by Mara Lynne
“Are you not a little late for school, Angel?” Mom asks as she fixes the dishes. It’s past nine thirty, and I’m sure she’s wondering why I am a little turtle this early in the morning.
“Don’t you usually go for graduation rehearsals?”
Just before I could open my mouth, Dad appears with a smile reaching both of his ears. Behind him is the man I wish I will not encounter for I don’t know until when. Maybe until I sort out my feelings and be sure about myself… when I gain the confidence to look him in the eye without wincing.
“Damien says he’s here to pick you up, sweetie,” Dad utters, his face bearing the largest grin ever.
“My, oh my, Damien!” Mom exclaims. “That’s so sweet of you! I’m sure Angel likes it.”
My cheeks are blazing hot as I recall the ghost of his lips on mine. Is it me or Damien’s really looking at my trembling mouth?
“I’m not going to school.” I am supposed to say I am going to Maxwell’s for work when my glare accidentally lands on Damien, and I totally lost my train of thought.
“Angel and I are actually working on a project together. Our professor assigned us to a special project that could benefit the entire state,” Damien says, his sticky glare not leaving me. He looks like he’s waiting for me to agree with him.
Both Mom and Dad nod.
“So where are you going then?” questions Dad.
“At my house,” he coolly responds. “I’ve got all the materials needed. We’ll be done in no time.”
Mom turns to me with a look that I didn’t want to see. I know she’s got a lot of queries in her head, but I’m not going to answer them one by one.
With Damien appearing like this telling them he’s picking me up and bringing me to his house for research, Mom won’t let me off the hook this easily. However, Dad seems to be less dangerous to deal with. Though not entirely oblivious, I know he won’t make it hard for me.
“Your teacher is doing a pretty good job overworking you two,” Mom mumbles as she struts to the sink, carrying all the plates and utensils. “Why do you still need to work for him when you are graduating in less than two weeks?”
I don’t know what has gone into my mind, but my mouth slips out a quick answer. “We’re helping Haynes! It’s for the city, too. The Mayor asked Haynes a favor.”
Dad and Mom share a quick gaze, but neither looks suspicious. Well, I didn’t lie, so why worry?
“Well, good luck on that,” says Dad, then he kisses me on the cheek. Mom does the same afterward. The glint in her eyes means something more, but I’m not going to feed her theories with details that could get me into trouble. Better leave Sarah with her own opinion.
Damien walks out of the house first. As expected, his silver convertible is parked right in front of our small popsicle-shaped wooden gate. As soon as I step out of it and Mom and Dad close the door, I let out a sigh of relief. Damien opens the door for me when reality strikes me. I’m not going with Damien Etheridge this easily.
“Wait!” I halt. “I can’t go to your house.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t,” I stutter.
“Get in the car, Angel. Your mother’s watching us through your window.”
I quickly duck in and collapse inside the front seat until I am comfortably tucked in. Damien starts the engine like we’re being chased. This is far worse than being tailed by hooligans or patrol cars. We’re talking about Sarah Mohr here!
Silence quickly fills the car as soon as he starts driving. My mind goes completely ballistic, thinking of a plan B when Damien starts acknowledging my painful presence. I do not dare to look his way. I’d be too obvious. I know my face hasn’t recovered from last night. I might have slept with these cherry cheeks. Nevertheless, I could feel his brief gazes from time to time.
Why did he even come to my house? What are his intentions?
After what happened yesterday, he’s too daring to see me like the kiss was nothing. While I’m on the edge of my seat, he appears to be unusually normal. Is he here for confirmation? Is he here to render me defenseless again until I lose my mind and completely confess to him the truth? Is that why he’s come to pick me up?
I don’t remember agreeing to come to his house for research, yet here I am just one arm away from him with an undecided future awaiting me. All I did say was we have to work on it together, but I didn’t mean doing it in his house.
This is just one of the perplexing aspects of Damien’s character that I totally cannot and probably will never understand. He can so effortlessly make someone do his bidding. He hasn’t done much persuasion and yet here I am. If this is a crime, then I can easily sue him, but this isn’t. It’s not like he held me against my will or something. There’s not much of that element, but I know deep within me that I never would have come if there was a choice.
Is Damien bipolar? Does he have this serious case of multiple personality disorder? I wonder. One time, he can be extremely sweet… naughty without being rude. The next, he can be so brutally honest and insensitive. He is both extremes. I wonder how long he could keep this side of him today.
“Here we are,” he says as we stop in front of a majestic looking gate.
Not all rich people find comfort in settling in the busy outskirt of the city. Some of them would rather choose to build their safe havens in isolated areas like this one. There isn’t much of this kind of places in our state, but when you find one, it is extremely remote, secluded, and secured. Ordinary people might not even know that heavily-forested mountains and lakes are coveted by the wealthy. Most of us believe that the rich would opt for high skyscrapers or the glitz and glamor of the city. I did, too, until I actually believe that Damien’s family are not your usual rich family.
Why would they leave this paradise when they can have all this privacy and peace? It’s free from social pollution.
