Damon
Slowly making my way in front of her, I extended an arm out. Because she was so fucking annoying, she obviously didn't take it immediately. Cocking an eyebrow, she shifted her weight onto one hip and took another slow sip.
"You dance?" She asked, smirking into her glass.
It wasn't often that people took their time with me. In fact, most knew not to keep me waiting even more than they did with my father. Everything I asked for, or more often demanded, was met with immediate results. My ego was taking a huge beating with my outstretched arm and she fucking knew it.
Doing what I wanted was never really Ariadne's thing.
"I told you, Ryder. You should take the time to get to know me."
Eyeing me skeptically, she finally put the flute down and her hand fell into mine, soft and warm against my calloused one and I let my fingers curl around hers, walking backwards while Etta James played in the background. The floor parted, making a clear path for us and when we reached the middle, I stopped.
She made no move to come closer, of course, so I erased the distance between us in one step, snaking an arm around her waist and resting my hand on the small of her back. My arm could wrap around the entirety of her waist–it was that tiny–and yet nothing about this girl was fragile or delicate. Lacing my free hand into hers, I paused as she rested her other arm on my shoulder. We swayed in comfortable silence.
The newlyweds looked disgustingly happy. I'd never seen two people more right for one another. Even if they might have hated each other in the beginning, they were so perfectly right. Francis had a difficult life and never believed he deserved anything. He never lived for himself, never wanted for anything. But the second he'd let Bella in, she took over–her natural warmth and kindness emitting off her like a warm light.
She was, by far, one of the best people I'd ever known–under all that glamorous exterior was always a girl with a heart too big for her own good. I'd always have Bella's back and I knew, without a doubt, that if I needed it, she'd have mine. She was loyal to a fucking fault and without her, I'd be nothing. The number of times she'd saved me without even knowing it was ridiculous.
Giovanni was getting on my nerves? I called Bella to make me feel better. Had to kill someone to keep their mouth shut? I called Bella to ease my conscience. Had to do something so dirty I couldn't even think about it? I called Bella to get my mind off of it.
If being a married woman was going to hinder her from picking up the phone, Francis was going to find himself as a freshly divorced man pretty fucking quick.
"Everyone's watching you," Ariadne cooed and I looked around the room to see that a decent pair of eyes were in fact fixed on us. Dean still had his arms around my sister and I narrowed my eyes at him briefly before he broke out into a grin that seemed like he was the luckiest guy in the world.
My eyes swept the room for where the angrier one of my best friends–the one who wasn't getting married likely now or anytime soon–was, when I spotted him with a predictable drink in his hand, watching my sister with eyes filled with rage. The intensity in it almost made me fear for Dean's life.
Eh. One less fucking body for me to dump.
Christian's jaw ticked as he took six, seven, eight deep breaths while gripping his tumbler hard enough to shatter. I didn't need to keep checking to know he wasn't taking his eyes off my sister anytime soon.
"I think they're looking at you, princess," I responded coolly.
"Not likely... Damon Hale dancing? I suspect it'll be on the covers of every magazine in New York tomorrow," she chuckled softly.
"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be featured too."
"Ah yes, Mediocre Harlot Captures Best Friend of Most Eligible Bachelor in New York!" She all but exclaimed and I pulled back slightly to see her fully grinning.
"Harlot?"
"It means—"
"I know what it means," I interrupted. "Why do you think that's what they'd call you?"
"Well, any woman seen around you often gets that lovely nickname, Damon. It can't be news to you," she said, looking into my eyes and studying every feature of my face.
My expression remained resilient: detached and uninterested but my mind was churning. The string of obnoxious models and other celebrities who draped my arm at various events being called a harlot would never bother me this much and I certainly never cared what common tabloids had to say about them. But that part of me that was fucking obsessed with her didn't want Ariadne to be referred to as anything derogatory and I wanted to know who to get fired if that did happen.
"I never pay attention to the headlines," I replied honestly. "They mean nothing to me."
She nodded but her expression turned a little sad. As much as she tried not to let headlines bother her, I had a feeling they did.
"And you wouldn't be called mediocre by any standards. You look beautiful," I added quickly.
She surveyed me, surprise in her eyes. "Thank you. Where'd you learn how to dance?"
"My mom taught me," I responded quietly.
She pouted her lips in an Aw. I almost rolled my eyes.
"No big deal. She said all gentlemen"–she narrowed her eyes–"should know how to dance because at their wedding, my dad definitely fucked up and stepped on her dress a couple times."
"Damon," she paused, "That is the sweetest thing I have ever heard."
"Yeah, it's real touching," I said sarcastically though the images of my parent's wedding from the piles of photo albums in the Hale library brought warmth to my chest.
"It is. Almost... normal?"
"I am normal," I deadpanned.
She blinked in disbelief. "You run New York's underworld, Damon. I don't think that puts you on the spectrum of normalcy by any means."
"I'm still me, princess."
"And who is me?"
