Page 38 of Christmas Mafia Prince
We did hold hands since the painful conversation in the kitchen, but he’s been respectful and hasn’t tried to woo me back into his arms. I’m happy with that. Or so I keep telling myself whenever he makes little romantic gestures for the sake of his family. He hasn’t pushed for me to change my mind about dissolving this partnership after Christmas, nor for keeping up our sexual relationship until then.
Like a gentleman.
He’s done exactly what I asked for, so why am I disappointed?
Is it toxic of me to have expected him to put up more of a fight? Happy would have.
Well, Happy might not be the best example, since he attacked me with a baseball bat for not wanting to sleep with him again, but there were others before him, who refused to be rejected this easily. Is it really so bad that I hoped Damen would go against my explicit wishes and fight for me, proving that his desire is so much greater than reason?
I guess a guy like him doesn't need to beg and plead with a street rat like me. As long as I'm his fake husband for the holidays so he can take part in the stupid hunt, he's happy to let me go later.
When he leans down to kiss me, I’m ready to fall right back into his arms. I don’t care that the gesture is only for the sake of our company, and that our marriage is a sham, because his soft lips are everything I want in this moment, and I might have even held on to his sweater when he attempted to pull away.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
That’s what I am.
And if it wasn’t for the shame of having a panic attack in front of all these men, I would have said the whole day after almost dying was quite successful.
We spend the afternoon with Damen’s sister’s family and his mother, and they aren’t even weird or homophobic about ourrelationship. I get to play with the kids (notin the maze), and that makes me feel normal for a while.
Dinner is a tense affair, but with so many more people at the giant dining table, some of the heat is off us. I’m not surprised that we’re seated far away from Damen’s father, but Damen still holds my hand, passes me food, and acts like the perfect Prince Charming.
When Titus shows up with a shaved head alongside Bree, who looks as if she swallowed a fart, I have to look away to not burst out with laughter. Aspen doesn’t have such qualms and when he spots my barely held-back smile, he asks Titus whether he managed to wash the ashes out of every crevice.
After dinner, the family divides into smaller groups, and most of the men go back to the smoking room where the drama unfolded earlier. I wouldn’t say holding a knife-throwing competition when half the participants are drunk is a good idea, but I’m only a guest here after all. The older guys tease me about not mastering the skill of tossing a blade at a target at my age, but they shut up when Damen steps in, teaching me all about it, romcom style.
Resolve to keep him at arm's length is leaving my body, but the gay vibes must have angered Titus because he breaks ourmomentby coming up with a bet, demanding Damen and I stop kissing in public if he wins. I hate the fucker so much. Damen seems confident though when he accepts, and wagers on Titus wearing some ugly Christmas blazer made by no one other than Aunt Lydia.
Long story short—Titus loses to my (fake) husband. I can’t wait to find out tomorrow just how hideous the jacket is, but kissing in front of him while knowing how much it pisses him off is even better.
Have I been secretly waiting for this moment? Yes, but when my lips meet Damen’s, and an intense longing curls in my gut, I start feeling sorry for myself.
I want him.
Idon’twant him.
Though if I’m to be honest with myself, it’s only his family I don’t want in my life, because if he came solo, I’d be making sure he has sandwiches for work every day, and his sweaters are thoroughly lint-rolled. I’d be the one doing crazy stunts to keep him.
Damen pulls away with a smirk and strokes my nape. “I think my husband’s had enough excitement for the day, so we will be bowing out of the next round.”
Titus glares at both of us, but while we’ve been getting curious looks from the other men all night, no one has any nasty comments.
Only Aspen chuckles, and I can feel something stupid headed my way before I even hear it. “Planning to continue the knife play upstairs?”
“I have something better to play with upstairs,” Damen calls back and pulls me close, leading the way out of the smoking room and then up the stairs while my brain scrambles with questions.
Was that comment meant to aggravate Titus? Or is he being serious and plans to ignore our agreement from earlier by throwing me on the bed and ravishing me while all the Trojan soldiers watch?
Would I allow it? Would I cry no no no! while thinking yes yes yes!?
I try to keep my breath even and not make unnecessary assumptions, but when his hand descends to the small of my back, I become pretty certain I wouldn’t put up a fight if he broke his promise now.
My mouth’s dry when the bedroom door opens and he lets me through like the gentleman he is.
But as soon as we’re inside, his fingers pull away from me, and I wonder whether two whirling saws covered in old blood really are that bad.
And that’s how I always end up in shitty situations, so I take a deep breath and step away. Iwillbe a man about this.
