Princess

Chapter 18: Use Your Words

Damon

Ariadne didn't go home with whoever the fuck that irrelevant ass man was. I watched him place an impersonal kiss on her lips before she left.

Just like I knew would happen.

She'd forget about that kiss in no time. I'd make sure of it.

Damon: You shouldn't have kissed him.

Ariadne: He kissed me, not that it's any of your business.

Damon: I don't like when people touch what's mine.

Ariadne: You're all bark, no bite, pretty boy.

Damon: Come a little closer and you'll see just how I bite.

The weekly dinners were hard. It had only been a couple weeks since we started the tradition and seeing her all the time made me want to tear her apart with my teeth but also whisper sweet nothings into her ear.

I hated how much she made me lose control of my senses. Around her, I was a volatile mess of fucking emotions and couldn't keep my head on right.

Ariadne wasn't indifferent to me anymore. I didn't know if she liked or hated me but there was something. There was some emotion. I could work with that.

Laughter and happiness were not a common visitor in the home of Damon Hale, the East Coast's most dangerous man. But it was becoming more and more familiar. The guest list varied each week, sometimes my sister's new boyfriend Dean–gag–made an appearance, or my parents. But Ariadne, Bella, Christian, Francis, Robyn, and I were usually a staple, always deciding on what to make last minute and by the end of it, either my kitchen or Ariadne's were a complete and utter mess. Since the four of us lived closer to one another than to Bella and Francis' new home, we always made them come to us and Christian never had the right ingredients to cook a real meal. I was surprised he even had a kitchen, to be honest.

So, every week, we'd gather together, eat home cooked food, drink cheap wine, and laugh and talk for hours on end like we did when we were kids. We'd playfully insult one another, tell old stories, talk about work, argue, and I enjoyed the endless chatter that filled the air.

Robyn always baked fabulous desserts–to go with the peach cobbler she made every single week without fail–that everyone would gorge on, but Ariadne finished every dinner with strawberry ice cream, even if it was just a little spoon of it, and always released a satisfied moan that made me hard as stone. I wanted to make it my fucking ringtone.

I noticed everything about her: she hated the sound of metal scratching against plates. She didn't like cheesecake. If she had a tough day at work, she'd skip the vegetables/salad all together and just binge on bread. She loved Italian, Indian, and Thai food. She preferred red to white wine. She scrunched her nose if someone said something she didn't like. She bit her lip when she was nervous. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly when she got excited about something. She hated talking about her father. She still incorporated a little purple in her style in the form of a little trinket on her car keys.

When Ariadne got really into a conversation, she'd forget everything around her, especially if she was arguing. She'd hold her fork in her hand, but she wouldn't touch a thing to the point where Christian would just slowly take her food too. Eventually, it became a silent game. While Ariadne argued with Francis or Dean, Christian and Robyn would sneak sautéed potatoes or garlic bread off her untouched plate and see who could get away with stealing a bigger piece without her noticing. Not that it mattered. One time, Ariadne caught Christian taking three pieces of fried tofu off her plate and just moved her plate in front of him before continuing to fight her battle.