DAMIEN: Book 2 of The De Luca Brothers Series [COMPLETED]

37:

I smoothen the wrinkles out of my new pair of jeans and dressy top, paired with a pair of wedged sandals that makes me nearly 5'9. My hair is done halfway up in a plait and my makeup is simple; lipgloss, powder, mascara and a bit of concealer to hide my blemishes. It's admittedly been nice to not have to pile a tonne of makeup on my face for stripping, especially since my pores now get to breathe and I never really liked makeup beforehand. Desperate times turn to desperate measures I guess.

"You look sophisticated," Zac nods his head approvingly having fixed my hair. "And determined. Yes, definitely determined. Like you can slaughter a man just by looking at them. Don't you agree Toro?"

I glance at Toro through the mirror to see him hastily texting on his mobile, sat lazily on the settee without a care for the world.

"Toro."

He sighs in exaggeration and looks at me from head to toe, his face actually contemplating a suitable answer, "I guess if I was a straight man I'd fuck."

I snort unattractively as Zac looks somewhat proud of his reply, "You warm my heart boyfriend. Now get going bitch, I need this tension to disperse. It stresses me."

I laugh at his quirkiness before mock saluting the two, picking up my new phone and keycard and putting them in my tan leather clutch before exiting. Slipping into the lift, I feel both a mix of excitement and dread. Not only are we going to talk it out (hopefully), but that involves actually seeing him. I'm not mad at him anymore, just disappointed and in my opinion: that's ten times worst. After a week of crying and diving between waves of self pity, I've come to terms on how the honeymoon stage of our relationship is over and both of our flaws are more prominent than ever.

The door pings open and I slip out of the lift, heading towards the restaurant area where he has apparently booked a table. I walk up to the waitress presented at the desk upon the entry and she enquires the name.

"De Luca?"

Her eyes widen slightly with fright, but she nods and lets me through to search for him. Like a fairytale, he sits in the centre of the restaurant with a circle of tables empty before other people are filled up. Knowing him he probably booked those tables on purpose for obvious privacy. He wears a smart, white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his longish hair is drawn back by a pair of sexually obnoxious sunglasses brushing back the dark brown locks. His hands fidget with one another defeating the sense of mystery-sex-appeal, especially as his eyes dart towards the lift before taking a sip of a golden liquid in a short glass.

I inhale a shuddering breath before slowly approaching him, each stride feeling like an extra ten pound lead weights are strapped to my ankles. Nerves prickle the back of my neck and the overwhelming sense of anxiety clenches at my heart. He notices me and his eyes light up, his forehead is slightly shiny with cold feet; it's somewhat comforting to know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

He stands up formally but hastily and embraces me in a stiff and hesitant hug. I hug back, my back tense. Oh gosh. He lets go and moves to go back to his seat, but he quickly remembers more table formalities and pulls out the chair for me. I uncomfortably thank him and take a perch, only for him to abruptly push me in and take a seat opposite me.

There's a solid minute where neither of us speak.

"I want to apologise—"

"I think we need to clear—"

We both stop short and offer sheepish expressions; this feels like a misfortunate teenage first date. He takes a deep breath before beginning, "I fucked up."

"Royally," I add.

He gives me a flat look, "I know what I did was wrong. Ask Leone, he's been checking on me three times everyday forcing me to eat because I felt so devastated."

I keep quiet, although his words make my heart flutter.

"When I saw you today... it confirmed everything for me. I miss you, I know our relationship is one from a strange nature, however I can't help but long to be by your side."

I let out a sigh, "I know you care for me, I'm not that stupid Gufo. It's your mother that's an issue."

He goes to jump in but I raise a hand, "No. Let me finish."

He nods but a waitress comes up and provides a polite smile, "Are you ready to order?"

"Two chicken tikka masalas please," Gufo orders and I blink in surprise. He remembers my love for Indian food. The waitress nods before hurrying off again, leaving the two of us sat alone. "Continue?"

"Right," I breathe. "I'm not saying ruin your relationship with your mother. I'd hate to be like that, especially since mine is a drug-abuser, I'd hate to take something from you which I've never had myself. All I'm asking for us to work out is if you put up boundaries. Your mother completely disrespected me and you stood their looking sheepish. How am I supposed to trust you if you can't even defend me from your own mom?"

He looks at his hands and slowly nods like a little school boy with a scolding, "Mi madre and I have always been close. I was her supposed last hope in having an emotionally close child, since Toro is both quiet and gay and Leone is practically a mini padre... I was mainly born to make mi madre happy. So I automatically do that." He takes another drink of the alcoholic beverage, "I can't express to you how much I'm disappointed in myself. I promised you I'd be their for the mother of the child and my girlfriend, but I failed.

"I treated you poorly and mi madre always taught me to never mistreat women. Even the women I was with in my past I never treated wrong. But I pushed all that aside to please her and in the result I hurt you. Now I'm not saying I'll immediately change. What I'm saying is that I'll try to be more thoughtful of my actions and put you and my baby as my number one."

I look down at my lap and focus on my breathing that suddenly seems more laboured. "I want to forgive you. I really do, but you have to understand that I'm struggling to have the same level of trust in you because you promised me last time. It hurt. So, so much."

"I'm sorry," he whispers and I move my hand forward to grasp his.

"I know. I think we need to do a bit of work before we can be like we were before, but I'm willing to put the work in if you do too. For our daughter."

He nods his head and squeezes my hand just as the waitress arrives with our chicken tikka. We separate on a physical level, but emotionally we're finally closer than we were a week ago.