The Billionaire's Princess - Ava Ryan Page 0,62
he says with a trace of melancholy as he glances in Damon’s direction (Damon is still watching us but, to his credit, he seems bemused now rather than murderous) before heading off again. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
I’m still watching Percy go and breathing a huge sigh of relief when my father immediately swoops in. I suppose I should give him credit for waiting until the conversation is over and not pulling up a chair to watch the proceedings with a bowl of popcorn.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Daddy,” I say, grimacing. “You should look up subtlety in the dictionary one of these days. Familiarize yourself with the word.”
“No time for that.” He takes my arm and steers me behind one of the partial walls in the middle of the room that features one of my paintings on each side, where we can have a bit more privacy. “What was that all about with Percy just now? Looked very cozy.”
“It was a pleasant conversation between old friends,” I say flatly, determined to shut down any hopes of a fantasy reconciliation between me and Percy that he might be harboring. “That’s all. Nothing to get excited about. He’s actually met someone else. Seems happy.”
“To no one’s surprise, Charlotte,” he says, looking as though someone has been bludgeoned right in front of him. “Of course someone would snatch him up. What did you think would happen when you foolishly cut him loose?”
“I really can’t deal with this tonight,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I have paintings to sell. If there’s nothing else…?”
“Luckily, Damon Black still seems very smitten with you. I’ve been watching him watch you all night. I don’t suppose you’ve closed that deal yet, have you?”
My heart doesn’t sink so much as it plummets through the floor. I’m surprised at my visceral reaction to the mere suggestion of me marrying Damon, but there’s no ignoring the sharp yearning I feel inside. Which, by the way, bears no resemblance to the vague feeling of dread I always experienced when I suspected Percy might propose. The mere thought of living the rest of my life accompanied by Damon’s smile and laughter, his humor, strength, smarts and sexiness is enough to make me float away like the helium balloon-powered house in that movie Up. And the idea of having children with Damon? I have to tiptoe up on it and give my heart time to adjust. Otherwise, it will burst from happiness.
Any woman would be lucky to spend her life with Damon. I could only pray to be so lucky.
“My personal life is none of your concern,” I tell my father, threading my voice with liberal amounts of barbed wire and jagged glass in the hopes that he drops the subject.
It doesn’t work, though. It never does with him.
“So no proposals, then,” he says as he rubs his chin, speaking to himself as much as to me. “Well, it’s still early days yet.”
That’s a valid point. I try to take heart. Damon and I have only been together for about seven months. Some men take longer to give their whole hearts. Hopefully, Damon falls into that category. As opposed to the it’s not you, it’s me or the I doubt I’ll ever get married categories. Given his horrendous family history? It’s entirely possible that marriage isn’t on his radar. Anyone whose parents went through a terrible divorce is likely to be gun-shy.
“But you would marry Damon if he asked you,” my father says.
“Of course I would,” I say indignantly, the champagne having loosened my tongue enough to make this little slip. “What fool wouldn’t?”
“Well, as I said,” my father says, shrugging. “One billionaire is as good as any other.”
Unbelievable. As per usual, my happiness is a secondary consideration to my father. If that.
“Could you please stop being so crass and shallow?”
He tries to act surprised and wounded. “What? I’m trying to say that he’d be a welcome addition to the family. You can’t blame a man for that. He certainly helped me out of a large financial jam when he purchased my paintings at a generous price. That was welcome.”
With that, I hit my limit of my father.
“Right, then,” I snap. “This conversation is over.”
I start to walk around the half wall so that I can rejoin the party.
And nearly run directly into Damon.
Sudden paralytic shock freezes me into place, which is a good thing, because he’s holding three flutes of champagne that he evidently meant to share with me and my father.