Tarnished Love by Bianca Borell
CHLOE
“Come spend Christmas with me.”
Not a question, but a demand. It’s who Damien is, and if he wants something, he gets it. Except for her.
I catch his eyes, his intense, steel-colored eyes, the eyes of a man completely and utterly broken by a woman. If I ever meet Bria, I’m not sure what I will do. Slap her? Congratulate her for breaking a man down this low, forever altering him? Maybe both.
“Hmm,” I hum, not ready to accept or decline. My mother is on another vacation with a man, and my dad barely even acknowledges he has a daughter, and Anabelle, my best friend and roommate, always travels home to spend time with her small, close-knit family. It’s the only time she sees them during the year, and I’d never impose no matter how many times she asks. It’s either spending Christmas alone, again, or accept his invitation.
“Stop overthinking. It’s just a damn invitation. Take it or leave it,” Damien growls at the other end of the line.
He’s such a bastard, but a bastard who cares enough to remember that I have spent the last few holidays alone. “Okay, then. Christmas with you,” I breathe into the speaker, trying to mask the flip-flop my heart does. I don’t want him or anyone else to glimpse beyond my “I don’t care” façade. Because I do care—a lot—and when someone offers me a morsel of attention, I grasp onto it with both hands. Jeez, could I be more pathetic?
“Good, I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
The call ends just as I open the door to my apartment. Anabelle peeks her head around the kitchen, and I throw the keys onto the entry table. She tied her brown curls in a knot over her head, a wide smile plastered on her round face.
“You can still come with me.”
“I’m spending Christmas with Damien.”
“Maybe you’ll finally get together,” she says, her warm brown eyes shining. Something undefined strikes my heart, and I shake my head. That one time he leaned in to kiss me happened so long ago. When he murmured Bria’s name, I swore I wouldn’t put myself in that situation again.
“Anabelle, his heart belongs to one woman, and his bed is a brief stop for many others. I have no place in either.”
“Don’t be silly, you’re in his life.”
“As a friend.”
“Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”
I flinch then she grabs my hands, and we fall on the couch.
“She’s not in his life anymore. You are.” Anabelle squeezes my fingers in a silent plea.
She doesn’t understand, but I know better.
“Bria is woven into every fiber of his being, nothing can make her disappear,” I sigh, and her perfectly shaped eyebrows draw together.
“Maybe if you tried,” she states.
“I won’t risk our friendship.”
“Chloe, he wouldn’t invite you to Christmas with his family, where she will be too, if he didn’t care about you.”
“Yes, he cares, Anabelle, but how much does he care for me versus getting her to react.”
“Let your prejudices go.”
I flinch again, jump to my feet, and prop my hip on the window frame.
“I am sorry, Chloe, but not every man is like your father.”
Silence follows because she is right. For my dad, I am just the model daughter who he can parade around when he wants to.
***
I chew on my thumbnail and shift from heel to heel. What am I doing? I glance over my shoulder at my packed bag and back outside as Damien parks his sleek Aston. He strides from the car, his ripped body wrapped in a pair of slim fit jeans, a black shirt, and jacket. And on the phone. Always on the phone, and I smile at remembering how we met. He was on the phone, and we collided, or I ran into him to be honest, when my girly fantasies imagined us together. I sigh, still taking in the broody and dangerous aura he emanates. He catches me peeking out from behind the curtains and gestures for me to come outside. I wrap my oversized coat around me and step outside to the cold biting into my skin as my boots scrunch on the snow.
He helps me with my luggage, and then I slide into the leather passenger seat. I rub my hands together, and he turns the heat up as he speeds away. Moments later, ringing blasts from the car speakers.
“I don’t care if it’s Christmas, business doesn’t fucking know it’s a holiday,” he says as he answers Sophia’s call.
A call from Filip follows Sophia’s call. Names I’ve heard but their faces I’ve only seen in pictures. Does anyone know about me or am I just another one of his secrets? It’s been years, and my curiosity gets the better of me.
“Why now?” I ask at a traffic light, and he squints those magnetic eyes at me.
“I don’t want you spending Christmas alone.”
“Weren’t you just grumbling about business not knowing it’s Christmas?”
His lips tilt into a smile. Damien’s smiles are more like shadows, never full, never reaching his eyes. He cocks his head to the side, and his voice drops to almost inaudible.
“You are the only woman in my life. You should meet my family.”
“Will she be there?”
We never say her name aloud. His hand fists on the armrest, and he says, “She’s always there with . . .”
Another name we don’t utter—Alexander, his replacement, the one she builds a life with.
“Damien?” My cheeks heat, and I cover them with my hair as his eyes find me aware of what I imply.
“I have never brought anyone home, Chloe.” While I still ponder on the significance, he adds, “My personal life is mine. We don’t discuss it anymore, since . . .” Since you slept in a pile of vomit and agony for months.
“But you have to.”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“Listen to me, you stubborn ass. As long as you don’t have closure with her, she’ll always affect you.”
