A/N: See, it didn't take months for the follow-up like some were speculating. Anyways, you guys are awesome for providing feedback for the last chapter and this story overall. I really didn't think it would resonate the way it has. So from the bottom of my little shipper heart, THANK YOU for giving this a chance and sticking with it even while things between Bamon seem bleak, and updates come every blue moon. I'm just an extraordinarily busy person and when I have a moment to write that's when I write. But thank you!
Rating: M
Disclaimer: These characters belong to LJ Smith/CW. Jelena Howard, Zero, Terrence belong to VH1. Original characters are mine. Copyright infringement is not intended.
The elastic securing and uplifting her breasts dug trenches in her skin with each fluid movement of her body. She was sweating profusely in her gi. Being worked forward and sideways, her body slamming into the padded ground at a velocity that jarred her teeth. Heaving a breath, Bonnie righted herself, found her balance, and did a feint to the left, but spun and thrust out her foot hitting her target square in the ribs.
Grim satisfaction coursed through her at the pained grunt her instructor made.
"Time!" Ichiro Yukimura yelled.
Bonnie went ramrod straight and bent at the waist, arms stiff at her sides, bowing to her sensei who reciprocated the action.
Their stances relaxed and Bonnie finally allowed herself to take a full, deep breath.
Ichiro looked at her askance as they walked off the mat. "You've become more aggressive."
"Better than being passive," Bonnie squirted ice cold water into her mouth once swiping her bottle off the floor.
"I was surprised to see you. It's been a few months."
Nodding insouciantly, Bonnie replied, "I needed a confidence boost. I have an interview coming up and I don't want to botch it. Whenever I come here, the malaise holding me down disappears. I've missed your instruction, sensei."
Ichiro offered a lopsided grin that belied his biological age. He was a strapping forty-six but didn't look a day over twenty-five. Ichiro was only three inches taller than Bonnie, but was a powerhouse that could chop through six blocks of concrete with his hand easily. He was the proud owner of the dojo Bonnie had stumbled across one day months ago. Intimidation squeezed the blood out of her as the Virginian native sat through a free preview class of sorts, watching the instructors and vet students illustrate differing styles of karate.
Bonnie had stared in wide-eye fascination, cringing every so often at the sound of hands and feet connecting with shins, arms, and cheeks. She had never taken a karate class in her life, and the idea of starting now seemed a little preposterous, but she needed something to help her…feel empowered.
Seeing Ichiro twice a week had been another secret she kept from her husband. Damon had his own personal trainer who specialized in Krav Maga, which was too brutal for her tastes, but most definitely fit with her husband's mordant personality.
"Glad I could be of service, and I'm equally glad you haven't forgotten what you've been taught. I remember your earlier days," Ichiro smiled with fondness. "You were so skittish, but found your center, and pulled on it. Will I start seeing you regularly now, or will you only pop in when you need a tune up?"
Bonnie wheezed a laugh. "I hope to start coming back regularly. But thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
"Like I said, Bonnie, I'm glad to be of service. Finish your water and hit the showers."
"Yes, sensei."
They bowed to one another again. Bonnie collected her sandals as she made her way, barefoot, to the locker room.
In the shower, contemplations about her private instruction bled like a reopened wound, and were replaced by daunting images from the night before. That was the curse of memory. When you most didn't want to remember something that's when it barged to the forefront eradicating the ability to move forward, let go. Especially if the memory was a particularly nasty one.
Bonnie wouldn't classify what she was remembering as nasty, but a probable inevitability. Her words: Some part of me loves you, was not like a Trojan horse with the intent of slaying Damon's acerbic ways in the hopes he might transform and be what she craved. Her candor had been a valve release, finally revealing the other half of the equation in why she hadn't left him for good. Bonnie could remember everything. The look on Damon's face, the words exchanged. She replayed every moment…
…The fight went out of Damon, evicted and the new tenant was confusion and befuddlement. He blinked rapidly as the last words Bonnie spoke seeped inside, sealing, mending crevices in his broken psyche. He couldn't believe it.
"What?"
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Bonnie licked her lips. "There is a part of me that loves you, Damon."
"You…love me?"
Bonnie nodded slowly, brow dimpled. "But loving you is destroying me. I think we need to separate."
Panic came to pay him a visit. Damon reached for Bonnie's hand, "No that's the last thing we need to do."
