Epilog
Elene
* Six months later *
"Were you nervous?"
His question catches me off guard. I turn around, meeting his inquiring gray gaze while the driver starts the car. Damon is sitting in the back seat next to me, dressed in a navy blue suit and matching tie, his brown hair gelled back and two-day stubble adorning his strong jaw. I wonder if I will ever get used to how stunningly handsome my boyfriend is.
"Of course I was!" I reply. "Meeting the parents is a big deal."
He chuckles. "It didn't show, I can tell you that."
"Good," I sigh, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "They were so nice, though. It was easy. Especially your mom."
He bobs his head to the side.
"Nice, hmm," he mumbles. "Maybe. She's been trying very hard, especially since they were released, I give her that. She's getting there, more so than my father."
I nod. His father was a different story, for sure. I felt weird when we drove up to their small apartment, chauffeured in a black limousine, both dressed in upscale designer clothing, while they can barely make ends meet. I could see the way his father was eyeing him and then me, literally scanning us from head to toe, while I wished I wasn't sporting my new Valentino dress and Louboutin heels. Both were a gift from Damon, and he insisted that I dress up tonight. Maybe he wanted to make his parents, and especially his father, feel bad for their mistakes, even though they've already paid with everything they had.
"Your father needs a little more time," I offer. "You didn't go easy on him."
Damon nods, reaching for my hand and squeezing it lightly.
"I know you want me to patch things up with them," he says. "But I can't act as if the past never happened. Not yet. I need time, just as much as they do."
"That's fine," I assure him. "As long as you're willing to forgive them."
He looks at me, his handsome face displaying a cautious smile. "I'm getting there."
My reciprocating smile is wider than his, laced with encouragement. "I guess that is all I can ask for. For now."
"I am going to help them get back on their feet, like I promised you," he says. "But only if they prove themselves worthy of my help."
I roll my eyes at him.
"You wanted to do something meaningful with your money, didn't you?" I ask him. "Isn't that why you started investing in the first place?"
He sighs. "And you know where that got me."
"Yes, to me," I pipe, winking at him.
I know he's still hung up on that startup investment that went down the drain and almost got him into legal trouble, but ever since that was dealt with, I no longer let him dwell on those dark thoughts. That guy, Scott, was the only one who faced an actual lawsuit in the end, and while the money Damon invested may be gone, he still has a clean history. He got off the hook, just like he said he would. It is nothing more than a bad memory.
The car comes to a halt in his building's driveway, and I follow him through the lobby, balancing on my new and way-too-tight heels. I can't wait to get upstairs and get out of them, maybe take a hot bath. Maybe he'll join me.
The penthouse has changed since I first saw it about six months ago. It was a stunning place back then, but kind of sterile-feeling and empty. The changes since then have been small and gradual, but I've never noticed it as much as I do now. Everywhere I look, I find something that doesn't belong to him, but to me. I left my Kindle reader on the coffee table next to a stack of my magazines. There are three pairs of shoes right next to the door that belong to me, and two coats hanging on the rack next to it. The mail that's piled up on the countertop that separates the open kitchen from the living room has not been sent here, but brought up by me. A lot of it is info material about design schools that I've been thinking about applying to.
That pile is probably the most telling sign of how little time I still spend at my own apartment. I only go there every few days to pick up the mail, water my dying plants, and say, maybe hang out with Sandi for brunch. She's still working at the club, but has recently told me that she's thinking about quitting, too, because she met someone. It's not a client, but a guy who is not part of that world. I've never met him, but he's the first guy who means enough for Sandi to stop sleeping with others. She's no longer a devil at The Velvet Rooms, but an angel — the first step to take before getting out of the business.
Damon wanders to the kitchen. Loosening his tie, he turns back to look at me mid-trip. "A drink?"
I shake my head. "My head is already buzzing from what we had with dinner."
"Tea then?"
He doesn't wait for my answer, but reaches for the kettle right away. I join him, wrapping my arms around his toned waist from behind and deliberately pressing my tits against his back.
"You're asking for trouble," he warns me, as he fills the kettle with water from the tap.
"Maybe," I whisper, adding another squeeze before I let go of him so he can finish his water boiling business.
"Do you think I spend too much time here?" I blurt out.
He turns around to me, furrowing his eyebrows. "What makes you ask that?"
I shrug. "My stuff is all over your place, even my mail. And I can't remember the last time I spent a night at home."
His eyebrows rise. "But you're still calling it home."
I inhale sharply. "Yeah... well..."
"I don't like that," he says, closing in on me, his hand digging into my hips as he pulls me closer. "This should be your home."
My anxious heart flutters at his words and I tilt my head back to catch his gaze.
"What are you saying?" I ask, my lower lip trembling.
He smiles, displaying that wayward dimple that only appears on his handsome face every so often when he’s absolutely, totally sincere.
"I'm saying I want you to move in," he says. "It's long overdue."
"We've only been dating for six months," I add for consideration.
But Damon just shrugs. "So? What would change, really? Except for you not having to go back there to get your mail?"
My eyes remain locked on his, narrowing as I try to figure out whether he's being serious or not. But he's keeping a straight face, showing nothing but loving anticipation as he awaits my answer.
"I love you, Elene," he adds, fueling the happy fluttering within me. A smile gives voice to that joy. "I love having you around. I love being with you. Fuck, it's so much better to have you with me all the time than it is to be without you."
A coy laugh joins the blush on my cheeks. "I love you, too, Damon."
He leans down, placing his index finger below my chin to tilt my head back. His lips meet mine with tender affection, a kiss that is more of a gentle seal than foreplay, spiced with intimacy and belonging.
"Okay," I breathe between our kisses. "Okay, Damon, I will move in with you."
His lips break into a smile, and he retreats, just enough for our gazes to connect.
"You'll have to promise me something, though," he whispers, holding me in place with his gray eyes,
I nod. "Yes?"
"You'll have to wear white for me again one day," he says softly, his voice whispering an elusive promise. "It'll be just for me, but I want hundreds of eyes to see you when you do."
I nod, my face beaming with understanding, as a single tear steals its way down my flushed cheek.
"Yes, I promise."