Page 75 of Deliah

He leaned in and kissed my cheek, then stood up and reached for his phone on the dresser.

“I’ve got to get to work,” he said.

I sighed dramatically. “Fine. Go be a boss. Leave me alone with my shopping bags and moral crises.”

He turned at the door. “Deliah?”

“Yeah?”

He looked at me—serious now. “Just promise me you won’t go looking for something that’ll make you forget who you are.”

I blinked. “That’s kind of the opposite of what I’m doing.”

He nodded once. “Good.”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving me wrapped in caffeine and wondering how the hell I’d ended up in the kind of love story I never thought I’d deserve.

Later that morning, Cherry arrived in true Cherry fashion—music blaring, sunglasses on, and behind the wheel of Tommy’s Porsche like she was on a press tour instead of pulling up to a private villa. She parked half on the gravel like she was allergic to neatness and stepped out dramatically, giving the place a once-over.

“Fucking hell, Deliah,” she said, eyes wide behind her oversized Dior sunglasses. “This place is unreal.”

I laughed, barefoot on the front step, holding my coffee in one hand. “Come inside, you absolute clown.”

“I’m just waiting for the valet,” she said, pretending to flick a key at someone invisible before tossing her bag over her shoulder and following me in.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she let out an actual gasp. “No way. Is that marble? Are those fresh flowers? Who even are you?”

“Shut up.” I laughed again. “You act like I’ve moved into Buckingham Palace.”

She spun on her heel. “Babe, this is Buckingham Palace if the queen liked nipple clamps and Versace throws.”

I snorted into my coffee. Once we were settled on the huge L-shaped sofa, surrounded by shopping bags and sunlight, she gave me the look. You know the one. Legs curled under her, eyebrows arched, wine glass in hand—even though it was 11 a.m.

“So…” she said, drawing the word out like it owed her money. “Tell me everything.”

I rolled my eyes. “What do you want to know?”

She grinned. “Oh, don’t play coy now. Damion. Is he the real deal or just a holiday cock appointment?”

I snorted. “Definitely not just a cock appointment.”

“You’ve slept with him then?”

I nodded, unable to hide the little smile tugging at my lips.

“And?”

“Fucking unreal,” I said, sipping my coffee like I hadn’t just relived every filthy second in my head.

Cherry let out a delighted squeal. “I’m not surprised, babe. After the way he chucked you over his shoulder the other night like a bloody fireman, I’ve been dying to know. That man moves like he’s made of control issues and orgasms.”

I choked laughing. “You’re not wrong.”

She leaned in closer, her tone softening a bit. “You look really happy, you know.”

I glanced down at the mug in my hands, the blush creeping across my cheeks. “I am. I don’t know how the fuck this all happened, but… I am.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.”