"I can't be with a man who is more interested in breaking me down than building me up," Bonnie wormed her hand from under Damon's and she stood. "I married you for all the wrong reasons. I broke my own morals and now I need to fix it. I need to fix me. I can't do that as your wife because you won't let me."
"Bonnie…"
Twisting her wedding band off her finger, Bonnie placed it on the table. "I'm staying with Jenna."
Damon shot to his feet. "You think I'm going to let you leave me after telling me that you…" he swallowed thickly, "love me? You must have forgotten who I am. You're not leaving this house."
Bonnie pointed both index fingers at him. "This is the Damon I don't want to be with. Instead of listening to what I just said you're going to try to throw your weight around," she laughed tiredly. "I'm out of here."
Naturally she didn't get far. Damon caught her wrist and swung her around to face him. Even in the dim lighting of his office, Bonnie's irises burned with a litany of passions but there was no disguising the biggest, loudest one: hatred.
That one fierce look alone cauterized the most.
He took a deep, calming breath. "All right…I'm sorry I…overreacted. It's a knee jerk thing."
"I don't understand why you have to be like this, why you're like this. With me."
"Because, Bonnie I can't turn it off."
"Turn what off?"
Damon sighed and let his wife go. "Who I am."
This conversation could make or break them. Treaties of peace could be drafted if he said the right words with the right amount of sincerity, and followed up his proclamations with viable actions that wouldn't lead to second guessing. But Bonnie didn't know or trust if he would be that open.
"That says a lot without saying anything at all," she killed her glass of wine that went straight to her head. "Who you are? I don't even know who you are."
"You know more than most."
"And still it's not enough."
"What do you want?" Damon strode to his desk and leaned against it. "You want a sob story about how daddy never loved me enough, preferred my younger brother and it gave me an inferiority complex? Sure we can go with that. Or how, for years I watched my parents treat one another like points on a resume and their marriage was for show, and that kind of became instilled in me? Or," he pushed away from the desk and stopped right in front of Bonnie, "I can admit that I know you never wanted me and because of that knowledge is why I…punished you because you think you're too good for me. Nothing and no one has ever been too good for me, but…"
"But?"
"I knew it the first time I saw you. I had…to prove to myself that not even you could say no to me. You did," Damon laughed blearily.
"So what you're saying is that it's never really been about me, but you trying to appease your own shattered ego because I didn't fall all over myself to be with you?"
"Never said my intentions where you're concerned have been pure. Nevertheless, hearing you say that you love me…changes everything."
"Everything? Like what? Your perception of me?"
"For starters."
Her smile was cold. "As soon as I said it the 'normal' you or whatever came rising to the surface to smack me back down into submission. In that second, Damon once again I stopped being a person, and something you needed to control, a situation to get the upper hand on. Yeah, you can regale me with sob stories about your oppressive, privileged childhood, finally tell me that you wanted me for egotistical reasons…how are you going to use that to help us?"
"You think divorce is going to solve anything?"
"You think us staying married will? At this point I don't even care if you go to the authorities in India, and tell them my brother should be a wanted man for murder. He needs to pay for his crimes. If I go down with him, so be it."
"Don't be stupid. You wouldn't survive in prison."
Bonnie's eyebrow elevated. "Anything can be a prison, Damon. It doesn't have to be a secluded concrete building with metal bars. It can be a relationship, a business partnership, hell your own mind can be a prison. I've been walking around on my toes throughout this entire marriage, but guess what? I'm not doing it anymore. Good bye, Damon."
She made it as far as the entrance this time, and it wasn't a hand or an arm wrapped tightly around her waist that made her stop. It was what her husband said next.
"I'll go!"
Bonnie froze and turned to partially look over her shoulder. "What?"
Damon's chest expanded and deflated. "I don't want you to leave. If you're here, at least I'll know you're all right. I'll stay at a hotel."
She had to look him directly in the eye. Damon, who hardly compromised or gave an inch on anything, was willing to leave the house he built? To ensure she didn't leave?
"Me staying here would be another way for you to control me."
"And it's easily arguable that you leaving would be your way of controlling me. Of guaranteeing you walk away with the result you want. So that makes us, wife two sides of the same coin."
Bonnie let that sink in.
"I'll bargain with you. After all I am a businessman. We got off on the wrong fucking foot, but that doesn't mean there isn't any hope for us. I'll leave the house. I won't interfere with your life, but you have to promise you will respect our vows, and I'll do the same. I won't come back until you ask me to."
