by Mara Lynne
Surely, there must be another reason other than her. She couldn’t be the only one to blame for this insanity. He and Candice could have fallen out. The woman must have done something to frustrate Damien, or her pregnancy might have stunned him. Perhaps, being an expecting father is a little too much to handle for him at the moment.
So, he has really moved on…
There’s a prick in her chest. It’s troubling, but she does not like to dwell on it any longer. It’s not worth the time. Clearly, they both have separate lives already. She doesn’t see herself being with Damien anymore.
She continues to loosen his shirt until her fingers stop at his mid-chest, picking up the dry towel from the nightstand and starting to wipe the sweat off his forehead and cheeks.
“Angel…”
Her body freezes.
Damien’s eyes flicker multiple times.
Horror-stricken, she looks sideways, peeking through the door to check on Hunter.
“Angel…”
“Damien, wake up.” He should stop calling her name, or else Hunter will find out.
As he opens his eyes, his upper body lightens, curbing the undesirable effects of alcohol. A happy smile flashes instantly on his face as he recognizes Angel. Her touch on his cheek brightens everything, including his sullen spirit.
He reaches for her hand, and he gets happier when Angel does not pull her hand back. He savors each second of this rare opportunity. It’s been a very long time since he felt this happy.
“What’s happening to you, Damien?” she asks. Her eyes are demanding for an honest answer.
He shakes his head as he tightens his grasp on her hand. Tears are already forming at the corner of his eyes.
Please, Lord, let this moment be real and not just a dream, Damien silently prays. Let it last for long.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I want you, Angel. Please…” The tears flow down until they mark the pillow. “I want you back.”
No. Why is she letting him say those words? Why?
She must not.
She must not because she already has Hunter, and Damien, Candice. On top of that, he will have a baby.
However, Damien is crying.
He is crying because of her, but Angel does not want to believe that. Damien is back for revenge and not for her.
“You should stop this. It won’t make you happy,” she says.
“If I do that, I will lose you forever.”
She wants to tell him to stop hoping. He will not lose her or anything because he had already lost her a long time ago… even before she and Hunter became an item.
“Damien… stop, please.” She withdraws her hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. She just knows he’s making things complicated. She doesn’t like Damien forcing his way back into her heart—perhaps because she knows herself too much. She knows there’s a small chance that she’ll open up to him.
Footsteps from the outside gain her attention. She stands to her feet and moves away from Damien.
She’s right. Hunter arrives with a pile of clothes in his arms and a glass of slimy concoction he made himself.
“Damien’s awake,” she hurriedly says before Hunter could notice her uptightness.
Damien presses his fingers to his nose bridge, just between his eyes, to stop the tears from falling any more than it had. His eyes are red, but one could easily mistake it for a sign of drunkenness.
“How many did you have?” Hunter asks as he puts the clothes down at the foot of the bed.
“Nine, I guess,” Damien replies.
Angel stands right before the curtain wall, not wanting to witness the interaction between the two. She’s hoping she could just leave, but what would Hunter think?
“Nine and you passed out. Not very commendable,” Hunter states.
“Unlike you, I have been in a time-out for months. My system has to cope up,” Damien answers.
“Seriously, bro, you should stop it. It’s not helping.”
“Who are you? Fucking Mary Etheridge?” A chuckle escapes from Damien. “Just keep on hating her, okay? I don’t want you turning into her.”
“Rest assured, I won’t.”
Damien knows. That’s going to happen only when the crow turns white.
“Hunter…” Angel turns to face them, purposely moving her gaze too fast to miss Damien’s cold ones. “It’s getting late. Your brother needs to rest.”
“You’re right, Angel.”
Angel heads out of the room first, walking as quickly as her legs could do.
She can still hear the two talking as she sprints farther from the door and to the north wing corridor where Hunter’s room is.
***
That morning, she wakes up finding Hunter all dressed for work. The man wakes her up with kisses all over her face.
“You’re going now?” she asks as she relishes the sugary pleasure his lips brought to her skin.
“I have to.”
“And you’re coming back when?”
“Tonight. Probably nine.”
“That late?”
Hunter smirks.
“There are just so many things to be done. I want them all finished before our wedding so I could have all the time with you.”
“That sounds fair, I guess,” she answers. Her finger lightly taps the tip of his nose.
“I’m thinking of Bali or the Maldives for our honeymoon.”
She pulls herself up to a sitting position so her face is level with him. Hunter smells so masculine… of wood and dew drops, of sunrise and budding leaves.
“Anywhere would be fine as long as I’m with you, Mr. Stone,” she mumbles, pulling his tie closer to her. To his disappointment, she stops right before he could catch her lips and trap them in his own. Angel laughs silently as Hunter bites his lower lip in disappointment. She carefully fixes his tie then.
“That’s all?” Hunter mutters seductively.
“I guess not.” Holding still the middle portion of his tie, she pulls him towards her, narrowing the gap, and she lands a kiss on his mouth—subtle and soft like a feather touching his skin. “I guess that would be all for now,” she adds just right before she moves back.
