Page 70 of The Marriage Agreement
“So, what were you two talking about?”
I feel like the spotlight is on me now even though it’s squarely at the stage. There’s no way I can tell him about what Nolan says. If Nolan’s wrong, I might feel like a fool. “Nothing. Just sibling stuff.”
“Huh.” He can tell I am lying, but he doesn’t pursue the issue any further. Instead, he puts his hand around my arm and moves his chair closer so that we’re sitting side by side. If one were to look at us from the front, they’d think we’re sitting on a bench. My body, like clockwork, reacts to his proximity. First with electric pulses when his hand touches my nape, and then with a dull constant fire inside me that refuses to die down. Hope rises within me, and I clamp it down as hard as I can. The thought of being heartbroken again makes me sick to my stomach. But still hope persists.
After the speeches and the dinner is over, everyone goes to the dancefloor and Damien drags me to it. “I want to dance with you,” he says as he brings me to the center of the floor. I can’t refuse him and part of me doesn’t want to. The music is slow and we sway around the floor together with other couples. My heart is beating like a drum throughout the dance and my mind can only focus on two things. His hands on my waist as they hold me like I am the most expensive piece of art known to man, and hislips are dangerously close to mine. I can’t stop fixating on them as though I don’t know what they feel like. What they taste like.
“Think about how good we look to everyone. We must be the envy of this room,” he says.
“Narcissistic much?”
“Is that a lie?”
I turn my gaze away from him and to the crowd. More than a few eyeballs are concentrated on Damien and me in a way that makes me immediately turn back my attention to him. “They must be wondering if you were sold to me by my brother in a deal.”
He laughs. “Are you saying it’s impossible for you and I to just be naturally into each other? I think the existence of a certain someone puts that theory to dust, don’t you think?”
“I thought Lake was a mistake.”
His mood darkens, and I already want to take my words back. It came out without thinking and I didn’t want to change the light and cordial atmosphere where had found ourselves in. He bends his head and looks directly into my eyes. His movements slow down. “Lake was never a mistake. I love him with all my heart and I am sorry I ever implied so. I would love to have m--” he pauses as if looking for a better word and then he says, “I would love to get out of here. Wanna leave with me?”
I nod. Parties were never my thing, anyway. We leave the dancefloor and then sneak out while everyone is busy liaising and networking. The apartment is dark and quiet when we return. I go to Lake’s room out of habit and find him asleep. When I return to the living room, Damien is holding two glasses of cognac in his hand. “Want one?”
“A drink, just the two of us?”
He shrugs and waves a glass at me. Curious at this different mood of his, I take it and he goes to open the sliding doors. The buzz of the city enters the room and I follow him outside.I have never been on the terrace before and I am surprised by how beautiful it is. It is a little garden paradise in the city with a lot of hanging plants, green lawn that surrounds black tiles, and a couple of sitting areas dotted around. The discreetly placed lighting makes it even more magical. I’ve only seen his gardener come and go and I’ve never wondered what he was up to, but it looks like he knows what he’s doing.
Damien strolls over to a swing chair and sits on one side. I take a deep breath and sit on the other end. I put the glass of the dark liquid to my lips as I watch the glittering buildings and enjoy the bustling peace of the city.
“Do you like it?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” Even though it’s fiery when it goes down the throat, I like how the drink warms my insides and brightens my mood. “I’m loving the Dutch courage it’s giving me.”
Damien smiles and sips his drink. We sit like this for some time. Neither of us saying anything and just enjoying the night. It feels comforting and casual. Just two people enjoying each other’s company.
“It’s beautiful out here,” I say, looking up at the dazzling stars. They all twinkle above us.
“Why did you run away?”
I stop drinking and look at him. There can only be one thing he’s referring to. The thing I accidentally said at the gala. I wonder if I should tell him the truth or not. It was a painful process to go through and the wounds from that have still not healed, but still, I think it’s about time I ripped the bandaid off.
“I didn’t run away. My father told my brothers I ran away and commanded them to cut ties with me.” I take another sip. I need that Dutch courage now. “My father was a very manipulative man, as you yourself know. After he found out I was pregnant, he demanded I get an abortion. I refused. He threw me out of the apartment he was renting for me, canceled all of my creditcards, and told me never to contact my family again. When I called Nolan, Seb, and Carey. All of them had the same story. My father had convinced them I told him I no longer wanted to live on family income and if I ever called them asking for help, they were to refuse me. And he also threatened them with cutting them off his will. Only Raine rebelled against him and would visit me, but he was in high school.”
“Is that the same time--”
“I came to your office and apartment trying to tell you I was pregnant? Yes.”
“Oh, Ivy.”
“I survived. But it wasn’t as hard as other people in my situation. My father allowed me to finish school. As much as he hated me for keeping the baby, he hated the thought of a Hawthorne dropping out of college. So I deferred school to have Lake, and I was able to finish a year later. Nolan would help from time to time and when I told him I wanted to start my bakery, he doubted me, but he still gave me startup capital. By then, I think even he knew the story of me running away was bullshit, but I doubt my other siblings ever questioned it.”
Damien’s hand snakes around me, and he draws me to his side. His embrace is warm and comforting in a nonsexual way that I appreciate. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Things turned out okay, and look, there are plenty of people in my position who have it worse than I do.”
“But you shouldn’t have gone through that.” His voice is rough with emotion. “I should have been there for you. I should have done all that I could to take care of you and Lake. God, I am such a fuckup.”
“There are worse people. My dad, for one.”
“And may he rot in hell.” He shakes his head. “And to think I saw myself as the victim. You should hate me. No wonder you want a divorce.”