The enormity of what he was saying had Bonnie kind of reeling. Damon was never satisfied unless he had her under his thumb, and to pull it away, retreat, she honestly didn't know what to make of it.
Her chin rose slightly. "All right. I'll stay so long as you go."
Her words stung as well as their delivery, but were no less deserved. "This isn't permanent."
Bonnie snorted and folded her arms. "Backing out of your word already? You said you'd come back when I ask you to, and that may never happen. Don't get your hopes up."
Damon was in his wife's face in an instant. His nearness made her nostrils flare. His insolent smirk deepened her discomfiture. "Face it, Bonnie some part of you is incapable of staying away from me and vice versa. The question remains, how long can you withstand the torture of this trial separation? I'll be at the Ritz when you have your answer."
Shutting off the taps, Bonnie wrapped her towel around her. Damon was a cocky bastard, but that didn't exactly make him wrong.
Bonnie was feeling confident as she waltzed inside her partial home. Her interview at had gone exceptionally well. Though plagued with muscle tightening anxiety, hawking her work ethic and academic accomplishments came naturally to Bonnie who practiced in the mirror, quizzing herself on how she would handle any crisis to emerge should she be selected for the job. She had to illustrate both cockiness and humility with a side dish of submitting to authority, which she could thank her husband for endless tuition.
Armand, the butler, popped up startling Bonnie momentarily. "How do you do, Mrs. Salvatore? The mail," he presented her with a stack of shit that was really addressed to Damon.
Bonnie took it anyways. "Thanks," and fled to her bedroom.
She tossed the mail on the bed and headed to her massive closet where she shimmied out of her tailored suit, pulled off her sheer nude hosiery, and grabbed her robe. Bonnie had perspired a little on the drive to UCLA, and almost sweat buckets once shown into the prestigious office of Doctor William Hartigan, esquire. The man grilled her as if she were an enemy insurgent who had intelligence codes to nuclear arms.
Bonnie dumped her soiled silk shirt down the hidden laundry chute designated for dry cleaning only. She reached up and unpinned her French roll, took off her diamond stud earrings, and unclasped her Cartier timepiece.
She caught movement and whipped around, heart already lodged in her throat and a lie on her lips. Bonnie inhaled deeply and pursed her lips.
Jelena, her cousin, stood in the threshold, a wry expression her face. "Guess you were expecting big daddy."
"Something like that. What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to stop by and see you," Jelena sauntered inside Bonnie's closet taking an inventory whilst being pumped with jealous resin at the same time. She had the best of the best, and didn't have to dance half naked on a basketball court to achieve the spoils of capitalism.
Her cousin had done well for herself.
"You just getting home?" Jelena fingered a pair of spiked heels Bonnie had never worn before.
"I am. I had an interview."
Ice green eyes lit up in interest. "Really? So Damon has agreed to let you work?"
That comment annoyed Bonnie. It made her sound like she was June Cleaver. "No, I've decided to take matters into my own hands and land a career of my own."
"Good for you. Well, I will let you change. I'll be downstairs."
It wasn't like Jelena to stop by unannounced, and she was nearly as busy as Damon, so Bonnie couldn't help but ponder the timing of her visit. Had her husband bribed her cousin to be an intelligencer? Possibly.
Bonnie found Jelena posted up in one of the smaller entertainment rooms. A bottle of wine was on the table while a bowl of popcorn was tucked next to her. Bonnie folded herself on the couch.
"How very Olivia Pope of you."
"I knew you were going to say something," Jelena chewed.
Bonnie grabbed a fistful of popcorn. "What are you doing here, Jelena, not that I'm not happy to see you? You're just not a drop by for a visit kind of chick."
"I missed my cousin," Jelena cut her eyes at Bonnie. "Do I need any more reason than that?"
"If you were inherently nice, no."
"Bitch."
Bonnie snickered whereas Jelena smirked.
"When will Damon be home?"
A kernel of popcorn had trouble going down Bonnie's throat. "Not for a while."
"On another business trip?"
"Something like that," it wasn't a complete fabrication of truth. For the moment Bonnie didn't want anyone to know she and Damon were separated. She turned the tables back on Jelena. "You don't have practice?"
"It's an away game so I'm off for the most part. I should be in the studio since the choreographer changes bi-weekly."
"But you're still in charge of most of the choreography, right?"
