Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO WAITED SEVEN YEARS
Two weeks later, Willa found Damian in his study.
His forearm was still bandaged.
Contracts covered his desk.
He stood when she entered.
As always.
“Your mother told me you’re giving me twenty percent of Bell Hospitality.”
“I’m not giving you anything.”
Willa raised an eyebrow.
Damian corrected himself.
“You earned equity.”
“Twenty percent is significant.”
“So are you.”
Willa closed the door.
He noticed.
His expression became guarded.
She walked closer.
Damian rose completely now.
“Willa.”
“You said something months ago.”
“That’s dangerous. I say many things.”
“You said if there was ever anything between us, I had to come to it free.”
He said nothing.
“My divorce is final.”
“I know.”
“I don’t wear his name.”
“I know.”
“I have my own home.”
“Yes.”
“My own money.”
“Yes.”
“My own work.”
A faint smile.
“You definitely have that.”
She stopped in front of him.
“And I’m choosing what happens next.”
Damian’s smile disappeared.
His breathing changed.
Willa touched his bandaged arm.
“You sent me blue paint for seven years.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because a gift stops being a gift if you use it to demand something.”
She studied his face.
“No more noble answers.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then what do you want?”
“The truth.”
He looked at her for a long time.
“When I saw you in that museum basement, I wanted you.”
Her heart hammered.
“When Grant married you, I decided wanting you was irrelevant.”
Damian looked away.
“Then every year you became quieter.”
His voice grew rough.
“And every year I hated him a little more for it.”
“Did you ever hope our marriage would fail?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
She believed him.
“I hoped he would wake up.”
“That hurts.”
“I know.”
“He didn’t.”
“No.”
“You did.”
Damian’s gray eyes met hers.
“I should have done it sooner.”
Willa shook her head.
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“This part you got right.”
His breathing stopped.
“You waited.”
“Yes.”
“You never asked me for anything.”
“No.”
“You gave me room to choose.”
“Yes.”
Willa rested her palm against his chest.
His heart was pounding.
The feared Damian Bell.
The man who could silence rooms with one glance.
His heart was pounding beneath her hand like a frightened teenager’s.
Willa smiled.
“So ask.”
He stared down at her.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
For once, Damian Bell looked completely uncertain.
It was wonderful.
“Ask me properly.”
His hand covered hers.
Gently.
“Willa Mercer.”
“Yes?”
“Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
She smiled.
“That’s it?”
“I’m trying not to frighten you.”
“You don’t.”
“That makes you unusual.”
“Dinner tomorrow,” she said. “And?”
“And the next night.”
“Presumptuous.”
“And the night after that.”
“Very presumptuous.”
His mouth finally curved.
“And as many nights after that as you decide you want.”
Willa felt tears burn her eyes.
Not sad tears.
Not wounded ones.
The kind that arrive when life unexpectedly returns something you thought you had lost forever.
Choice.
She lifted herself onto her toes.
“Damian?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been patient long enough.”
Then she kissed him.
He didn’t grab her.
Didn’t claim her.
He placed one hand carefully against her waist and kissed her as though even now she had the right to change her mind.
That was when Willa knew.
Not because he had defended her.
Not because he was powerful.
May you like
Not because he had loved her quietly for years.
Because even when she finally offered him what he wanted, he still treated her choice as more important than his desire.
