The Billionaire's Princess - Ava Ryan Page 0,49
he says, leaning his elbow on the back of the sofa and resting his head on his hand. “With the fact that the most exciting woman I’ve ever met thinks she has something to be jealous about?”
I blink, startled.
“With the fact that you’re jealous about insignificant relationships that don’t begin to compare with what you and I have already built? Or how about the fact that whatever you’re feeling can’t be a millionth of what I feel when I remember how close you came to marrying someone who belongs in your world better than I do?”
We stare at each other, my heart thumping as I absorb both his words and the reluctant vulnerability in his expression.
“You make it hard to maintain a good sulk,” I tell him.
“Why sulk?” He gently takes a strand of my hair, wraps it around his fingers and lets it slip back into place. “I already told you once. What we did before doesn’t matter. You were with Percy. I was with…everybody.”
I let out a startled laugh.
His expression softens until the warmth in his smiling eyes could best be described as naked adoration. It makes my heart melt.
“None of that matters now, princess. Does it?”
I think about the time spent with Percy, for which I’m grateful. My experience with him taught me what it’s like to be loved by a good man and took me from girl to woman.
Then I think about how alive, excited, hopeful and special I feel when Damon looks at me like that.
Absolutely no comparison.
“No,” I say. “Doesn’t matter. Not at all.”
He takes my hair again. Tugs me in for a kiss that’s sweetly lingering. Infinitely promising.
“Anything else?” His heavy-lidded eyes are all I can see. “We’ve got a reunion to get to.”
I hate to rock our precious boat at a moment like this, but it can’t be helped. My newfound independence is too important to me.
“One other thing,” I say, pulling back. “Everyone in the New York art world seems to suddenly think I’m the best thing since Andy Warhol. No one can live without me. They all want to throw money and opportunities at me. Did you have anything to do with that?”
He hesitates, looking wary. Probably something in my tone.
“Depends. Will my answer affect my chances of getting laid in the next five minutes?”
“Wow. Brilliant. At this point, you’re in trouble no matter how you answer,” I say, glaring.
Aggrieved sigh from Damon. “I know some people. I made a few calls on your behalf. I wanted to help.”
Unbelievable. Is that how the male mind works?
“I appreciate the thoughtful gesture, but did you ever stop to wonder whether I wanted your help?”
“Yeah, actually.” He roughly rubs the top of his head, rumpling his hair. “I briefly wondered, then I did it anyway. I probably should’ve listened to my gut instinct. At least I didn’t lease a studio for you or buy you an art gallery. Which I thought about.”
“An art gallery?” I squawk. “What planet are you from?”
“One where I clearly don’t understand the rules. What’s the problem? Help me out.”
“The problem?” I say, growing more heated by the second. “The problem is that you either don’t care about the plans I’ve made for myself or think I’m incapable of making plans for myself. And in the process, you’ve no doubt made everyone wonder whether I’m sleeping my way to the top of the art world. So thanks for that.”
“Stop trying to put things in the worst possible light.”
“Oh, is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes. First, we’re together now. If people don’t realize it yet, they will soon. Second, networking makes the world go round. I’m surprised you don’t know that, given your background and status—”
“Yes, I do know that, and that’s exactly why—”
“Finally,” he says loudly, “of course I think you’re capable of making plans for yourself. But if I can smooth the way for you and make your path easier, I’m going to do that. I want you to be successful beyond your wildest dreams. I’ve got all these resources. What do you think they’re for?”
“Am I allowed to speak now?”
“Absolutely.”
“Lovely,” I say acidly. “It might interest you to know that I’m quite looking forward to running my own life. My mother tried to give me a normal life, but my father and the family made that pretty much impossible. Decisions were handed down from on high about what schools I could attend—”
“Everyone gets told what school they’re going to, princess.”
“—what camps I could attend and which friends I