Princess

Chapter 14: Italian Night

Damon

Stepping out of her Gucci snake boot and singular Jimmy Choo heel she could hardly walk in, Ariadne walked over to the living room and replaced each in their respective boxes.

"Nice gown," I commented dryly, fingering a strapless velvet Oscar De La Renta that hung off the couch, and surveyed the mess with an amused look.

She eyed me carefully, probably in shock. "Surprising. You like purple?"

"It's my favorite color." I gave her a half-nod.

Her eyes went wild. "Me too."

I know.

I'd always known. When she was younger, she wore purple scrunchies and dresses and hair clips and socks every single day, looking like a fucking vision. You couldn't miss her on the playground, in the park, at the carnivals. There was a reason why it was my favorite color: it made her happy.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, making my way over to the tall glass windows to take in the view. Ariadne always liked the city. It was enormous and she could disappear in it, become a nobody.

Her voice caught me by surprise. "Heard you liked my banana bread. Did it chafe you to admit that you liked something I made?"

"Severely. Write me a prescription, Doc," I deadpanned.

"Sure, when you come in for that STD check-up, I'll do that."

"Still thinking about my sex life?" I drawled.

"More like all the poor women out there who you've infected," she shot back.

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, princess."

"Ah sarcasm, the grumpy man's wit," she deadpanned. "And just as I was about to offer you some more banana goodness."

"Why? Did you poison it?" I asked, turning to face her.

"Well, I wouldn't tell you if I did, would I? Mob Boss 101."

"That's actually in 104. Do check the syllabus. I like my students to be aware of what's going on at all times," I returned.

She narrowed her eyes, because Ariadne had always been a teacher's pet and if I asked her what her tenth-grade syllabus was, she'd recite it right then and there. At the top of it would be, Ignoring Damon Hale followed by Driving Damon Hale fucking insane.

She clucked her tongue. "Anyway, try the banana bread heated up with ice cream next time. Mom used to love it like that."

"Strawberry?" I asked because it was her favorite since we were kids. She looked up at me through her lashes, a curious smile lingering on one side of her mouth.

"Uh huh," she said. "Robyn and I baked some more today—my mom's recipe. I'll give you some."

I blinked at her, wondering if I was hallucinating the first humane thing she'd ever done for me. "Are you sure you're not chafing at doing something nice for me?"

Her eyes rolled. "I'll borrow some of that ointment from you."

"Get your own, Doc."

She shook her head, but a smile crossed her face when she asked, "Where are you taking your sister to dinner?"

"Anywhere as long as they have more than cinnamon rolls. From the looks of all this shopping, I assume I'll be paying," I drawled.

She shot me a look. "She's an enabler, okay? Anything I even look at, she tells me to buy it."