Page 66 of Arrogant Heir
We haven’t mentioned the L word. Why would we? We only slept together for the first time today.
My thoughts crash around in my mind, and I feel like hell as I crawl into my huge empty bed and fall into a merciful whisky-sodden slumber.
CHAPTER40
Damian
The sun hits my bleary eyes and I realise I forgot to close the shutters before I fell into bed in a drunken state. The events of last night flood into my mind and I reach for my phone, remembering the messages I sent Jamie with more than a hint of self-loathing. And to make matters worse, I’ve got a horrific hangover from hell.
I run my hand through my bed hair as I scroll back and read them, heart pounding. The last one says:Where did you go? Are you okay? Please reply.
What was I thinking, letting my defences down like that and texting her like a love-sick nob? I curse the effects of too much alcohol and the post-coital haze I was lost in after that incredible fuck we had before the ball. Thank God I didn’t say more. I remember feeling desperate, so I might easily have told her how I feel about her in my moment of weakness.
There was a reply from her after I fell asleep:Did you think I’d just turn up when you were likely to come in at any moment with your ex?
And another one soon after:I know this is just a casual thing between us, but even if you came home alone, that doesn’t mean I want to spend the night with you, knowing you’d rather be with someone else.
The hurt reverberates through her words. She’s angry and I don’t blame her. Fuck. I’m such a twat sometimes, and I feel so out of my depth with her. She thinks I’m into Steph and took her home. I can imagine how it must have looked. Me and Steph at the bar talking and me gone for ages.
I make a pot of coffee and move out to the terrace. The Thames sparkles and I watch a cruise boat pass with London tourists aboard. It’s another bright and beautiful day, but my thoughts are dark and tug at my heart.
After I shower and my head clears a bit, I call her. No reply. Again. She’s obviously ignoring me. I message her:I’m sorry about last night. I came back to look for you, but you’d gone.
The morning ticks by and she doesn’t respond so I call again. Still no response. Is this it, then? She’s super busy or super angry. As it’s a Sunday morning, I’m guessing it’s the latter and I’ve witnessed her fiery temper. She must think the worst of me, or at least that I’m living up to my despicable reputation.
Yesterday afternoon was amazing, and I was really looking forward to us spending the night together. My cock stirs at the memory. But then it all went wrong because of Steph. Well, because of me. I need to take responsibility for my part in this mess. I’ve never been able to say no to Steph, and when she pulled me to one side, I didn’t have the strength to push her away.
I’m still reeling from seeing her and the revelation that she’s no longer with my former best friend and wants me back. It was all so unexpected, but I shouldn’t have left Jamie alone like that when she was my date. Some date I am. A real fake!
It’s the longest day and I keep checking my phone, but there’s nothing more from Jamie. I consider asking Seb for her address and going to see her in person, but I’m too uncertain of her feelings. What if I’m nothing more to her than a casual fuck now the book’s done?
The sex was fantastic, but could it be more than that for her? I think she’s grown to like me after our unfortunate start, but honestly, I’m blind to her true feelings.
The more I turn it over in my mind, the more confused I become, and the lower my spirits sink. I can’t face going to see her, only to discover she doesn’t care for me. She might have just been pissed off that I ditched her, and it hurt her pride—it doesn’t mean she wants anything deeper, does it?
Dusk descends over the twinkling London skyline, and I wander back out to the terrace and gaze into the distance at the illuminated Albert Bridge.
One day, I want to walk with Jamie, hand in hand, over my favourite bridge and into Battersea Park. I pull myself back from the abyss abruptly. I’ve got to stop these romantic fantasies and get a grip.
My phone pings with a message and my senses race as I grab my phone, hoping it’s from Jamie and she’s forgiven me for my ungentlemanly behaviour.
But it’s from Steph, telling me she loves me.
Of course it is! It’s sod’s law. She didn’t get in touch for years when I would have given anything to hear from her, and now I’m over her and yearn to hear only from Jamie, Steph texts me.
Too little, too late, Stephanie, I think.But I don’t respond. I said enough last night and don’t want to be cruel even after what she did. I realised last night that I’ve forgiven her and wonder if that’s why she stopped haunting my dreams.
More likely because a certain feisty redhead dominated them instead.
It’s getting late, and I feel myself growing increasingly agitated and cross with Jamie. She could reply, even if she wants nothing more to do with me. So, I fucked up, but it’s not like I murdered someone, after all. And it was a fake date. I chatted with my ex at the bar. It’s hardly a crime.
I find myself justifying my behaviour because I’m hurt she’s not been in touch. If she’s angry about Steph, then she must think I spent the night with her. The evening wears on and I’m angry at her for presuming the worst and not having the decency to confront me.
If that’s how you want it, Jamie, then okay.
The rest of the night passes in a miserable blur, and I cannot push her out of my thoughts.
I sleep poorly, wake up early and check my phone. Still nothing.