Save Me - Chapter 12: Chapter 13

Dahlia
Damien found me in the kitchen three hours after Meghan had dropped me off. He looked so devastatingly handsome in his all-black suit—he really seemed to have a thing for the color black. Even his wedding band was as dark as obsidian.
His piercing green eyes flicked to mine before taking in the lit oven and the icing I was whisking. Earlier in the week, I had offered to do the cooking and cleaning, but he instantly rejected the idea, saying he got food delivered and had a housekeeper who came three times a week to take care of the cleaning. Yet here I was, defying his carefully curated routine by baking cookies. Maybe it was a little rebellious of me, but I thought if I offered him the warm, sugary treats, it might soften the news about his broken phone.
Another reason, though, was that baking was something Mom and I loved to do whenever we lived in an apartment with a functioning oven. I was missing her so much, and the guilt of not seeing her all week was eating at me. I thought that doing this would make me feel closer to her. Even though Damien's kitchen was way more advanced than anything we ever had; it took me thirty minutes just to figure out the oven.
"I'm making cookies," I said, feeling the need to explain myself. "I probably should've asked for permission first."
The timer beeped, signaling that the cookies were done, and I moved to grab the oven mitts and get them out. But Damien swiftly grabbed the mitts off the counter before I could and took the tray out himself. For a big guy, he sure moved gracefully.
He placed the cookie tray on the black marble kitchen island next to me. "Dahlia, you can do whatever you want; this is your home too," he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. He kept a polite distance, but it was close enough that his scent—clean, woodsy, and ridiculously nice—still wrapped around me.
I appreciated him wanting me to feel comfortable in his home. In fact, all week he had been asking how he could make me feel more settled in—whether I needed any specific food or if the room he gave me was to my liking. Even though his massive fridge and kitchen cabinets were stocked to the brim and the room he had given me was bigger than anywhere I had ever lived, complete with the coziest blankets and bedspreads, I still couldn't feel at home here. Mostly because "home" had never been a place for me; it was always a person.
My eyes dropped to his shiny leather shoes, and a familiar hollow feeling squeezed at my chest.
"Angel, what is the matter?" Why did he keep calling me that?
He gently lifted my chin to look up at him. He searched my eyes, and whatever he saw there made his expression harden. It was then that I felt tears stinging in my eyes. Sometimes, I hated that I was such an easy crier, even though Mom always assured me that expressing any emotion was nothing to be ashamed of.
Now was probably the right time to tell him about his phone, it was either that or breakdown and cry about how much I was missing my actual home.
"I broke it," I said quietly, pulling the phone from my pocket and holding it out like a sacrificial offering. "I'm so sorry. I promised I'd keep it safe, and I broke it. I'll find a job and replace it—"
Before I could even finish, Damien swept me up and set me on the island. A surprised squeak escaped my lips as he stepped in close, standing between my dangling legs, his arms braced on the marble surface beside me. The new position put me just slightly above his eye level, our noses almost touching. My eyes widened in shock.
"You are too good for me," he murmured, his voice low and rough. His intense green eyes seemed to hold a million things he wasn't saying out loud. I had noticed that Damien communicated more with his eyes than he did with words.
"There is nothing you could do that would ever make me upset with you. Least of all breaking a damn phone I can so easily replace." His hand cradled my cheek, and I really should have pulled away—honestly, I should've. But his touch felt too good, too comforting.
"You do not have to worry about anything while you are with me, do you understand?" His tone was firm, almost like a command, but his eyes were pleading. "I cannot stand it when you are sad."
I nodded, bewildered by his reaction.
His gaze dipped to my lips, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than it should have, before he took a step back. "You are not wearing your wedding ring," he remarked, turning his back to me.
I glanced down at my bare hand, suddenly remembering I'd taken it off when I went to the park. The ring was beautiful but extravagant—a large, oval, warm purple sapphire surrounded by a cluster of tiny white diamonds on a thin-ish gold band. It was so obvious that it had cost a fortune, and I wasn't used to wearing something so... break-the-bank expensive.
"I didn't want to risk losing it—"
"Always wear it, Dahlia. I need the world to know that you are mine." His voice was edged with a kind of possession that sent a jolt through me.
And with that, he strode out of the kitchen, only to return moments later, grab a cookie off the tray, nod in my direction, and disappear again.
What a strange man.