Page 40 of Damon
“I don’t know.”
“Then it will never be the life I want.”
Chapter fifteen
Damon and Annie's Home, London
Emma
Two weeks have passed since I moved in with Damon, Constance, and her nanny, Julia. The situation borders on absurd, and I have no idea how long the set-up will last. No one has mentioned me leaving, and the thought of going back to the apartment I was attacked in is an unwelcome one. Damon and I haven’t spoken about the incident since our brief argument at the hospital. Anytime he’s brought up the subject, I’ve refused to discuss it or repeated the same blunt lies about burglars, though I have a feeling the topic will be revisited soon and I won’t be able to wriggle out of the conversation so easily.
The day after he came to visit, he collected me and brought me straight here. Mrs. D had been tasked to gather my clothes and personal belongings from my apartment. They were all hanging in my wardrobe or meticulously placed in the drawers when I arrived. The house is both familiar but strange. I’m back in my old room. It hasn’t been decorated since I left. But in my absence, the routine of our home is gone.
Every day runs with precision. Julia is a superb nanny and keeps Annie on a tight schedule. Damon comes and goes as work demands. Often, he’s gone when I rise in the morning and returns after dinner, when he disappears to the makeshift nursery to spend time with his daughter. A smaller, single bedroom has been adapted for Annie until my room becomes free once more—well, I assume that’s his thinking, as Julia and I have the two larger spare bedrooms in the house.
Last night, I was walking past Annie’s doorway to the bathroom when I heard a low male voice singing softly. His tone was surprisingly pleasant; I didn’t expect a brute of a man to sing so sweetly. The door was cracked open a fraction, and I paused to watch him with his daughter. He was sitting on the deep red carpet dressed in his gym clothes, holding her against his chest. I watched in awe as the strong, domineering man was brought to his knees by a tiny human being. He lazily sang nursery rhyme after nursery rhyme as she slept in his arms. My heart swelled watching them, the vulnerability and strength completely at odds with one another. A familiar pain stabbed in my chest, the memory of the parents I had lost and the unconditional love I miss out on each day.
My feelings toward Annie are complex; she’s mine but she isn’t. Julia keeps her away from me day to day. I do wonder what her instructions have been, if Damon has specified that I’m not to be involved in the child’s daily life. The thought bites. Why would he want me here but not involved? It makes no sense. In the fourteen days I have lived in this house, I haven’t even held her. Not that I’ve asked to, unsure whether that would be overstepping the line or not.
There’s no escaping the fact I love her. She lived within me for nine months. Now, she’s growing fast and, at nearly four months old, has stunning blue eyes and tufts of blonde hair. When she lies in her crib and gurgles, happiness washes over me followed by sadness. Now, I live in the last place I ever planned to return to with the man I fell in love with and his daughter. They’re the two people I want in my life more than anyone, but in my heart know will never truly be mine. This is and always will be Connie’s family.
***
It’s early on a Sunday morning that I find Damon sitting at the kitchen table, wearing his gym gear and drinking his coffee. As I enter the room, he glances up and smiles when he sees me. “Hi,” I mumble, embarrassed once again by my nighttime attire. My mind flicks back to our similar encounter months before.
“Morning,” he says, standing and moving to the kettle, flicking it on. “Do you still take your hot chocolate the same way?” I blink at him for a moment—he remembers how I take my hot chocolate. “Emma,” he prompts.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll get it, though. You return to whatever you are reading.” I signal to the newspaper laying open across the wood. He waves my concern away and turns to take a mug from the cupboard before preparing my drink.
My focus returns to the paper as I walk toward it. The central image brings me up short. Samson Moreno stares back at me and my feet freeze to the floor in terror.
“Emma, are you all right?” Damon asks, coming to my side. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His eyes move between me and the article. “Do you know him?” I shake my head automatically as I prepare myself to read the report.
Samson Moreno, recently released from a life sentence, has been seen out and about in London. The scorned gentleman who was incarcerated in error had his conviction overturned thanks to notorious defense lawyer, Harrison Waite. Mr. Moreno is back enjoying life and is currently establishing a restaurant in Canary Wharf. When asked about his time in prison, Moreno said he held no ill will against law enforcement or the jury who convicted him. He advised mistakes happen and he was being compensated handsomely for it. Moreno used his time inside to study toward a degree in accountancy.
“I knew I recognized him,” Damon says, startling me. I glance up at him; he’s watching me intently as I read. The sound of the mug being placed down causes me to look away.
“Thank you.” I pick up the hot beverage and bring it to my lips. After taking a sip, I place it back down on the wood. “I can’t believe you remember how I like my drink.” He chuckles softly. “What?”
“There is a lot I remember about you,” he replies ambiguously. “So, do you know him?” he asks again, tapping the paper.
“No,” I repeat but with less confidence. His focus never leaves me, and I struggle to maintain eye contact. Will my lies be obvious to this man who has spent his life catching criminals? Having lived in hiding for so long, am I still completely transparent to those around me?
“This is the man I was talking to when you saw me on the street outside your apartment the night you were attacked,” he tells me frankly.
“Was it?” I shrug in an attempt to appear unflustered, but his expression says he doesn’t believe me.
“You know it was.” His eyes narrow, his brow furrowing with frustration. He looks insanely good. Damon is a man whose sex appeal skyrockets as his mood plummets. He suits the dark, brooding look; it speaks directly to my libido, and my nipples harden against the skimpy fabric of my nightdress.
“I was shocked to see you,” I argue, attempting to deflect his questions while trying to regain some composure from my wayward thoughts. My next statement zaps all the sexual tension from the room. “We hadn’t seen each other since…” I trail off, not wanting to speak about the day we have never discussed. The day he took his daughter and walked away while I was still in the birthing pool.
“Since the day you gave birth to my daughter,” he says tenderly. “The day you made me a father and I abandoned you.” His argumentative expression morphs into one of discomfort. The man standing in front of me looks vulnerable and unsure.
“You didn’t abandon me, I told you to go.”
“I didn’t want to,” he mumbles. When I look at him, honesty is etched across his face, the pain, the guilt, and the kindness intermingled with each other. “And I shouldn’t have.” He takes a step toward me, and a large hand rises to my face. He cups my cheek, and I lean into the warmth of his palm. On impulse I turn my head and place my lips on his skin. “I am sorry, Emma. You should never have been on your own after giving me the ultimate gift.”
The sound of footsteps break the moment, and he steps back, dropping his hand from my face as if stung. His eyes rise over my shoulder, and I glance around to see what he is looking at. Julia wanders into the kitchen wearing her huge fluffy robe and carrying Annie in her arms. She looks younger in the mornings before she has applied the layers of makeup she wears.