Chapter 3 The First Dinner

My hands would not stop sweating.

I had changed dresses four times. The black one made me look too serious, the red one made me look like I was trying too hard, the white one made me look like a bride, and now I was in a soft blue silk dress that Elena swore brought out my eyes.

"Stop fidgeting," Damien said from behind me.

He was standing in the doorway of my room, leaning against the frame. He was in a navy suit that made his grey eyes look almost blue. He looked calm, collected, perfect. Like he did this every day.

"I'm nervous," I admitted.

"My grandfather is a sweet old man. He just wants to see me happy. You just have to pretend you are the reason I am happy. Can you do that?"

I nodded.

He walked over to me and before I could react, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my cheek.

"You look beautiful," he said quietly.

My heart did a stupid little jump.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Don't thank me yet. Wait until you meet him."

The doorbell rang.

Damien's entire body tensed. "That's him. Remember the story. Bookstore. Poetry. Love at first sight."

"Poetry, bookstore, love at first sight. Got it."

He took my hand. His hand was large and warm and it swallowed mine completely. It was the first time he had held my hand.

"Ready, Mrs. Sterling?"

The way he said Mrs. Sterling sent shivers down my spine.

We walked out together.

A frail old man with snow-white hair and kind eyes was standing in the living room, leaning on a cane. But his eyes were sharp, just like Damien's. This was Mr. Arthur Sterling, the man who owned half of New York.

"So this is the girl who finally tamed my grandson," Arthur said, smiling at me.

Damien's hand tightened around mine.

"Grandfather, this is Lila. Lila, my grandfather."

I smiled, the best smile I could manage. "It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Sterling."

"Arthur, please. Any wife of Damien's is family." He looked me up and down, but not in the cold way Damien did. His look was warm, approving. "You're even more beautiful than he said."

Damien told him I was beautiful?

Arthur took my other hand. "He told me he met you in a bookstore. He said you were reading Rilke and he knew you were the one."

Rilke. I had never read Rilke in my life. I worked at a bookstore but I mostly stocked the romance section.

"Oh, yes," I said quickly. "Rilke. Letters to a Young Poet is my favorite."

I saw Damien's eyebrows rise slightly. He was impressed I knew that.

Arthur beamed. "A girl who reads Rilke. No wonder he's obsessed. Damien never cared for books unless they had dollar signs."

"Hey," Damien protested, but there was a smile in his voice. A real smile. I had never seen him smile before. It transformed his entire face.

Dinner was... surprisingly nice. Arthur told stories about Damien as a little boy. Damien rolled his eyes but he listened, his thumb drawing small circles on the back of my hand under the table.

That thumb was distracting. It made it hard to think.

"So, Lila, tell me," Arthur said as dessert was served. "What do you love about my grandson?"

I froze.

What do I love about him? I had known him for 24 hours. He was cold, rude, arrogant, controlling.

But he had paid for my mother's hospital bill without me even asking. Elena had told me this morning that the hospital had received full payment anonymously.

I looked at Damien. He was watching me, his eyes warning me: don't mess this up.

I took a deep breath.

"I love that he pretends he doesn't care," I said slowly. "But he does. He acts like he's all business, all cold. But he notices everything. He notices when someone is hurting. And he fixes it, even if he pretends it's just business."

The table went silent.

Damien stared at me, his mouth slightly open. His thumb had stopped moving on my hand.

Arthur's eyes glistened. "Exactly like his father," he whispered.

After dinner, Arthur hugged me goodbye. "Take care of him, Lila. He's been alone a very long time."

When the door closed, Damien and I stood in silence.

"You did well," he finally said, his voice strange.

"Did you really pay my mom's hospital bill?" I asked.

He didn't answer. He just walked to the window, his back to me.

"Damien?"

"It was part of the contract. Living expenses."

"It wasn't in the contract."

He turned around. His eyes were dark, stormy.

"Don't read into it, Lila. Don't make it more than it is."

But he wouldn't look at me.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I whispered.

"Like what?"

"Like you're angry at me for telling the truth."

He walked toward me, slowly, until we were chest to chest. He was so close I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

"I'm not angry," he said, his voice low and rough. "I'm trying very hard not to break rule number two."

No sex.

Oh.

My breath caught.

He reached out, as if to touch my face, then stopped himself, his hand fisted at his side.

"Goodnight, Lila," he said, and walked away to his room, leaving me standing alone in my blue dress, my hand still tingling where he had held it.