Chapter 6

Damon

My bedroom was just as I’d left it ten years ago. I opened the glass doors and stepped onto the balcony. Sea air smacked me in the face, and I breathed it in deeply for an awakening hit.

We were about to celebrate my mother’s fiftieth birthday, and at a loss for gift ideas, I’d bought her favorite perfume so that the handwoven scarf from Afghanistan wouldn’t seem too paltry a gift.

The red cashmere scarf flooded me with memories of a remote village located in a rocky, hard-to-get-to mountain terrain. Against a backdrop of gun blasts, I entered a cave where a pair of frightened eyes framed in a slit of black fabric pleaded for mercy.

Her eyes switched from fear to joy as soon as I emptied my pockets of all the afghanis I possessed—a much higher sum than her asking price for the exquisite scarves she and her daughters wove.

I answered a knock at the door and found Evan holding a couple of bottles of Guinness. He waltzed in casually, like a man without a care in the world.

“I thought you might be thirsty.”

I took a bottle from his hands. “I am. Good timing.”

He stared down at my bed, at the scarf and bottle of perfume. “Mother’s presents?”

“Yep.” I sipped on the cool bitter liquid. “I need to wrap them. I didn’t get her a card.”

“Neither did I.” He sauntered about picking up the odd knickknack. “I bought her a painting.”

“That’s a little more substantial than this, I guess.” After being reminded of my mother’s birthday yesterday, I remembered the scarves as I unpacked my case.

An earthy scent coming off the cloth swamped me with memories of that harsh terrain. From above in an aircraft, that jagged land resembled a giant’s broken teeth.

It was a place I’d never forget. Not like a warm, fuzzy memory that a visit to Venice or Prague produced, but in a haunting, life-changing way.

“What do you give someone who has everything?” Evan chuckled.

My brother was the counter opposite of me. While I was the serious one in the family, he was the clown. But it worked for us. Two years apart, we grew up playing, fighting, and then talking about girls.

At least we weren’t competitive, like some brothers, which pissed my mother off, who viewed competition as healthy.

From a shelf filled with odd bits and pieces, Evan took a cricket ball, a souvenir from my college days when I bowled for the winning side. He tossed it from hand to hand. “Susanna’s coming, I take it?”

“I guess so.” I flicked back a wave of hair. My hair had grown back quickly, and while I’d instructed the barber to cut my sides to number two, I asked him to keep my dark-brown locks longer on top. After eight years of wearing a buzz cut, I welcomed the change, but now the unruly strand kept falling on my face.

“So, are you back on? Now that you’re back for good?”

I shook my head. “We caught up the other night.”

He sat on my bed and bounced on it. “You don’t sound like a man in love.”

“When have I ever sounded like that?” I sipped on stout and stared out the window, soaking in the view that seemed endless thanks to the inky ocean.

He studied me for a moment. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re not batting for the other side, are you?”

“Fuck, Evan. What’s wrong with everyone? Just because I’m not in love means I’m gay?”

“Blame the overzealous rumour mill dying to catch us with our dicks out.” He chuckled. “That said, I wish you’d start fucking around again, so they lay off me for a while. I mean it’s kinda weird that you’re not fucking around, considering how women throw themselves at you.”

“They throw themselves at you too.” I flicked through my shirts from when I was younger. I’d filled out since then. All that intense army training had broadened my shoulders.

“Fucking is fun. You must admit.”

“Not before dinner.”

He laughed. “You’re such a bore.”

“You’ve got your buddies to talk pussies with, haven’t you?” I asked, buttoning up a green shirt that was way too tight. It was time I shopped.

“I do. Other than sport, what else is there?”

“Philosophy. Books. Politics. Anyway, enough about my sex life.”

He took a slug from his bottle. “Nothing wrong with fucking around. It’s good for the ticker. An orgasm a day keeps the blues away.”

I laughed. “Who says that?”

“Me.”

“Sounds like you need a life, Evan.”

“I’m good.” He took another sip. “So, have you fucked Susanna since returning?”

I puffed out a slow breath. I could see my brother wasn’t going to leave this alone. “I’ve seen her a few times.”

A quick tap at the door and Sasha, our sister, swanned in. “Here you both are.” She eyed the Guinness and, lunging for it, took a sip.

Evan pulled a face. “Hell, Sasha, you just put fucking lipstick on the rim.”

