Page 28 of Balance

“I don’t care. This is her decision,” Damen rebutted. “He’s been waiting nineteen years. He can suck it up until she’s ready. Right, Bianca?”

His question pulled me from my musings, and I blinked at him. The conversation barely registered—there was something, just out of reach, pulling at me. It was the most frustrating thing.

Why was his necklace bothering me now?

“Sure,” I agreed. I wouldneverbe ready, so there was no harm in making this promise.

“Is it okay for us to be here?” I asked, glancing around the familiar restaurant. The cozy dining hall was fuller than the last time we’d been here. Now, since it was just Damen and I, it was almost as if we were on a date. I hadn’t thought about that earlier, but this was the first time we’d really been alone together since that day in my room at the institution.

He’d been a gentleman thus far, but my nerves were frazzled. I fought the urge to flee to the bathroom to check my makeup, or even to brush down my hair with my hands. “Won’t Miles get upset?”

Damen sat back in our booth, throwing his arm over my shoulders as he raised a glass of wine to his lips. “Why would Miles get upset?”

My face heated—since we were sitting with our backs to the wall, we had a full view of the other patrons, and they of us. But Damen didn’t even seem to care about the stares being thrown in our direction.

His thumb moved in a circle over my shoulder, and there was no way—to the casual observer—we didn’t look like a couple. “Damen!” I hissed, pulling at his fingers. “People are going to notice.”

“They won’t notice,” he said, setting his glass on the table and lowering his head toward mine. “We’re supposed to be best friends, right?”

Why did his mouth lift and his eyes sparkle when he said such idiotic lines?

“Are you making fun of me?” I whispered, narrowing my eyes.

“I would never,” he smoothly replied. “Do you want pasta?”

“Don’t bribe me with food.” I was not that easily placated, and Damen had a lot of missed meals to make up for. “Won’t Bryce get upset?”

“Oh.” Damen lifted his eyebrow, waving away the waitress even before she got to the table. The mood suddenly shifted from playful to something darker within the span of a second. “Are you afraid yourhusbandwill get jealous? Or Miles, what was that about Miles?”

“No…” I blinked at him, pulling away slightly. What was withthisattitude?Hewas the one acting jealous, I just wanted food. “I’m just worried about the plan.”

“Don’t worry about the plan,” Damen replied, the atmosphere lighting a bit. When he looked at me, his hand brushing down my arm, there was a note of forced confidence in his voice. “It’ll work out in the long-run. In the meantime, when we’re alone together I’d like to have your full attention. Why are you worried about Miles?”

Oh my God, he was like a child! And what was that nonsense about the long-term plan? “Because it’s his sister’s restaurant. Won’t he be upset we’ve come here without him?”

“Actually, we’re herebecauseit’s her restaurant.” Damen blinked, picking up his drink once again. “Colette won’t answer her phone, I’m hoping this will force her to step up. She’s not going to ignore me being in her space.”

So, we weren’t here because he wanted to take me on a date. Even though I’d been worried about the possibility seconds before, my face heated and my heart twisted at the realization.

Ofcourse,he wouldn’t want to go on a date. Damen didn’t date.

He was sexually promiscuous instead.

I glared at the table, trying to push back the sudden stab of anger surging through me.

Why was my heart beating faster, and the thought of this bothered menow? As far as I knew, he hadn’t seen anyone since I’d showed up. And there was no way he was getting anywhere near that close to me. I’d given my permission for him to do his own thing.

So why did I even care?

“Why areyouangry?” Damen asked.

I pressed my hands to my cheeks. WhywasI angry? I always felt angry these days, and I didn’t like it. All I wanted was to be left in peace. Everything was so much easier before.

What in the world was happening to my emotions?

Before I had a chance to respond, a petite blonde woman appeared beside the table. She wore black slacks and a white shirt, and had an apron tied around her waist. Her high, thick bun bobbed up and down as she crossed her arms, wooden spoon in hand, and shook her head at Damen.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her expression carefully guarded. “I told you to never bring your dates here again.”