the Secret Life of Damien Carmichael

20. Those Three Words (part II)

The morning of the Winter Ball arrived with a flurry of snow and activity around the Manor, as the ballroom was transformed into a winter wonderland. It was magical, Damien thought as he entered the ballroom, as it always was. The guests would all begin to arrive for dinner sometime before five leaving his mother a good seven hours to put the finishing touches on everything. Not that she entirely needed it. His mother had tuned party planning into a science.

"Oh Damien, good, you're here," she said sounding grateful for his presence. "How does everything look?" there was a tinge to her voice that anyone else would have missed, but Damien certainly didn't. However good his mother was at throwing a ball or gala, she was always somewhat nervous that things weren't quite good enough. She was a perfectionist through and through, a trait Damien had inherited from her, though it drove them both mad.

"Tre Magnifique," Damien said. "As always, mother. Frankly, you've outdone yourself this year."

"I don't know about that," she said with a hum, waving him off. "I rather hoped the ice sculpture would be... I don't know, better. More flashy. And the flowers still haven't shown up."

"What was the order like this year?" he asked, flowers were arguably one of the most important aspects of the ball in terms of decorations and Mrs. Carmichael was always notoriously perfectionistic about them. 

"Same as always, Gladiolus, Anemones, Peonies, Orchids, assorted reds and whites, and golds. Three hundred of each?" Damien nodded. "O'Conner assured me they could handle it."

"And they can," Damien assured her. 

"This is like the fifth florist I've had to go through this year," she said. 

Damien nodded, for almost a decade Mrs. Carmichael had been using the same florist, in fact, it was an inside joke that her galas were single-handedly keeping the business afloat, and then last year there had been a mixup. Her order had never changed once in a decade, but somehow she had ended up with five hundred Friesians. The company didn't survive the loss of Mrs. Carmichael's business.  "Listen to me," he said. "This ball will be fabulous, because you are fantastic at throwing these events. But more than that, you've done everything better than anyone else could." 

His mother nodded, exhaling a breath as she did so. Damien smiled. "Oh god," his mother groaned.

"What's wrong?" Damien asked.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry. I sent out the invitations before your father and I learned about all this mess with you and Tyler."

Damien's face fell and for a brief moment, he suddenly felt worried. Several months ago, even a few weeks ago, this news would have been cause for a full-blown panic attack. But for once, Damien realized, he had the upper hand. His parents already knew about him and Oliver, and they were great with it. Which meant Tyler had nothing on him. There was nothing he could possibly do to try and ruin his life anymore. Damien grinned. "I'm sure I'll survive," he promised, kissing his mother's forehead. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get ready." He still had plenty of time, but a part of him, really just wanted to be alone with Oliver for a little while.

"Babe?" Damien called into the empty bedroom, upon his arrival a few moments later. He had become rather accustomed to his boyfriend disappearing for long periods of time since they had arrived at the Manor.

Usually, he would return, looking as though he had just come from a workout. A too-tight tee, clinging to his chest as sweat beaded and dripped down his forehead. Dark grey joggers that left little to the imagination, it was all Damien could do not to leap into his arms and mash their lips together. He only hoped Oliver would be as rugged as he looked, manhandling him onto the bed. To Damien's dismay, however, it appeared that Oliver had gone to work out, and he hadn't returned as of yet. Yawning, Damien made his way towards his bed when he heard the sound of the shower from the en suite bathroom.