My eyes can pop out of its socket anytime as I drool over the beauty of its architecture. His house is more than just a house. It’s an irony if I call it just a mansion. With its size and features, it can be mistaken as a castle. It’s like one of those modern European castles where real princes and princesses live. Shades of sapphire blue, ivory white, emerald green, and gold together. It’s jaw-dropping!
“You live here?” All the time I thought he’s living in his apartment.
“No one’s staying here. It’s practically empty.”
Damien taps his fingers against the wheel of his car while waiting for the gates to open.
“This is more like our ancestral house. Dates way back the 16th century. It’s very old.”
I can see that although there are obvious renovations all over.
“It deserves to be lived in,” I murmur.
“I thought so, too.” He turns to face me with a smile. “I always thought you’d like this place.”
The mortifying heat spreads across my face.
“I’m not wrong after all,” Damien adds.
Chapter 22: I Won’t Say
The interior doesn’t disappoint. It is as beautiful and grand as the shell of this man-made paradise. The backyard is so wide that it can even accommodate a horse race anytime. Growing flowers and gorgeously trimmed bushes and trees add to its exquisiteness. It’s like one of those Disney castles.
I can imagine Damien growing up here. It must have been a whole lot of adventure having all the luxury in the world, all the servants at your disposal, and most of all, all the fun to do anything without worry. Damien has all these. No wonder he’s got no idea how suffering feels because he’s never had a shred of experience of it. That’s why he can easily play around people who suffer a lot and doesn’t even feel ashamed about it. He’s always on cloud nine; my eyes can’t deceive me. It’s not that he’s primarily and purely evil, he just hasn’t felt how it sucks so he must have not known. Somehow, I pity him despite the big fortune he has in his pocket. Even though he’s intelligent, there are also some other things he does not know and will never get
to know. With this, I slightly have the upper hand. Damien, after all, can’t always have everything. I know I sound a little bitter for having the biggest share of suffering while he doesn’t even get a tiny percent of it, but I’m trying to shift its undesirable facets just so I feel better.
As we enter through the large foyer, marbled and all shimmering with crystal chandeliers atop me, I can’t help but establish contrasts between my life and his. I am not even an inch of his toe in terms of financial stability. Though he isn’t explicitly shoving it on my face, it’s like he’s mentally telling me that I am so little, I don’t belong here.
Or it just my insecure ego telling me so.
Damien hasn’t even breathed a word about me being financially challenged, and here I am, all gritty to judge him. He’s nothing but nice the entire time. He drove me to his place without his crazy old tactics. Astonishingly, he has been sensitive and cooperative to me. No teasing and no face-palming arguments ever occurred, which is quite new to me. He was very silent — creepily silent, I must say, that even I wonder if he lost some screw in his head.
The whole time, I pressed my palms together, praying Damien won’t bring the kissing topic. For sure, I would lose the dispute. I haven’t regained the confidence to say something smart as a counter. Maybe I will never be since he’s already found out my secret.
Has he or has he not?
“Are you okay, Angel?”
I quickly pull back before Damien could land his hand on my forehead. There’s a glint of worry on his face, but I will never have the courage to assume that the concern was for me.
“I’m fine,” I reply as swiftly as I can while shaking the heat off my face.
A skinny old man with a balding head in a neatly pressed raven black suit comes to greet us with a warm smile. With the way he walks and the manner he gestures his hands like we’re some royalty, he’s most probably the butler.
“Good morning, sir,” he says as he lightly bows his head to Damien. “I have everything arranged as you ordered.”
“Well done, Thomas. Thank you.” His friendly nature surfaces.
“And what can I do for our guest here, sir?” He turns his scrutinizing gaze on me. His funny little mustache moves up and down as his gaze travels from my head to my toes. He honestly reminds me of old Maurice, the janitor at the west building of our campus. I actually wish I can read Thomas’ mind and know what he thinks of me. Not that I worry what he could be thinking about me, but he might perceive things the wrong way, and I don’t think I’m even in the right place to correct him if ever he’s gone in that direction. Not with Damien around.
“Tea will be lovely, Thomas,” I hear Damien speak with so much eloquence and grace. He is not like this when doing speeches at school, nor even talking to teachers, and most definitely not with me. He’s sharp-tongued. Yes, he can be overly tactless, but this Damien beside me sounds entirely foreign to me. He speaks like a high-born royal.
“As you wish, sir. Thomas, the butler, bows his head again before he side-steps past us.
“Wow! That was so England!” I exclaim.
“You better get used to this.” He bites his tongue. “I mean, people here act and talk like some Lancastrian and Yorkist expatriate.”
Then it comes to me that the research may take more than a day. Therefore, Damien’s correct to say that I may need some getting used to.
“Just tell me when they get on your nerves, and I’d tell them to lie low,” he adds.
“Thomas doesn’t seem to be the friendly type,” I say.
“He is when you get to know him more.”
He takes me by surprise when his hand touches the small of my back with utter gentleness and caution, leading me through the wide and long corridor.
“He’s been with the family for I don’t know how long. The earliest memory I have of him is when he was chasing me in the garden when I was two, I guess.” The boyish smile emerges, and it easily takes me into the realm of curiosity once more.
