Princess

Chapter 39: Love Languages

Damon

Like a cactus in a desert, I sucked up every bit of Ariadne coddling me when I was sick. If someone had told me years ago that the girl I was obsessed with would be humming songs to me while I fell asleep in her bed, I would have laughed. But now, it was a reality.

Something had changed in her eyes. Like she was so shocked at seeing my vulnerability. Like she didn't know future mob bosses weren't immune to illness.

Apparently my PTO had run out because my father wanted to catch me up on what I had missed. Much to my chagrin, life moved fast in our world and apparently, Matteo Giovanni had made some new moves recently, raiding some of my stashes and being sighted at some of my clubs. The fucker was working my nerves. Taking him out would be vacation for me.

I walked into my father's office feeling like a new man, still on the phone with Ariadne all the way from the door of her apartment because she didn't want me to leave.

"Alright," I said into the phone.

My father looked up at me, raising an eyebrow in question. I shook my head at him and mouthed Ariadne's name. A knowing smile crept on his face.

"Yes, I will eat lunch." Pause. "Yes, I will take Tylenol." Pause. "Yes, I will call you if I don't feel well." Pause. "Yes, I'll stay over tonight." Pause. "Are we done with this interrogation? I'm in my father's office." Pause. "Yes, I will tell him you say hi." Pause. "Thank you for everything, princess, talk soon."

I hung up, shaking my head at my phone, a smile still lingering at my face and settled down in a chair.

"That sounds a lot like my conversations with your mother," he said, not taking his eyes off his newspaper and taking a sip of coffee.

"I was sick for a couple days. She took care of me," I replied.

"She took care of you?" The sarcasm dripped off his tongue.

"She's a doctor. And I was a sick man," I replied curtly. He loved Ariadne, his intent wasn't to mock her. It was to mock me.

"Lovesick?" His eyes darted to mine above the paper.

I stared at him quietly, knowing what the answer was. Knowing what the answer had been for much longer than I cared to admit. Knowing I never stopped.

My phone buzzed.

NYC's Worst Nightmares

Christian: Drinks tonight. La Mer?

Francis: I'm game.

Damon: Ariadne will kill me. I'm just getting over being sick.

Francis: ... Do you need a note from the teacher?

Damon: I'll ask her.

Christian: You're pathetic.

Francis: So pathetic.

I was pathetic? Did Francis just forget that he'd rented out an entire butterfly garden–filled it with pink tulips–for a casual Friday date night with his wife? Bella'd even sent me photos of the two of them, with Francis smiling a rare, full smile at the camera. It made my chest tighten seeing my little diva so happy.

Either way, I wasn't sure why Christian even wanted to go to a bar in the first place. For the sex fiend he once was, I hadn't seen him touch a woman in a long time. A long time. It had to be years, at least. If he was now practicing celibacy, I was both concerned and curious.