I shake my head, not recalling hearing his name. But my sole focus has been seeing Kaden. I may have missed the mention of him.
“He’s been staying in the pool house,” Kaden explains. “We’ve hung out most nights, so he probably didn’t think twice about coming in like he has all week. I never think to lock the door.”
“Oh,” I say, securing the dress in a tight bow.
Kaden walks over to me, resting his hands on my hips. “Are you sure you’re alright? We were covered. He didn’t see anything.”
“I know,” I say quietly, realizing just how close he was to witnessing more than us lying in a sedated embrace, my body draped over Kaden’s, the sheet slung low on my hips. But it’s the moment that I miss, lost in our bliss. I’ll never get it back, and that’s what burns more than anything.
Kaden kisses me affectionately. With my hand firmly grasped in his, we walk downstairs into the open living space. Damon is leaning against the counter, a tumbler of something dark in his hand. If he were polite, he would offer to come back another time. But the mischievous gleam in his eyes lets me know that he’s the type who believes he’s above manners. The world is meant to cater to his whims, not the other way around. There are many of his sort on the island; I’m all too familiar with the type.
“You lied.” Damon smirks, his eyes shining with mirth.
“Damon, this is Faye,” Kaden explains before the rude man can say another word.
The arrogance shifts, and Damon’s features become softer. “Well, don’t I feel like an ass? I should’ve knocked.” His dark eyes appraise me as if taking in a piece of art, and his smirk molds into a genuine smile. “And now I understand what you were going on about. I’m sorry for barging in.” He dips his head in apology.
I shift my eyes away from his gaze. He’s strikingly handsome in a mysterious sort of way. The severe angles of his cheekbones accented by a thin nose and arching brows. When I first saw him in the doorway, the shadows dancing along his face made him appear sinister. The menacing smirk didn’t help either. But now, as I steal glances of him from beneath my lashes, my cheeks emblazoned with embarrassment, I recognize that he isn’t as he first appeared. He presents more playful and captivating.
Kaden keeps ahold of me, tightening his grip as Damon peruses appreciatively.
“Do you need more time alone?” Damon offers. “We can catch up tomorrow.”
“If you don’t mind,” Kaden says. “As you know, it’s been a couple months since we’ve seen each other.”
“That’s a lot to make up for,” he says, winking. I fight the urge to pucker my mouth in distaste. “Sorry. You’re sweet. And I’m obnoxious, with too much bourbon in my system. I better leave before you despise me completely.” He nods to us and disappears out the front door.
“I should probably get going soon anyway,” I tell Kaden. “Parker gets up early.”
“He weirded you out, didn’t he?” Kaden peers into my eyes, reading me so easily. “He’s not a bad bloke. Pompous and unfiltered. But I think he was born that way; he doesn’t know any better.”
I smile, recognizing the teasing tone that’s trying to put me at ease. When my shoulders remain tight with my arms crossed over my chest, he knows I’m not staying.
“I’ll walk you back to the house,” Kaden says, kissing my forehead.
Kaden leaves me with a long kiss and an even longer embrace that makes me regret not spending more time with him tonight. We only have this weekend, which isn’t nearly enough to hold me over until he’s back in December.
I’m in a love-induced haze when I saunter around the house to the backyard to enter through the sliding door—the quietest entrance.
“Did I kill the mood?” he asks much too loudly.
I’m startled by the silhouetted figure lounging on a lawn chair by the pool house, although there’s not a pool to accompany it just yet. A tumbler dangles between his fingers.
I stride over to Damon quickly, hushing him. “They’ll hear you.”
“What? Is it past your curfew?” Damon asks with a wicked grin. “Or are you not meant to be out at all?”
I cross my arms defiantly, not answering.
I’m turning to leave when he says, “Forgive me. I’ve had a hard time believing he’s been faithful. I thought you were—”
I whip around and glare at him.
He presses his lips together, his eyes widening in apology. “Don’t be angry with me. I don’t have a filter, apparently.” He drains the rest of the glass and displays it as evidence, as if the liquor is to blame for his unsettling candor. “And it’s not his fault. It’s in our nature to stray. Or so I’ve been told.”
“You don’t know him,” I bite back. “He loves me and would never …”
Damon shrugs dismissively. “Not saying he doesn’t. And love has nothing to do with it. It’s just the truth of it. Being apart for months at a time … it’s impossible for a guy not to be tempted. Because the women who tempt us usually don’t care who we belong to. They want what they think they can’t have. That is the nature of women. Always wanting to be the one chosen.”
I gawk at him, slack-jawed.
“I did it again,” he sighs sadly. “I’ve upset you. I really didn’t mean to. I was just sharing what I know. Forgive him if he strays. Like my wife does for me.”
I blink rapidly. “You’re married? Why would you … How could you …” At a loss for words, I can only huff in disgust.
“It’s not love that brought us together, Faye,” he attempts to explain. “It was at my father’s urging. ‘Claim responsibility,’ he told me. But it was really about a business acquisition. She knew what it was when she said yes. Sadly, I did not.”
I stare at him a moment, his eyes blinking lazily, a stray blond curl resting on his forehead. How could anyone not marry for love? I couldn’t imagine.
No wonder he has such a jaded view of those who actually are in love. It’s hard to convince yourself it exists if you’ve yet to experience it for yourself.
Damon’s eyes droop closed. I gently remove the glass from his hand before it shatters on the stone patio. I’m tempted to shake him awake and send him to bed, but in the starlight, his face softens and appears peaceful, almost … angelic. Instead, I remove a blanket from an outdoor chest and carefully drape it across him.
Every time I saw Damon over the next two days, his words would stir an ache inside my heart. No matter how jovial he was—he’s much more palatable sober than when under the influence of liquor—I found myself searching for the truth. Who was Damon Thorne—the tortured soul or the charming man? The contradiction couldn’t possibly live within the same person. Eventually his true character would be forced to reveal itself.
My friendship with Maggie Andersen was that of opposites. But it suited us, allowing room for balance. My patience soothed her ferocity. Her exuberance stoked my uncertainty. It was a friendship set upon a teetering ledge. Ever-changing to be the other’s opposing force.