I have no idea how long I have been staring at his gorgeous set of white teeth, but I thought I can spend my whole life staring at him. It’s only when he pats me on my shoulder that I realize he’s noticed me entirely enraptured by his rather enchanting smile.
“Angel?”
Oh, God! I totally screwed up there. Ugh! The ground can swallow me now. By now, I mean pronto!
“I’m s-sorry…” Stuttering, I quickly remove my gaze from him and stare at my interlaced fingers. “I was just admiring the tapestry behind you.”
But Damien doesn’t seem to buy my excuse, and a shadow of that smile remains to continuously hunt me.
“You won’t believe me, but that’s actually a copy-cat from London. Mom was furious she couldn’t convince a collector to sell the original, so her vanity led her to fake one. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” He winks at me.
There are portraits of men in war uniforms and ladies in pompous Victorian outfits. No analogy is required to guess that these people were probably Damien’s ancestors. There are paintings of war and exquisite landscapes that are so gigantic, they can fill the walls with their size. Vases and statues line along the carpeted floor. Instead of getting caught gaping at him all over again, I decide to feast my eyes with this bounty of beauty and history.
We reach one huge door with golden carvings that look like spiraled tree branches.
“And this is?” One eyebrow of mine raised high.
This can’t be his bedroom, I begin to think.
Hold on right there, Angel Mohr! Why are you even thinking about working in his room? my conscience yells at me, deafening both my ears.
“This will be our modest abode for the meantime, Angel,” he utters almost in a whisper as he slowly twists the knob then pushes the door forward.
I could cry now. Every beautiful mansion must have this kind of library, I thought.
The walls are lined with wide bookshelves that stand as high as the ceiling. Books of all kinds, leathered or not, swamped the place. There’s a grand staircase in the middle cloaked with crimson runner, linking the first floor to the second and the third. A huge window connects the three floors, and through them, I could see the view of the curved roads that took us here. Just now, I realize that Damien’s house sits on top of a raised terrain — a mountain so to speak. This just means one thing, he owns a mountain. Who knows? His family might even own those four mountains I could see not far in the horizon.
My legs are glued to the ground. The sight is as majestic as it gets. This is so far the best place I’ve ever been.
Who would think that the person I used to awfully hate would bring me to such a beautiful place? With overwhelming joy slowly creeping into me, I fight back the tears by slackening my breathing.
“This is where we’re working?” I ask, my mouth dropped.
He nods.
“I can’t believe this!” I exclaim. “This is like a dream.” I don’t even know if I can do the work properly with all these distractions. The books are all enticing, and I already want to get my hands on every shelf I can. My fingers are itching to get hold of the papers, my nose missing the scent of the parchment and ink.
“Are you sure I can… I mean, your parents might see this as trespassing.”
“Angel.” He steadies me with his hands on my shoulders then leans forward to focus his gaze on me. “We’re going to work on this together, remember? I didn’t bring you here to make you feel uncomfortable. I chose this place because I know this is the only place we can work together peacefully. This is the only place I know you’d love to be.”
How did he even know that?
“Sorry for prying a little, but I can’t help looking into the favorite list of the girl I like.” He runs his fingers through his dark hair while hiding his shy smile and reddened cheeks. “Besides, we got everything we need here.”
“Maybe we should begin now,” I say, moving two steps away from him toward the long table where two laptops are placed.
&nb
sp; If Damien continues being nice to me, I won’t know how I’d continue responding to him. I can’t always step back and look for something else to do. I’d be with Damien for a day or more. I should learn how to compose myself and maybe shrug off the uneasiness if I want this whole process to be free of complications.
Perhaps he should just stop being too nice.
Eight hours, and I’m already deadbeat. Damien brilliantly did all the problem analysis and extrapolations while all I did was put in the data he provides me to the computer and hit the print button. I feel useless. I’m not dumb to not notice how he works so single-mindedly while I, on the contrary, didn’t even have the slightest idea of what we are trying to solve. I’m just not into social science. I’m more into creativity and imagination than logic and objectiveness.
I am not surprised with all the work he did. Even before I was included in this, he has already finished a quarter of it, and now we’re almost halfway. I could even walk out of here, and the productivity rate will not be affected at all.
I’m not complaining here. It’s just that I’m amazed at how many difficult tasks the Damien Etheridge could do without breaking a sweat.
It’s running six at night, and the sky is slowly turning deep orange as the sun retires. I’m gradually feeling light-headed, but I keep myself on the ground as I see Damien so serious with the datasheet in his hands. Over the brim of my laptop screen, I secretly watch him pace around while reading the datasheet.
I can’t figure him out really. This time, he’s showing the serious school boy aura… but not to a geeky level. He doesn’t look an inch like that. He’s one hot nerd— borrowing Ray’s words— if I can consider him as one, though.
“Are you hungry?”
Facing me, I just know that he’s caught me again watching him. Just how many times has he caught me stealing glances at him?
“Yes.” I quickly went back to work.
“I’ll go down and check on Thomas. Dinner is probably ready,” he says before sauntering through the door.
