Page 52 of Aine
“Tonight, I’ll take you someplace other than the dining hall for dinner,” he whispers in my ear. “My request is that you shower and be ready at seven.”
His hand dips into the back of my shirt, the action causing my breath to hitch as his fingers dig into the muscle to massage it. Hunching over the plants all day gives me the worst back pain, and I’d be lying if I said his fingers rubbing my achy muscles doesn’t feel amazing.
“Can you do that?” Damien asks when I don’t respond.
It’s not exactly like I have a choice. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip before nodding in agreement.
“Good.”
He’s gone without another word, his long legs carrying him to his beasts. I watch the way they all wait for his direction, their trust in him seemingly unwavering. I can’t imagine how he ever managed to earn it.
Although, to be fair, it seems to be only me he treats like shit.
The sunscreen helps prevent any further burn to my skin, but the redness I earned before Damien came still hurts. I try to ignore it for as long as possible, but after only a few more hours, I find myself seeking out Alex.
He gives me a brief onceover before waving me away, his hunchback jokes uncomfortably loud as he watches me waddle out of the gardens.
I wonder what Damien would do if I refused to clean up and met him all sweaty and gross at seven. He’d probably take it upon himself to wash me again like he did when I had my accident. The memory makes me shiver, and fear of him doing just that is the driving force behind me dragging my sorry, sore butt into the bathroom.
Olivia keeps the shower well-stocked, and I hurry to clean myself before throwing on one of my nicer outfits and tackling the situation with my hair. Calling it a rat’s nest is generous, and I curse Damien for not owning any conditioner as I angrily run a brush through it.
I don’t know why I’m even bothering to make it look nice, but my anxiety for this evening has me doing it anyway.
Looking at my reflection, I pull up the neckline of my shirt in an attempt to completely cover the mark Damien placed on me. I worry he’s going to touch it again if I leave it exposed, so this turtleneck will have to do.
It’s not the most convenient, given the hot weather, but if it’ll keep me safe from Damien’s wandering hands, that’s what I’ll do.
I flinch when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Are you almost done in there?” Damien shouts, his voice muffled as it travels through the wood.
My hands shake as I scramble to comb out the last of my knots. I don’t understand why he wants to take me someplace other than the dining hall for dinner, and I don’t like the idea of being left alone with him.
Damien stands right outside the door and raises an eyebrow as he looks over my outfit. I wait for the inevitable comment, but he says nothing as he turns and gestures for me to join him downstairs. I’m careful to keep my distance as I follow, my movements halting as we reach the bottom step.
“I thought it’d be nice for us to get to know one another without hundreds of nosy beasts around.” He steps to the side so I can see what he’s done.
The dining room has been cleaned, and the table is set for what can only be described as a date. Candles and wine are visible from where I stand, making me worry about Damien’s expectations of me tonight. Husbands and wives don’t typically enjoy romantic meals where I’m from, and when one’s presented, there’s usually an ulterior motive.
Henry’s go-to was to make dinner, then demand I give him children.
“Olivia helped set it up, but she’s staying the night at Alex’s,” Damien continues when I don’t respond.
He looks awkward as he pulls out a chair for me, his eyes darting all around the room. I move slowly to the seat he readied for me, still suspicions of his kind actions. I don’t love that he sent Olivia away for the night. What does he have planned that she can’t be here for?
“Thank you,” I respond, clearing my throat and sitting on the very edge of the chair.
Damien smiles as he walks around the table and sits opposite me. He’s wearing nice clothing, grey slacks with a tucked-in button-up shirt. The sleeves are rolled up his forearms, and I eye the tattoos that peek out from underneath the fabric before meeting his gaze.
“Do you want some wine?”
He doesn’t wait for my response before reaching over and plucking my glass off the table. I watch as he pours the red liquid, and I tentatively grab it as he repeats the process for himself.
“Why are you doing this?” I blurt out, unable to hold back any longer.
Damien hesitates, his mouth flattening into a straight line before he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. I remain silent, eager to hear the reasoning behind this silly idea.
“Is it so wrong to want to enjoy a nice evening with my mate?” he quips.