Jelena nodded. "Yeah but things have to be on point every time I show my routine. Most of the new dancers think raunch is in, and try too damn hard to be sexy. Sexy can be taught, sure, but being sensual is another matter. I don't mind pushing the envelope. They, meaning the rookies just rip the whole thing to pieces. The hard top is not a silver pole."
Bonnie laughed. She settled against the cushions perfectly content to listen to Jelena bitch and complain about her troubles, reminding Bonnie that other problems existed outside of the ones she dealt with daily. Plus, she felt grounded in a sense, part of the evolution of the world as she got to take a rare peek inside the sometimes insidious and competitive world of professional dancing.
Jelena was saying, "But there's this new girl...Ahsha. She thinks because her mom was a Devil Girl back in the 50's that it makes her a legacy or something. Like honey this ain't a sorority, you have to earn your horns just like everyone else."
"She's mad talented isn't she? That's why you hate her."
Jelena made a tsking noise in the back of her throat.
"How are things with you and Terrance?" Bonnie skillfully changed the topic.
"Good...but we're good," Jelena hesitated, sounding unsure. "I feel his priorities are slipping because of the personal shit, and I've told him repeatedly he needs to be more concerned with his brand. We have a good chance of making it to the playoffs and beyond so long as he can keep the team together."
"Translation he wants a real commitment and you are running scared."
"I don't run from anything. I take any situation thrown my way and flip it to my advantage. You should be jotting this down."
"Whatever," Bonnie dismissed. "This reminds me…that player called Zero. I saw him at an event a couple of weeks ago. He seems to have an ax to grind against Damon."
Jelena scooped out another handful of popcorn and chucked a few kernels in her mouth. She arched a perfectly drawn eyebrow. "Zero doesn't care about the game but about notoriety. He's an incubus. My advice if you should ever run into him again, ignore the bitch."
"Do I need to be worried, Jay?"
Jelena thought for a moment. Zero wasn't dangerous per se, but he was sneaky, and a double-dealing asshole who liked to flash his balls but didn't really have any. He was the type to have a gun but let someone else pull the trigger. Or, if the trigger went off accidentally he'd say he did it on purpose.
"Zero matters less than a piece of shit stuck to your shoe, Bonnie," she informed her cousin. "But if he tries to get in your face, let me know. I'm in good with his agent and Zero will back off if he feels any of his endorsement deals are being messed with."
"All right," Bonnie filed that into consideration. "I feel like having pizza. I can call up the chef. He can make it fresh."
"I haven't had pizza in forever," Jelena's saliva glands began to swell at the thought of food alone. "Just make sure it's gluten and fat free."
Bonnie slighted her with a skeptical brow. "Do you even know what gluten is?"
"I know enough."
An innocent night of eating gluten-free pizza somehow managed to evolve into Jelena inviting a few of the Devil Girls to Bonnie's home, including Jenna which then turned into an impromptu bachelorette party, a do over of the one Bonnie never had. They danced lewdly to provocative songs while helping themselves to some of Damon's superb top shelf liquor. The contingency had free reign of the house, screaming, laughing, snapping endless selfies that garnered like after like on Instagram.
Bonnie could say she was a reluctant participant. Perhaps she attended too many functions were poise and decorum was the suitable behavior. So this was a form of culture shock and a painful reminder her wild days were long behind her. Her strongest desire was solitude and quiet. She needed it in order to figure out her next move. Damon was gone for the foreseeable future leaving it up to her to invite him back into his home and her life. Here was her way of escape and Bonnie thought she'd be kicking up her feels in spirited jubilation.
Instead, she looked at the chaos happening around her wanting these bitches out of her house. The drunken twentysomething year olds that she knew more in passing than intimately that perhaps at one point she would have envied. Bonnie felt nothing. Green eyes made their way over to Jenna who tossed back shots and directed the mayhem.
Jenna caught Bonnie's scrutiny and jumped up from the barstool she had been occupying. Pushing down the skirt of her dress, she teetered forward tossing an arm over her petite friend's shoulder.
"You need to relax," Jenna's hot, alcohol laced breath nearly curled Bonnie's nose hairs.
She fanned the offensive smell away. "I don't look relaxed?"
"You look like you want to ground us all," Jenna barked a laugh. "Or spank us with a ruler. Come with me."
Bonnie was led to the indoor swimming pool. Jenna had plucked a rolled joint from her purse. Old habits were indeed hard to dispose of.
