Let Yourself Fall

nineteen

I have to be ready in two hours. This is a disaster. I'm standing in front of my closet, wearing only a towel, near tears when my phone starts to ring.

– Damien –

I pick up. "Oh my God, I don't know what to wear!" I whine. With my phone pressed between my neck and shoulder, I rummage through my closet. Yep, it's official. I don't have anything nice to wear to the fancy dinner party. Shit.

"I told you I'd let my personal shopper get you something." Not this again. "And I told you I don't want you spending money on me. I did perfectly fine before I met you. I can take care of myself. I always have." I know he just wants to be nice, and it's not a big deal for him, but it makes me feel... weird. I don't like him because of his money. I know what people will think when they see me with him: Clearly, she's only after him because he's rich. Letting him buy me a dress, walking around in clothes I could never afford... That would just prove it to them. "Damien, I'm sorry. I just... Look, I appreciate the offer, but no. Just no... It makes me uncomfortable. So please, drop it." "Okay, Noelle, calm down. It was just a suggestion, but I understand. I won't let my personal shopper get you something." Finally. Thank God.

"So... that's why I did it." He adds after a short pause. "That's why you did... what? Damien, please don't tell..." He cuts me off. "Open the front door, Noelle."

No, he did not. I open the door and there he is, casually standing there with a stupid grin on his face... holding a freaking shopping bag. He lets his eyes hungrily travel down my half-naked body. "So, are you letting me in?" He gives me a wicked grin, and I groan. I open the door wider, and before he passes me, he presses a long, wet kiss on my mouth. "You..." I pant and glare at him. "Me...!" He laughs and lets himself fall onto my couch. I follow him and take a seat on the coffee table in front of him. "You still spent money on me. So what I said still applies." I whine. He just doesn't get it. "But I want to give you everything you want. I want to spoil you and get you presents. I have more money than I could ever spend, so why not use it to make you happy? I don't get why you're so mad." "But that's just it. You make me happy. Not your money. I feel like such a cliché. The poor girl who worked her ass off her whole life gets herself a rich man and... It makes me feel cheap. I like to think that I got myself where I am today. I did that. What I have, I worked for all of this. It makes me proud that I didn't need anyone to get to where I am today." I don't mean to be so harsh. I just want him to understand me. "It's just the way I am, and I need you to accept that. I'm fully aware that I'm overreacting, but it's just... I want you."

"I understand where you're coming from, and I'm really proud of you. I know you did perfectly fine before we met, but this is just a gift. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or bad. I want to make you happy. I knew you didn't know what to wear, so... I want you to stop worrying for a second and see it for what it really is: just a dress. From me to you. Nothing more." I cover my face with my hands and let his words sink in. "I'm tired of thinking and ranting and..." "Then just stop." He shuts me up by pressing his mouth against mine. "Oh, that's a nice way to say 'shut up'." I mumble against his lips. "As much as I love hearing you talk," he looks at his watch, "we have one hour before we need to get ready. I'd very much like to figure out how many times I can make you come in 60 minutes." I jump up and pull him with me, hurrying into my bedroom. Screw thinking, that's a much better way to spend our time.

"We really, really have to get ready now." He murmurs against my lips and pecks them one last time before pulling away completely. I pout. "No, please, let's just stay in bed." I look at my hands and fiddle with them awkwardly.

"Can we pretend we don't have to go anywhere and just... call your friend and say that I have a fever? That I'm really sick." I look up at him, fake-coughing a couple of times. "See, I'm really sick."

"Oh Noelle, it's not going to be that bad." He shoots me a lazy smile and hugs me tighter. After a short pause, he adds, "You're going to have fun. I promise."

"Okay." I give in. "So, are you going to open the bag and see what's inside?"

"It's too much. Damien, it's just too much." I say for about the hundredth time. I'm standing in front of my mirror, wearing a way too expensive and way too beautiful blue summer dress.

I turn left, turn right, and twirl around a little. It's so pretty. Oh my God. I can't keep it. But I want it. I'm not giving it back. But I can't... I look at the label and gulp. Damn it. Meanwhile, Damien is sprawled out on my bed, watching me with amusement in his eyes. "I knew you'd look like a goddess in it." "But Damien." I whine. "No, please, stop it. You look amazing. You obviously love it. You're going to wear it. End of discussion." "Fine." I grin before wiggling out of the dress. I carefully drape it over a chair and hurry over to him. I climb on top of him, wearing just my black lace underwear, and lean forward to kiss him. "I'm sorry I was so bitchy about it. I do love the dress very much. Thank you!" "That's my girl." He places his hands on my hips and squeezes me. "I love you," I breathe against his lips. "And I love you."

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