Hunter could not stop but adore her more.
He’s already thinking about all the things he can do with her when he comes back from work. Of course, he could not put those thoughts into reality now since he’s got a company to run, but later, he will have her all to himself. And he will let this temptress get a taste of what life will be like when she becomes Mrs. Hunter Stone.
“Hugo will be coming over to get your measurements,” he states. “He will also get your opinion about the dress you want to wear.”
Although she still has no idea how it will look like, Hugo will find it a very minor problem. He’ll get it sorted out in a short time.
Hunter goes on. “Mother’s also coming to help you with the preparation. I don’t exactly know how she’s going to do it…”
“I’m sure Victoria knows what she’ll be doing.” She shows him her engagement ring.
Hunter just smiles, agreeing with her.
“Speaking of accessories…” He pulls out something from his pocket. “I believe this is yours.” He holds out his hand to her, revealing a silver necklace with an angel pendant.
“I thought I lost this,” she says as she takes it from him.
“I have it since the day you got drunk. I intend to return it soon, but things came up, and it just slipped my mind. Who gave it to you?”
“Dad.” She brushes the angel pendant with her fingers and wonders what her parents could be doing at this hour in Colombia.
“Do you miss them?”
She nods.
“Do you want to see them?”
“Is it possible?”
“I can make arrangements,” Hunter replies. “And besides, I have to ask for their permission form
ally.” Her parents still doesn’t know that this marriage is real and not anymore based on a contract.
Chapter 9 – Tongue-tied
Laughter fills the large living room.
As Damien strides along the corridor and toward the grand staircase, he hears a playful laughter—one he judged to be distinctly shy and reluctant. His head feels a little light though he had an ample amount of sleep last night after drinking Hunter’s medicine. The man put something in it to let him doze off right away.
When he finds out who are in the living room, he instantly hides behind the huge marble column. There, Angel stands atop a circular platform, a foot high and a yard wide, wearing a white sheer body fitting gown. The fabric melts into her skin, emphasizing her curves really well. Two slender women in black tank tops surround her, encircling Angel’s body with tape measures. Then his gaze travel to four mannequins that stand just a few distance away from the windows, dressed in white elegant wedding dresses. It appears that the laughter came from Angel as she does not look content with the selection of dresses.
“All I want is a simple wedding,” she says. “A simple white gown will do. Don’t make it too superfluous, Hugo.” Obviously, the gowns on the mannequins have very long and ostentatious trains. “I think this one will do.”
“Darling, you’re going to marry Hunter Stone. He’s a big fish, so expect a lot of people from around the world coming over to witness him finally getting settled,” Hugo answers, running his pencil against the pad, probably sketching new designs or alterations. “People will look at you, and when they do, they see the dress. And when they look at the dress, they see me.”
Angel gets his message clearly.
“But I think this one fits me well,” she mumbles as her gaze travels over the dress. “It’s effortlessly gorgeous.”
Damien agrees with that. Angel is perfect in that dress. He knows his senses are back to normal, and yet Angel is bringing him back into a trance. She is so captivating that he will not complain about staring at her the whole day.
If only she’s wearing that dress to their wedding day.
If only she is to marry him and not Hunter.
“Perhaps you can do some changes on it, Hugo.” A familiar voice catches his attention.
Damien steps forward to see who it was, and he is not surprised to see Ray. After all, he is Angel’s best friend.
“Maybe on this part,” Hugo says as he studies the neckline.
“Not too provocative, please,” Angel asks as she tucks the divided neckline to the middle of her breasts.
“Just so you know, Hugo,” Ray says, “my friend here has the old maid syndrome.”
The two assistants chuckle, and the one with curly hair states, “You should take advantage of Hunter as early as now. His past girlfriends always take pride of their adventures in bed. We are yet to hear one from you.”
“Take that with a grain of salt, sweetie.” Hugo reprimands his assistant with a glare. “What matters is Hunter is going to marry you and not one of those piranhas who talk nothing but sex. Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn’s adventures are much fun to hear.”
Damien would not want Angel telling the whole world of her bedroom stories. It will deliver him to his grave.
RING… RING…
Damn it! His phone starts ringing—loudly—and it seizes everyone’s attention.
Damien quickly turns it off after finding out it was just Eric. Nothing necessary will come out of his mouth; Damien knows it. He will only tell him off about his health and probably suggests that he go back to Spain for another therapy. He did just that, and look what happened. He is left bemoaning that lousy decision.
“Who’s there?” Ray walks toward the porch.
“It might just be the cat!” The long-haired blonde assistant carelessly speaks out, wide-eyed.
The other assistant rolls her eyes
“Seriously, Martha? A cat?”
Hugo bites his tongue to stop himself from bursting into laughter and embarrassing his new staff.
“Is that you, Paul?” Angel steps down the platform.
“It’s just me.”
He reveals himself with one hand inside his pocket and the other at the back of his head, flattening the brown waves of his hair.
