Page 137 of Terms of Exposure
He leaned back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. His smile grew wide.
"My mom's going to be elated."
"About you coming home?"
"About you coming with me." He shot me a glance. "She's been asking about you every day. I think she likes you more than she likes me."
I leaned back. "Smart woman."
"She's already planning Sunday dinner." His grin sharpened. "I heard her talking about seating arrangements."
Heat crept up my neck. "I don't know—"
"You're coming," he said. Absolute.
I shot him a look. He raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Blame Rosie, not me. Once Rosie Holt decides something, it's already done." He grinned. "You might as well start practicing your Italian."
Chapter thirty-four
Candace
The pop of the champagne cork echoed through the apartment. Afternoon light slanted through the windows, catching the bubbles as they fizzed up the neck of the bottle. I grabbed a couple of wine glasses from the cabinet.
Not flutes, but they would work.
My phone vibrated on the counter, then again, and again.
A knock rang through the heavy wooden door.
"Come in!" I called from the kitchen.
Emma came bouncing through. "We did it!"
"I know!" Her joy mirrored mine. "You should have seen Rosie on the phone when he told her. She screamed. Cried. Switched to Italian halfway through."
I walked toward her, glasses and champagne in hand.
"Oh, I know," she said, taking them and pouring each of us a glass. "She did the same thing when she called Damien to tell him. He almost hit the floor. He was so relieved."
She handed me a glass, the bubbles hissing softly between us as we clinked.
"Are you still going to visit now that he's home?" she asked, taking a sip.
A blush spread across my cheeks.
"Yeah," I confirmed, sinking into the couch, careful not to spill the wine on the still-new cushions. "He said he might need help."
"Damien set up a home nurse to come help, so you don't have to—"
"Not with physical things," I stopped her. "He told me about his addiction issues."
"Oh."
"Yeah." The frayed blanket flickered in my memory. "He was scared, Em. Really scared. Not the charming deflection thing he does—actual fear."
Emma tucked her legs beneath her, lips turning down into a frown. "Damien's worried about that too. He has a history of relapse."