She poked her tongue at him before turning to me. “Are you crashing for the weekend?”

“I only live—what? Two miles from here? But I know it will make Mother happy to have us all here together, so I thought I might,” I said, my energy drained at the thought of socialising.

Always the same questions: When are you going to settle down? Are you going to do some real work now that you’ve left the army? As though training with the SAS and flying planes was some boyish frivolity.

“So have you got a hot date lined up?” Sasha asked, picking up a framed picture of John, my beloved, childhood Border collie.

“Nope.”

“Susanna’s coming,” chimed in Evan, wagging his eyebrows.

“Mm… you’re still seeing her then?” she asked.

“We’ve caught up a few times.” I had no idea what I was doing with Susanna. We’d kicked around a bit before I went off on my last tour, and a few weeks after I returned, I ran into her. After a few drinks, she drew me into a dark room and sucked me off.

As much as I loved having my cock sucked, Susanna didn’t make my blood heat up.

Sasha looked at Evan for clues, and he returned a shrug. “He’s not been himself since coming back from war.”

“It wasn’t exactly a full-blown war.” I puffed out a breath. I hated talking about that messy and ugly campaign. “I’m fucking fine. Don’t start.”

“Ew.” Sasha pulled a face. Acting like children poking fun at each other was how we related even as adults.

“You don’t sound fine,” she said. “So what do you think Dad will give Mummy?”

“A divorce.” Evan’s droll remark reminded me of my parents’ fractious relationship.

“Dad’s virtually living full-time in London now. He’s got a penthouse there, you know. I’ve seen it.”

Evan looked impressed. “I think he’s got a mistress.”

“How fucking predictable.” Moving her head from side to side, she smoothed down her green fitted dress in the mirror, turning to look at her backside. I noticed she’d lost weight again. She was super-thin as I’d already remarked. That earned me a hug.

I hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but then I found women’s obsession with being skinny baffling.

“Well Mother’s not exactly easy to be around,” Evan appealed. He joined my sister in front of the mirror, combing his hair, which he wore in a similar style to mine.

He had my mother’s dark eyes, while I’d inherited my father’s blue eyes. But apart from that, we were both the same height and our hair the same dark brown.

He cared more for his appearance than I did.

Sasha was the veritable princess of the family. Designer everything. Her long, normally brown, hair was blonde for now, and her eyes were like mine.

“Okay, you two. I need to shower and to get ready before the guests arrive.”

“What are you giving Mummy?” Sasha asked.

I pointed to the scarf. “And a bottle of Chanel No. 5.”

She lifted the woven piece. “Mm… it’s pretty. Soft.” She ran her fingers over the cloth.

“It’s cashmere. I got you one too,” I said.

Her face lit up in surprise. “Really. Super. I can wear it in Switzerland. It looks warm.”

“Handwoven.” I thought of the cowering seamstress and how her world was so different to ours.

As was tradition at these Merivale dinner parties, cocktails were served as guests arrived.

Susanna stood close and whispered, “You’re staying here, I’m told. So am I.”

I took a sip of beer and looked at her for a moment. She was a beautiful girl for sure. With those big blue eyes and tall svelte body, Susanna was any man’s dream. Only I liked my women earthy and not caked in makeup. Maybe a little shorter. Maybe a little darker. I don’t know what it was, but my dick barely moved around her. I should have wanted her. I was hot-blooded like any thirty-two-year-old man.

“I’m still getting used to being back. I might be a bit tired.” That was me skirting around the edges rather than diving in and just telling her my heart wasn’t into anything serious.

“You’ve been back for a few months. And you weren’t tired two weeks ago when we…” Her brow arched. “Fucked.”

One of the older guests turned to stare at us.

I whispered, “Hey, keep it down.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry about Sam. He’s into all kinds of kinky shit.”

“Aren’t they all,” I said almost to myself.

“What’s wrong, Damon? You don’t seem yourself.” She pouted like a little girl.

“I’m good. I still haven’t seen my mother. Excuse me a moment.”

I walked off and although I felt bad leaving her like that, I noticed Robert had pounced on Susanna. Good. He was a rich, good-looking boy, and going on Susanna’s brightening smile, a good replacement for me.

I didn’t want to be anyone’s date that night.

Then I saw her, and my heart raced like mad, only this wasn’t from fright.