Page 85 of Knight

For better or worse.

This time it’s better.

With a soft, velvety blanket thrown over us, I look up at our creation from the living room floor. The white tree dazzles under dim lights, decorated in nothing but Halloween decorations. The black ones. Spiders and their webs. Black pumpkins and bats. We were even able to find some black on black tinsel to string around the tree along with purple lights. Not to toot my own horn, but it looks like a piece of art.

Our piece of art.

I’m drunk as fuck. Higher than a blimp at the Santa Claus Parade. But with the giggles I have going on, I’m happy as fuck too. It was way too early to give up on the idea of a good Christmas because Christmas with the devil is perfect. We have Rocky Horror Picture Show playing in the background and this Halloween x Christmas mashup feels entirely like us.

A mess.

“Ready for your gift?” Damien puts down what he’s calling his ‘Christmas Punch’, a concoction of whiskey, cognac and gin with cranberry ginger-ale. His reddened eyes droop, but he’s been unable to wipe that smirk off his face the entire time.

We’re below the tree, my back against his chest. After we got the thing up, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. “Thought you already gave me that,” I say with a giggle. Spreading my knees, my body between his legs, his fingers tighten on my thighs.

“Don’t get me started, Rowland,” he growls moving me forward while he reaches for something.

When I turn around, he pulls out a square velvet case, black with gold trim and I lower my brows. A snort escapes my lips, “Jewellery? Really? How basic do you think I am?”

“Don’t be stubborn.” Damien pushes it forward. “Just open it.”

It almost slips from my hand as I take it, and with one last glance in his grey-blue eyes, I open it.

There’s a key, a gold “J” the only thing on the keychain. “Wh—”

“It’s to the house.” He’s eager to explain. He never wants to explain. “Y’know, since you like crashing my parties so much.” And now he’s playing it off.

“Damien,” I say, sitting up, turning to him on my knees so I can see his gaze. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I’m telling you to accept my gift.” He glances into his cup but I don’t miss his cheeks going red.

We’re hardly even dating. Does he think this will fix everything? Fix us? “And if I say no, are you going to turn into The Beast?”

He looks up from his glass, eyes narrowing. “Are you saying no? I’m not asking you to be my wife. Not yet.”

I ignore that confession, already confused enough. “What are you asking me then, Damien? What is this supposed to mean?”

His nostril flares, “Nothing.” That makes me snap the case shut, pushing it to him, but he pushes it back. “You were about to go to Cabo with Christian, but you won’t take the key?” He asks this like I’m being ridiculous.

“When did you even get this made?” I ask in return. “You’ve been with me the whole time.”

“We have spares, and don’t change the subject,” Damien opens it again. “Take my gift.”

Staring at the key, my mind is buzzing like a rocket. How do I take this when I don’t even trust him? When he doesn’t even trust me? Is he saying that he trusts me? The key starts to blur, the shitty effects of the whiskey and weed cocktail making this decision harder. So why do I take another fucking swig?

“Jo?”

Wiping my mouth, I keep my eyes on the key, shining under the ceiling light. My heart wants me to grab it, I can even feel my muscles tensing to reach for it but …

My eyes narrow, Damien’s voice muffling the longer I stare at the key.

Fuck.

The key!

How did I forget? I’ve been in this house for so long and I didn’t even think to check. Too blinded by Damien’s charm … and his cock.

Without another word I’m on my feet, heading to the foyer. My bags have been sitting there all week, not needing anything from them since I set foot in this house.

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