Chapter 8

Damien's point of view

I've been to events with fake, pretentious women. I've had to kiss the asses of the most irritating men for deals and partnerships. I've sat through meetings with dozens of people whose IQ was lower than a three-year-old's. But none of that was more tedious than dealing with the woman I'm now living with.

In all thirty-two years of my life, I had never once been to a market for food. Hell, I had no clue what you were even supposed to buy at one.

But here I was, behind the steering wheel in my white shirt and ash joggers, on my way to the market because an insane woman wouldn't just order food like everyone else.

Louisa jogged toward the car in a big, oversized gown, her hair packed into a bun, putting her whole face on display. I wondered if something could be done about her acne.

"No — the back." I ordered, when she went for the front seat. She looked like she wanted to argue but quietly moved to sit in the back instead.

I haven't driven in ages, but the passenger seat is still reserved for only you.

I started the car, slightly unsure of what I was doing, but muscle memory kicked in soon enough.

"Hope you know what you're doing. You driving is me putting my life in your hands, and my life is very important, seeing as I'm carrying another life inside me." She chatted while staring at her phone.

She probably meant it lightheartedly, just her senseless self saying senseless things, but I sat straighter regardless, watching the road more closely.

"Can you put some music on?" She yawned, head resting against the neck rest, phone raised high above her.

"What phone is that?" I asked, genuinely curious. I consider myself up to date — I'd know any new phone.

"Infinix Note 5." She mumbled, rolling to the side, the phone falling with her.

"In 2025? That's sad."

"Not all of us have daddy's money." She hissed. "And I happen to love my phone very much, thank you. I could change it if I wanted — remember, I've got 2.5 million sitting pretty in my account."

"How many times did you have to tell yourself that to believe it?" She switched the phone off, stuffing it in her bag. Her cheeks reddened like they were threatening to burst, and I had the weirdest temptation to pinch them.

"Go to hell." She lay back, propping her legs on the car window.

"Are you ever still, in your whole life?"

"Must you always have a problem with whatever I do?" she yelled.

"Is it the pregnancy hormones?" She threw up a middle finger, mumbling something under her breath.

I'd spoken enough. She and I clearly can't be friends. We need not be enemies either.

The rest of the drive was awfully quiet — I almost thought she was asleep, if not for the continued shuffling of her feet.

"We're here." She sat up, taking in the place with an odd look.

"Where is this?" Irritation grew in me. "Where do you think, genius?"

She got out of the car, spinning slowly, taking in the environment.

"Is this what you call a farmer's market?" She was yelling. In public.

"Lower your voice," I mumbled, glancing around. "This is what the GPS said."

"Darling child, this is a store called Farmer's Market." She pointed at a store not too far from where we'd parked.

She wasn't wrong. "Well," the side of my nose itched, "better then — we won't have to walk too far."

She burst out cackling. "That makes no sense."

"Just shut up and let's go." I pulled her by the arm, dragging her forward, and surprisingly, she let me.

"What are we buying?" I asked, when she'd finally gone quiet.

"I had a long list, but I'm afraid their stuff here might not be very fresh. We'll just grab something for dinner tonight and breakfast. The cook's still coming, right?"

I nodded. "So what are the things?"

"Eggs, spinach, oil, spice, pasta, pepper, meat, fruits—"

"You know what — I'll get the eggs, oil, and fruits. You get everything else and meet me back here." She chuckled but agreed, walking off.

Finding anything here was impossible. Nothing was grouped into sections — just everything together. Buying groceries was apparently supposed to feel like a maze.

After thirty minutes, I finally found everything.

"I was about to start a search party," she teased. "Why did you get so much of... everything?"

I looked down at my basket. How was I supposed to know it was too much?

Just five dozen eggs, three pineapples, two bags of apples, and a watermelon.

"There isn't much in the basket."

"They—"

"Please, let's just pay and get this over with." This was the second time in less than twenty-four hours I'd used "please" with this woman.

I haven't had to beg anyone in ages.

"Sure, sure," she said, and I joined her in line.

Another thing I haven't done in ages.

It was almost our turn when a round, overly happy, tall, smiley woman approached us.

"Louisa, baby! I can't believe it's actually you! How perfect!"

Louisa smiled, her smile almost as strained as I felt.

"Daisy! It's been so long." They hugged tightly. I heard Daisy whisper, "Gold to see you finally have a man, he is so hot!"

Finally, someone who recognized and appreciated my appearance.

"Not my man," she whispered back. Definitely not her man. But the way she said it was so... what's so terrible about me being her man?

Daisy stayed with us until we finished checking out. Recounting takes of everyone that her unfortunate enough to be acquainted with her.

"The bunch of us from college are having a party in a couple weeks. Wanna come? You can bring him." She pointed at me with her thumb.

She pointed at me. With her freaking thumb. I'd never been so disrespected.

"I'll see if I can make it, babe. Send me the deets on I*******m." Daisy nodded, blew a kiss, and walked away.

Louisa didn't say anything on the way to the car, or through half the drive.

"Okay, spill it. What are you thinking?"

She sat up, as if she'd been expecting me to ask. "What am I going to tell my mom about the pregnancy?"