"A son. A brother. A friend."
I stared down into her eyes, searching for a reaction. Some feeling. Something that told me what she thought of me. All I found was curiosity.
"Thank you for coming to Central Park," she said quietly. "I don't know if you were forced into it but–"
"Of course, I wasn't," I interrupted quickly. "I never do anything I don't want to do."
She looked up at me, analyzing my face and I hoped it conveyed honesty. I didn't want to and definitely shouldn't have said anything more, but the words slipped out of my mouth before I could control it.
"You are loved, you know?"
She shook her head sadly and tried to bury her head into my chest. I pulled back slowly, making her meet my eyes again. I didn't know why I needed for her to know this.
"You are. I understand things with your father are fucked up. But I do know Christian. And that man's world revolves around you and Bella."
From one brother to another, I knew that man like I knew myself. I knew him better than I knew anyone else–he was my first friend, my oldest friend. And whatever I'd do for Robyn, he'd do for Bella or Ariadne in a heartbeat.
After a charged silence, she forced a smile. "I know." Her voice was weak and faint. "Rain or shine, I know he does. I love him too."
She held my gaze for a moment before she set her head at my jaw. The proximity between us made me dizzy–that smell of roses lingering in the air between us. Her hand in mine, her chest pushed against me, her hair in my face was sensory overload and far more than I could handle. When the overload surpassed unprecedented levels, I stepped away and twirled her under my arm before dipping her parallel to the floor. A laugh escaped her when her hands cupped my face, hooked around my neck.
"You are just full of surprises. Not just a pretty face, huh?" She grinned as I brought her back to vertical.
She looped her hands around my shoulders, settling at the nape of my neck and a shiver ran down my spine. Her fingers passed gently through my hair as I tightened my hands around her waist.
"Ah, so you think I'm pretty?" I cocked my head sideways, letting a small smile reach my lips.
She laughed in response. "I think that's been well established."
"Well, I was shirtless then. Now, I'm in a tux."
"And yet, you're the most handsome man I've ever seen," she said as if she didn't mean to and then bit her lower lip immediately, full of regret. Triumph flowed through my veins. "Externally," she repeated.
"Is it the tattoos?" I asked, just to see a flush rise to her cheeks.
She chewed her lip further, making me hard as fucking stone. "Still can't believe a girl like me might like tattoos, do you?"
My eyes narrowed on hers. "Do you?"
"Maybe I like them just on you," she smiled sardonically, blissfully unaware of what the fuck she was doing to my head.
"Don't be so generous with your compliments now. It might go to my head," I played.
"Could it get any bigger than it already is?" She lifted an eyebrow.
"So that's what you think of me? A pretty but arrogant asshole with a huge ego?" I asked quietly and studied her reaction though her face didn't change.
"You don't care what I think of you," she said, her voice measured and calm.
"You're right, I don't," I lied. "But you don't seem to think of me at all."
This was quite possibly the longest conversation I'd ever held with her alone in my life and I was losing control of it already. Losing control was unfamiliar for me but always happened around her, since we were kids.
Brown eyes filled with curiosity and maybe even guilt looked back at me before they turned away. Through a sigh, she whispered, "That's not true."
Before I could ask for clarification on what had to be the most jarring statement of my life, the song ended and we pulled away. Taking her hand in mine, I lifted it higher and pressed my lips to it gently before turning on my heel and walking straight out the door to be able to fucking breathe again.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
The fucking mess of emotions that I had worked so hard to push down was bubbling up and reaching the surface yet again. Confusion was what I had always labelled my feelings toward Ariadne Ryder. But it was so much more than that.
The girl I spent my entire life staying away from was creeping under my skin and dread filled my veins.
Because the second I got close, I knew I would fall in love all over again.
Or worse, realize I had never stopped.
Ariadne
The whole room looked right at me when Damon walked away and I stood still, bewitched at the fact that I danced with him. Let it be known, Damon Hale was a fabulous dancer.
I'd never spoken to him quite this much–his fault, he ignored me my whole life–and was astonished at how different he was from what I perceived. Of course, my expectations were that he would either be insufferably silent or that he would devote the conversation entirely to how many people he killed that day or which New York judges were in his pocket but no, it was surprisingly pleasant.
And I called him handsome–well, pretty.
Excellent.
Francis, in the arms of his new wife, gave me a sideways look that was filled with amusement and triumph. I shook my head softly before Robyn came up to me and grabbed my hand to ask if I was alright.
The eyes in the room were still focused on me and the public attention was suffocating as always. I wished the floor would open and swallow me whole, but that seemed unfortunately unlikely, so I rushed Robyn to a balcony to get some air.
Beneath the starlit sky, Damon unbuttoned his tuxedo and pulled his bow tie off in one swift motion, taking in the moon and exhaling a huge breath.
Good to know I wasn't the only one who was finding it a little hard to breathe.
I smiled and rubbed my knuckles over my lips as the realization dawned on me.
Damon Hale was not a monster.