Page 95 of Damián

“This is ridiculous,” Rafael points a finger directly at me, his face twisting with disgust. “Are we seriously going to sit here and eat breakfast while you parade this… male whore around our family? It’s a disgrace.”

“Rafa, not now, honey…” Serena begs, but Rafael ignores her.

He looks at Damián. “How many days do you think slut-boy here will take to get bored and change you? Six? Two?”

Damián cuts a kiwi as he stares at my brother.

“You know, Rafael, I would tell you to keep your mouth shut and mind your own fucking business,” Damián says while stabbing a piece of kiwi with his fork, “but by the cut in your eyebrow, I’m pretty sure you’ve been told before… and still haven’t learned.”

Rafael’s face turns purple. He rises out of his chair, leans over the table, and slaps Damián’s fork out of his hand. But before the fork even hits the table, Damián grabs Rafael’s wrist, yanks his hand down onto the cheese board, and slams his knife straight into the block, burying the blade a millimeter between Rafael’s splayed fingers.

Serena shrieks, I gasp, and Rafael screams. My father… he just stares.

Rafael yanks his hand back, freaking out. “Who are you?! There’s no way an art dealer has an aim that perfect.”

“What are you talking about?” Damián glares at Rafael. “I missed.”

“You son of a—”

“Sit down, Rafael,” Elijah orders.

Rafael freezes, and by the way he is breathing, I can tell he is furious, but still, he sinks back into his chair, glaring with murderous intent at Damián.

Elijah looks from Rafael’s humiliated face back to Damián and smiles.

“I like him, Oliver.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Keep this one for a little while.”

CHAPTER 11

DAMIÁN

It’s been two days since I fucked up by spending the night with Oliver, and yes, it was a terrible fuck-up, mostly for two main reasons:

First, it left everyone, me, Oliver, and my team, in a vulnerable position that could have cost us the mission or even our lives.

Second, and most importantly… waking up with him in my arms made me realize how badly I want to do it again.

And for a very, very long time.

Those eleven seconds before I fully woke up and realized how badly I had fucked up were the best eleven seconds of my life.

Carajo… the feeling of his naked body pressed against mine, his scent, how at peace and happy he looked… It was incredible.

Naturally, because I’m an absolute idiot, I freaked out over my so-called feelings. Like a complete fool, I made Oliver think I pulled away because I regretted what happened between us, and not because I am completely terrified of how fast he is breaking down my walls.

Of how fast he is becoming a part of my life, and how desperately I want to keep him there.

¡Maldición!…

My heart aches whenever I remember the face Oliver made when he heard me say the words ‘I fucked up’…

I need to talk to him, but the only thing he texted back was: I get it, it was a mistake, so let’s not talk about it again. Text you when I have something about our next date.

And nothing since then.

Is this a fight? Can fake boyfriends who just happen to be exclusive fight?

Fuck… I don’t know, but it feels like one.