Chapter 146
Aria pov
Then it was just us, standing in the hallway like awkward teenagers. “So,” I said.
“So,” he echoed. “Ready p>
“As I’ll ever be.” I grabbed my purse, suddenly nervous all over again. “Where are we going p>
“You’ll see.” He offered his arm, and I took it, hyperaware of every point where we touched. “But first—” He pulled out a single red rose from behind his back. “For you p>
“You brought me a flower.” My voice came out embarrassingly breathy.
“First date tradition.” He tucked it behind my ear gently. “Though I have to say, I’ve never been this nervous for a first date before p>
“Never?” I raised an eyebrow. “The great Damien Blackwood, nervous p>
“Terrified,” he admitted. “Because Aria, this matters. You matter. And I really, really don’t want to screw this up p>
“You won’t.” I squeezed his arm. “Just be yourself. That’s all I want p>
“Then let’s go.” He led me to the elevator. “And Aria? For what it’s worth, I’m really glad we’re doing this. The slow, normal, getting-to-know-you part. I feel like I’m finally getting the chance to date the woman I fell in love with p>
“Fell in love with?” I looked up at him as the elevator descended. “Past tense p>
“Am in love with,” he corrected, his eyes intense. “Am completely, irrevocably, madly in love with p>
The elevator doors opened before I could respond, which was probably good because I’d completely forgotten how to form words.
The car ride was surprisingly comfortable. Damien had music playing softly—jazz, which I discovered was one of his favorites—and we talked about easy things. Noah’s latest dinosaur obsession. A funny thing that happened at Monroe Global that week, the merger progress.
“We’re good at this,” I said after a particularly comfortable silence. “The talking thing p>
“We’ve had a lot of practice lately.” He glanced over with a smile. “Remember when we could barely be in the same room without fighting p>
“Vividly.” I laughed. “You were so infuriating p>
“You were terrifying,” he countered. “Smart, successful, beautiful, and completely immune to my usual charm. It drove me insane p>
“Good.” I settled back in my seat. “You needed someone to challenge you p>
“I needed you,” he said simply. “I just didn’t know it yet p>
We pulled up to a small Italian restaurant tucked into a quiet street corner. Nothing fancy, no photographers lurking, just a warm glow from the windows and the smell of garlic and wine.
“Damien” I looked at him, surprised. “This is Marcello’s D Town p>
“You mentioned once that you loved Italian food but had never been anywhere that felt authentic, just corporate business dinners at overpriced restaurants.” He helped me out of the car. “Marcello’s is run by an actual Italian family. No pretense, no scene, just really good food and wine. I thought” He paused, suddenly uncertain. “I thought you might like it p>
“I love it.” I kissed his cheek impulsively. “This is perfect p>
Inside, we were greeted by a grandmother-type who exclaimed over us in rapid Italian before showing us to a corner booth. The restaurant was tiny, maybe ten tables, all filled with families and couples talking and laughing.
“This is amazing,” I said, taking in the mismatched furniture and photos covering every inch of the walls. “How did you find this place p>
“Lucas, actually.” Damien grinned at my surprised expression. “I asked him for advice on where to take you. Figured he’d know since he—well. You know p>
“Since he tried to date me.” I felt warmth bloom in my chest at his slight discomfort. “Are you jealous p>
“Insanely,” he admitted. “But I’m working on it. And he gave good advice, so I can’t hate him too much p>
“Damien Blackwood, being mature about a rival.” I pretended to check my forehead. “Are you feeling okay p>
“Hilarious.” But he was smiling. “Order whatever you want. Everything here is supposed to be incredible p>
We ordered wine and appetizers, fell into easy conversation about everything and nothing. I learned that Damien had wanted to be an architect as a kid before his father crushed that dream. He learned that I’d been terrified of dogs until I was twelve, when a neighbor’s golden retriever had slowly won me over.
“What else?” he asked, refilling my wine glass. “What else don’t I know about you p>
“Lots of things.” I considered. “I hate the smell of coffee but love the taste. I can’t whistle. I once got detention for correcting my economics teacher in high school p>
“You didn’t.” He laughed.
“I did, he was wrong about supply and demand curves and I couldn’t help myself.” I grinned at the memory. “My father was furious, and said I was embarrassing the family. But the teacher apologized the next day and said I was right p>
“Of course you were.” His eyes were soft. “You’re brilliant, Aria. Always have been p>
“What about you?” I leaned forward. “What don’t I know about the great Damien Blackwood p>
“I’m terrified of heights,” he admitted. “The rooftop at the penthouse? I had to work up to being comfortable there. But you loved it so much, I couldn’t tell you p>
“Damien”
“I taught myself to cook some stuff.” He continued, staring at his wine. “Burned every dish for months. But I kept trying because I remembered how much you loved home-cooked meals and I thought—maybe if I learned, if you ever considered me” He stopped. “Pathetic, right p>
“Not pathetic.” I reached across the table for his hand. “Sweet. Hopeful. But not pathetic p>
“I missed you every single day,” he said quietly. “Every morning I’d wake up and for a second, I’d forget. I’d think you were down the hall. And then I’d remember and it was like losing you all over again p>
“Damien”
“No, let me finish.” He gripped my hand tighter. “I need you to know that those years weren’t easy for me. I didn’t just move on, didn’t just forget. I grieved. For us, for what I’d destroyed, for the family I’d thrown away. And I became obsessed with finding you because I needed” His voice cracked. “I needed to apologize. To tell you that you were right about everything. That I’d been a coward and a fool and I’d lost the best thing in my life because I was too damaged to see its value p>
“You found me,” I whispered. “And you fought for us. That’s what matters p>