Damien

Chapter 8

Serena Mclane's P. O. V

Lying face down on the bed, I can't help but to let out a low agonizing groan. It took me absolutely ages to get all my various stuff out of the boxes and then arrange them where I deemed fit. I even considered leaving it and doing it bit by bit but then I knew I'd be having this nagging voice in the corner of my mind goading me at every chance.

I guess I have weird traits like that.

Luckily though, I manage to do it just in time.

As I lie there, my mind starts to wander off to different places and situations. What if my father had decided to marry me off to someone else? Someone not as understanding as Damien?

I shudder just thinking of it.

A few moments go by and then a soft knocking erupts on the door. Glancing up from my bed, my hair disheveled and my face red from the exertion of having to move things about, I see Damien standing in the doorway. If it is possible for Damien to show any sort of emotion, I'd say he looks rather uncomfortable.

I raise an eyebrow as he stands there, not saying anything.

"Yes?" I goad.

"What would you like for dinner?" He asks tersely.

"Whatever's easiest." I shrug, fixing my slightly rolled up shirt.

"That would be?" He pries.

Judging from his slightly uncomfortable stance, I get up from the bed and pass him as I make my way downstairs. Entering into the kitchen, I look at the time to see it's nearing nine. Wow, I wasn't unpacking as long as I had expected.

Approaching footsteps reach my ears and I smile as I know he's following me. Scanning the stainless steel kitchen, my eyes land on the refrigerator as I make my way toward it.

Opening it, I scan all the ingredients.

"You don't cook much do you?" I ask as I lean in to grab ingredients for the dish I'm making. Piling everything into my hands, I turn to see him standing idly near the kitchen island. Seeing my arms full, he rushes towards me and lessens my load.

"I don't." He answers stoically as he places them onto the counter; Looking at them as if they're some sort of foreign abomination. Laughing at him, I nudge Damien out of the way and grab a knife to begin preparing everything.

"I guess we're fitting into our roles very well aren't we?" I say as I motion for him to sit down.

I'm not sure if he actually listens to me but I do hear his voice a little farther away.

"What do you mean?"

"Well as sexist and preposterously contemptuous as it may be, here I am cooking for you," I take a pause as I let sarcasm lace my voice, "My soon to be husband. The only thing missing is you coming home from work and asking what's for dinner."

Saying it just the way I have, makes me feel immensely uncomfortable. Not by what I'm implying but merely by the picture I've painted in my mind. It all seems so vividly realistic.

Hopefully though, that situation will never arise.

Not between us, I hope.

I dare not look behind me, afraid of what Damien's reaction might be. The only sound in the kitchen is the chopping of my knife at work.