
“No,” she hissed. “I want to feel like you give a shit.”
“Jesus, Cherry, we’re out right now, aren’t we?”
“That’s not the point!” Her voice cracked slightly, eyes narrowing. “It’s been nearly a fucking year, Tommy. A year. And you still haven’t even told me you love me.”
The table went silent. The kind of silence you feel in your chest.
Tommy blinked. Took a sip of his drink. “You know how I feel.”
She let out a sharp laugh. “Do I? Because unless you’ve been whispering it in your sleep, I must’ve missed the memo.”
“I show you in other ways,” he muttered.
“No. You half show me. When it suits you.”
Damion, trying to cool the fire, set his glass down and said, carefully, “Look, maybe this isn’t the place—”
“Shut up, Damion,” I snapped. “Don’t get involved.” He looked at me, eyes hardening just a touch. But I wasn’t done. “She’s right, Tommy. You all sit there and act like she’s being dramatic, but maybe if some of you actually said what you felt, she wouldn’t have to fucking explode to get your attention.”
Cherry blinked at me, stunned for a second, then gave me a soft, grateful look. Tommy just sat there, arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tight I could practically hear it. Damion didn’t say another word. He just stared down at his drink, unreadable. The silence that followed was deafening.
Cherry stood abruptly. “I need a fag before I throw this bottle at someone’s head.”
Tommy pushed back his chair. “I’ll come with you.”
They walked off together, still muttering sharp words under their breath as they disappeared towards the stairs. I stayed seated. My heart was racing, my pulse hammering in my ears. The words I’d snapped at Damion still hung heavy between us. He didn’t look at me. And I didn’t know what the hell to say next.
Before I could even find the words to explain myself, Damion stood up from the table, cool and composed, and threw a few crisp notes down like the meal had insulted him.
“Let’s go,” he said simply.
The tone in his voice wasn’t loud, but it sliced straight through me.
The car ride back to the villa was deadly silent. My chest was tight, heart pounding so hard I could hear it echo in my ears. I didn’t dare speak. Not because I didn’t have anything to say but because I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble. His hands were flexing around the steering wheel like he was restraining something deeper. His face gave nothing away, and the longer the silence stretched, the more nervous I became. Was he angry? Disappointed? Was this going to explode into an argument, or... was he going to punish me? I swallowed hard, my thighs pressing together.
When we pulled up outside the villa, Damion got out, walked around the car, and opened my door like he always did. The familiar gesture gave me a flicker of hope:Maybe he isn’t that mad. Maybe I imagined the tension.
I was wrong. So, so wrong. The second the door closed behind us, he turned on me. Not with shouting but with terrifying, controlled intensity. He grabbed me gently but firmly under the chin, tilting my face up to meet his eyes.
“Deliah,” he said, voice low and steady, “you looked absolutely perfect in that dress tonight.”
My stomach flipped.
“But your attitude? Not so perfect.” His grip tightened just a fraction, enough to make my breath hitch. “Take it off.”
“Damion…” My voice wavered. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was just sticking up for Cherry. It was Tommy, not you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do as you’re told, Deliah.”
I hesitated. That was my first mistake.
“I said, take it off,” he repeated. “Before I rip it off you.”