His head snaps towards me, and he bends his chest to me, heaving.
“Never, Chloe. Never say something like that again.”
“It’s the bloody truth.”
“It’s not.”
“Come on, she has someone else, and yet, you continue building her damn legacy.” I raise my hands in frustration.
“Chloe.”
His voice turns menacing. I grit my teeth and mumble, “Fine by me. Lie, lie, lie.”
And he does so well.
***
The impressive mansion is lit with fairy lights, and when we step inside, I stare at the woman standing in front of a massive Christmas tree decorated in gold, red, and sparkling lights. I halt, blinking at the blond beauty. She is stunning—as if I expected anything else, but bloody hell, she’s like the love child of every man’s dirtiest fantasy and the-girl-next-door. Long golden-brown hair, full lips, flawless porcelain skin, and beckoning hazel eyes. Her eyes trail from me to Damien, and as her mouth parts his arm wraps around me. I freeze even though my insides recoil. I despise him right now, and I will never hate him more than in this instant. He knows it too, but I allow the charade because I love him. He sniffed out her weakness like the shark he is.
With his hand on my back, he urges me forward to meet his parents who catch their breath in surprise.
“Damien, you should have told me you were bringing someone with you,” his mother admonishes. “Regardless, I am so happy you’re here. Nice to meet you, Chloe.” Her black hair is knotted in an elegant low bun, round diamonds in her earlobes, and her eyes, a shade paler and less intense than his, gleaming. I plaster a smile on my face, bathing in her love for him. So, this is how true parental love looks and feels.
“And this is my sister,” he says just before his phone rings. Panic settles in my core, but it quickly turns into frustration. Can’t he bloody turn off his phone for one hour? I grit my teeth at him mouthing “just a moment” with a placating smile on his face that he can shove somewhere else for all I care.
“Hi, I’m Sophia.” His sister extends her hand, and her electric blue eyes shine, a smile lifting her heart-shaped lips. My social skills shrink by the second the more time I spend with them. The du Monts and du Skys won the genetic lottery.
I itch to hide, cover myself up as if I am underdressed. My simple black cocktail dress feels cheap and prickly against my skin compared to their designer outfits. As I peruse my surroundings, a broad chest filling the crispest white shirt I have ever seen catches my attention. My eyes travel up to meet his—brown with specks of gold and green. He has a straight, elegant nose, perfect lush lips, a strong jaw and defined cheeks, his sandy blond hair trimmed at the sides, longer on the top.
His eyes wander down my body as if he’s checking me out, almost clinically. I gnash my teeth when his nose scrunches up, a bored expression plastered on his smug face, and he turns to Sophia, dismissing me. No one ever dismisses me. He opens his mouth, and I straighten my shoulders in offense because, call it intuition: he doesn’t like me.
“Another casualty?” he asks. Sophia’s face contours into sympathy, and it hits me. He’s Filip, Bria’s brother.
“My name is Chloe, not casualty, you prick.”
His lips turn into a half smile, and my knees weaken. What is wrong with me? How in the world can I be attracted to an asshole who looks like his mother is entitlement and his father sex and rudeness?
“The casualty has a name?” he goads.
I shut my eyes at the sarcasm spilling from his sinful mouth. Does this sniffing out weaknesses run in their families?
“Filip, don’t scare her off,” warns Sophia.
“Don’t worry, Sophia,” I say. “It would take a man to do that, not a boy who poses as one.”
Sophia bites back a smile, and Filip pierces me with a challenging stare.
Damien reappears, and I lean into him, finding Filip’s eyebrows knitting together, and it baffles me. The door swings open and Monica steps inside. Her “lost puppy with a mean streak” eyes fix on Damien only to darken to almost black when she sees me beside him. Could she be any more obvious? She waves a hello, pecks everyone on their cheeks and throws herself into Damien’s arms as if she hasn’t seen him in months.
We take our seats at the table, face-to-face with Bria and Alexander. I sit left of Damien and Monica sits on his right, and the awkwardness lingers as Monica’s nostrils flare. I am used to her antics, and she should quit dreaming. Honestly, Damien will never even think of touching her. And not from a false sense of right or wrong, but she comes with too much loyalty for Damien to soil that.
“How did you two meet?” asks Katherine, Bria and Filip’s mother, breaking the silence. Her golden-brown eyes flicker with hope as she plays with her diamond necklace.
“We met years ago during my freshman year.”
The silence returns, and Bria shuts her eyes, just for a second, as if she can’t have another reaction. But those eyes betray her, and Alexander grips his knife while Damien smirks. I breathe through the stifling tension.
When dinner ends, I excuse myself, and as I look for a bathroom, my feet falter when I see Bria staring out the window. As if she senses my approach, she tilts her head to the side and says, “Make him happy,” then turns and walks toward me.
“I will,” I say, softening my tone.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You were a fool to lose him.”
She half smiles as if she knows, and the sadness I glimpse behind her eyes makes me wonder if she truly is the enemy Damien has made her out to be.