Just then, Ray recognizes the familiar man and shifts his dumbfounded gaze to Angel, who herself looks as though she has seen a ghost in broad daylight.
“Oh, it’s just Mr. Stone!” Martha, the new assistant, erupts. “But you should not see your bride in this state. Right, Hugo?”
“Martha, if you don’t have anything right to say, please zipper your mouth,” Hugo calmly says, finally losing his temper.
“That is not Hunter Stone…” the long-haired assistant whispers to Martha. “That is his younger brother.”
“I apologize for that, Damien.” Hugo goes to Damien and gives him a peck on the cheek. “She’s new in the business.”
“It’s okay, Hugo,” Damien answers.
Angel stands there, wondering how on earth Hugo and Damien know each other.
Smiling while waving his arms with flair, Hugo swerves his legs together until he comes face to face with Angel once again.
“I used to style Mary a long time ago,” he says. “Up until she sacked me just because I gave her Prada shoes instead of Jimmy Choo. But Damien and I are still good friends.”
Angel does not care about Mary’s narcissistic tendencies. She’s preoccupied with worrying, wondering how she will get herself out of this mess. The memory of last night, although the man was drunk and out of his mind, surges straight to her mind. It feels so fresh and new, she could not stop herself from feeling shy looking like this in front of him. She knows Damien feels awkward too. His actions suggest he wishes for the ground to eat him.
Damn Eric for giving him away!
“Hugo,” Ray starts, “I found flowers in the backyard. I think they will look good on the dress.”
“Flowers in my dress?” Hugo asks.
“Yes. Angel likes flowers, don’t you, Angel?”
Apparently, Ray is finding ways for Angel and Damien to be alone, and she easily notices that. And though she wants to stop her friend, her voice won’t come out of her throat, and her limbs remain petrified.
“You want me to join you?” Hugo questions reluctantly as he bends down to pick up his notebook and color pencils.
“Of course, you’re the stylist slash designer. You must see the flowers personally.”
“Can I go?” Martha butts in.
“Definitely, you two can come with us,” Ray replies, obviously enjoying his triumph.
“But Angel…”
“Angel will be fine,” Ray interjects. “And besides, her future brother-in-law is here,” Ray adds quickly, emphasizing a hidden message. “I don’t think Damien will abduct her or something.”
“That’s a really crazy idea!” Martha snorts, adding fuel to the fire. “Something that you only see in the movies. The bride gets abducted right before the wedding by a criminal wanting something from the groom. It’s definitely not that, right?”
“Oh, Martha!” Her friend assistant could only sigh.
Martha does not mean to offend anyone. It’s just that she has subpar IQ. Perhaps she’s too slow to get the gist of the situation—that’s her only fault.
“Shall we go now?” Ray leads the group out into the open, leaving behind her best friend. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, sweetie.” He winks at her before totally disappearing from her sight.
Now, she’s alone with Damien in the room.
Her palms start to sweat, and she brushes them against the skirt of her gown. She wants to say something, but what is it?
It’s the perfect time to tell him everything in her mind. Damien, back off. Go back to Spain. Marry Candice. But her tongue is too rigid to be moved, probably anesthetized by the growing anxiety.
Damn Angel, say it! her mind screams.
When she was still hurting over
him, all she wanted was to see him and talk to him, ask him so many things, demand his apology, and perhaps fix what has been ruined. And now that he’s here in front of her—most likely feeling the same conflicting emotions as he does—why can’t she say a word?
Damien did not expect it would be this hard… so hard that all he could do is stand there like a coward—like a shameless idiot. Why did he even step out of the column just to be put in this sticky situation? Just last night, his brazenness spilled the majority of his intentions for her, and for the thousandth time, he received no less than another indirect rejection. Perhaps it was the pain that put him to sleep and not Hunter’s magic pill.
If he wanted to talk to her, he would, and he will not think twice. But he just could not think properly or explain himself when Angel looks so ready to marry another man.
Not like this. Not in that dress. Not when his head is spinning like a Ferris wheel.
Shame is gobbling him alive. Why did Angel have to witness him act like a douchebag last night? She could have sent him away before he started whining like a loser.
“Are you hungry?” The long silence is broken when Angel’s voice finally breaks free from the chains of unease. “I can have Mrs. Jurgen make you something.” She offers though her eyes are everywhere but his face.
“No, thank you” he replies coldly, but warmth and the long desire for her affection are slowly taking over his voice. “I have to… I have to meet Candice.”
“Oh…”
To his ears, she sounds stunned. That reaction lifts his spirits, but that could just be him and the after effects of alcohol.
He goes on. “She’s going to see her doctor for prenatal.”
She gulps the strain in her throat. The discomfort started when Damien spoke of Candice and their baby.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Her delight is obviously forced.
“She’s on her tenth week. I don’t think we’ll know its gender any sooner,” he answers, letting his thoughts dance around his unborn child. “But I hope it’s a boy, I mean a girl would be perfect too. But…”
“I know what you mean,” she forces a chuckle.
