“Miss Dornan, we’re going to cut to the chase,” Lenore drawls, wrapping long, manicured fingers around her steaming mug. “We know you were one of the young ladies connected to our son’s ill-conceived…endeavorslast spring.”
And there it is. The topic I had hoped to avoid.
Even with the gulf between us, I sense Damian stiffen as Lenore clears her throat. “We also know you’re on a full scholarship to Conwick, that you’re studying mathematics, but what we don’t know—and what we’re trying to understand—is why you’re dating him after what happened with you two last semester.”
I mask my stilted breath by taking another hearty sip of my coffee. Okay, so his parents are aware of my connection to his bet, and they’ve clearly read enough about me to know a bit about my personal life, but what’s most important is they’re under the impression—or at least open to the idea—that thisfake romance between us is real. They’re skeptical, sure, but they aren’t in complete disbelief. Not yet. Which means there’s still a chance, however slim, that we can pull this off.
“It’s just…unusual,” Lenore continues, her fingers now moving to the string of pearls around her neck. “And after everything, whynow? It almost feels like?—”
“Someone’s twisting someone else’s arm,” Hector finishes.
All eyes swing to Damian’s father, who watches me with narrowed eyes, like a hawk tracking an unsuspecting rodent. It takes all my self-restraint to not cower under his withering gaze.
“That’s not—” Damian interjects, but his father cuts him off with a warning glare.
“We would likeherto answer.”
Damian visibly recoils, shrinkinginto his seat, his eyes dipping to the table between him and his mother, and it dawns on me as his hands squeeze into fists on his lap…he’s afraid. Notofhis father—that’s not the vibe I’m getting—but of the ramifications that will no doubt arise if I say the wrong thing.
Worry stretches across his features, and in the briefest sliver of a moment our gazes meet, I see him—his real face past the easy-going mask he’s always wearing.
Like armor,I realize.
It occurs to me then that Damian’s joking demeanor, his sarcasm…it’s all a guise—another piece of that bewildering puzzle I’m still failing to see the complete picture of. He uses humor to protect himself, I can see that now. I think I’ve known it since that day on the Navarros’ yacht when he explained to me why he doesn’t have any friends.
But why? What is he hiding that makes him so determined to keep everyone at a distance?
The answer doesn’t come to me. All I know is the man beside me—the one who’s trying so hard to look calm but has a frightened-looking boy in his eyes—is therealDamian, andthe fuckboy I met at the beginning of the year is the costume he wears to hide that person. But there’s something else here I’m not seeing—something beneath the surface that I know will explain this almost tangible hostility between him and his parents. Something that might also give me the answer as to why he got so mad when I called his problems small.
As that thought crosses my mind, another follows. There has to be more to his parents’ ultimatum than what he told me, just like there’s more to why I need his money than I was willing to tell him—the truth hidden behind that ridiculous cosplay excuse. It seems that secrets abound between us, and I suspect they’re each just as consuming and present as our irrefutable attraction.
Unease stirs in the pit of my stomach because, on some distant level, I can relate to what he must be feeling. I might have an unshakable bond with my mother, but I would be lying if I said our relationship hasn’t been complicated by her cancer diagnosis, and as for my dad…well, I remember a similar tension with him that makes this situation hit too close to home. Damian’s father might not have left him like mine did, but I suppose his threat to cut him off is a kind of abandonment of its own.
Perhaps it’s for that reason that, for the first time since we made this agreement, I find myself wanting tohelpDamian—to be more than just a participant in this lie, but an active contriver. And not for my own selfish reasons, not just for the money, but because I know how it feels to be a constant disappointment in the eyes of someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally. And perhaps it’s for that same reason, words start flowing out of me without reservation.
“With all due respect, I can appreciate how it must look, but no one’s twisting anyone’s arm here.” I peer across the aisle at Damian and offer him a reassuring smile before turning my stony gaze back on his parents. “I was furious with your sonabout what he did last spring, but I don’t regret that it happened. If it hadn’t, then I never would’ve known the person he is now. The person who ismorethan those bad decisions.”
It’s not the truth…but it’s also not entirely a lie. If the bucket list hadn’t existed, I wouldn’t have gotten a glimpse past Damian’s fuckboy shell, and I wouldn’t be sitting here desperate to see more of the real him he keeps tucked away.
You hate him,a small voice reminds me from a space in the back of my head.Why should you care?
But as those words flood my thoughts, I can only respond with,Maybe I don’t hate him. Not anymore.
Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that what I feel for him now is more nuanced than something as straightforward as loathing. In the weeks we’ve spent together, I’ve seen so many little pieces of him, and while the picture they form might still be disjointed and unclear to me, I see enough to grasp that there’s more to him than the guy who ghosted me freshman year. There has to be.
“You want to know why I’m dating Damian?” I ask, not meeting his eyes, though I can sense him watching me, just as curious about the answer as his parents. I shrug. “It’s simple. He owned his mistake, apologized for it, and Ichoseto forgive him. The person he is with me now is not the same person who made that bet.”
Another half truth. His apologies so far have been apathetic at best, and I’m not sure I can ever forgive him, not really…but I also know he isn’t the same guy I fucked in the library at the start of the year. Because I wouldn’t be capable of anything but hatred for that man, and the Damian sitting beside me? Well, I’m certain now I no longer despise him.
If I did, I wouldn’t be this eager to clap back at his parents.
“It’s just all very sudden,” his mother persists, exchanging a concerned glance with her husband.
“It’s not.” My tone dances on the knife’s edge between polite and argumentative. Though it wavers, I make sure to keep it mostly on the side of politeness. “Damian spent months trying to get in my good graces again,” I say, submitting myself to the outright but necessary lie. “The only recent part is us dating. Before that, it was more of a…tentative friendship.” When they still don’t seem quite convinced, I add, the words clipped, “Just because it hasn’t been documented doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.”
That last statement seems to get their attention. Lenore gapes at me, looking utterly stymied, while Hector appraises me, his eyes considering.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, my dear, but whyyou?” he asks after a lengthy pause. “Of all the women he wronged with that immature stunt of his, why only apologize to you? Why apologize at all? What could have possibly triggered this uncharacteristic burst of conscience?”