"Are you supposed to be smoking that?" Bonnie inquired as Jenna rooted around for her lighter.
"I'm not breast feeding anymore," the new mom sparked up an end, inhaling the hypnotic and cloying smoke of high grade marijuana. She expertly held the hit in before releasing it, coughing only a few times. "Your turn."
"I can't. If I get the job I'll have to take a drug test."
"Well," Jenna lowered to the tiled floor, lying down flat on her back. "Guess you'll have to stick around to catch a contact." She leaned her head up since Bonnie made no move to join her. "Come on. This is part three of your rebellious stage. The only thing stopping you from living and being happy is you. You gonna do anything about it?"
"I thought the days of peer pressure ended once you graduated college." Bonnie laid down on the floor in the opposite direction so that her head was next to Jenna's.
A cackle escaped rosebud pink lips. "Bon, I'm sure there are senior citizens egging other senior citizen to walk down a flight of steps without their cane. Peer pressure never ends."
Pressure period, Bonnie thought. Nevertheless, she inhaled whenever Jenna exhaled. It was a slow process, but after a while her brain began to take on the quality of a helium balloon. It felt light and heavy in equal measure, free and boundless but then compressed into a tight box.
"I told him that I love him."
Jenna stared at Bonnie's profile through half-lidded orbs. "You did? How'd he take it?"
"He was shocked. But of course when I said I was leaving him despite how I feel he tried to demand I stay."
"Of course. Did he say it back?"
"No."
"Did you want him to?"
A beat. "Maybe."
"Are you scared to let Damon love you?"
"No."
"What's still holding you back, Bonnie?"
"I don't know if I can trust him with my heart. He's proven to me at times he doesn't have one, or I should say doesn't have the patience for one."
"Those who try so hard to have that hardened exterior are usually the easiest people to hurt. Your love for him won't fix his shortcomings, just like his love for you won't fix yours. But you two need to start somewhere if you want the marriage to work. Fuck, I'm hungry."
Bonnie laughed out loud, the sound of it augmented by the acoustics of the pool. She rolled to sit up. "Come on. Let's go raid the kitchen."
The party was still in full swing but there were newer additions in the form of basketball players. As Bonnie looked at faces carefully, they were the starting line of the LA Devils.
"What the hell?" she cursed, abandoned Jenna and made her way to the last room she saw her cousin in.
Jelena was hemmed up in the corner making out with her boyfriend Terrence. Bonnie poked him hard on the shoulder.
Terrence reluctantly stopped slobbing down his girl. His scowl melted into a charmingly coy smile at the sight of the lady of the house. "Oh, hey, Bonnie what's good?"
"What's good?" her nostrils flared up at Terrence and then she glared at her cousin who wiped a corner of her mouth. "Who invited these clowns to my house?"
"I think one of the girl's did," Jelena answered. "We're all about to head over to The Playground. Terrence rented a stretch Hummer. You should come."
Her head was a bag of sand and her stomach was throwing a hunger-led revolt. "I'm done for the night. You guys enjoy yourselves, and get these damn people out of my house. Armand!" Bonnie yelled until the man appeared, and when he did displeasure was mapped across his visage.
Armand's nose was turned up as if he smelled something demonic and foul, and Bonnie didn't blame his countenance one bit since they mirrored her own. It was one thing having a gathering with people of your choosing who respected the rules of the house. It became quite another when an invitee extended invitations they had no business forking out to strangers you'd otherwise have little to no contact with. Playtime was over for Bonnie and it was time for these people to go.
Bonnie wondered idly what Armand thought of her, her marriage to his employer he'd worked under for years. If he thought Damon stupid for marrying a woman he barely knew and labeled her a gold digger for doing the same. The two never engaged in unfiltered conversations, their wordy exchanges coming down to Bonnie delegating orders to which Armand ensured they came to pass. That was the extent of their 'relationship', but she had never seen him converse with Damon all that much either. He was uber professional, and Bonnie couldn't fault him for that. But she could say she was a bit intimidated by Armand. He was quiet, a thinker, and efficient. Great qualities to have, you just weren't sure if he was using them to bring about your downfall.
"Yes, Mrs. Salvatore?"
"Call Mr. Gill and get him to get these people out of here, and make sure they don't take anything. I'm going to bed."
"Right away, madam."
Bonnie wandered upstairs, each step made her head pound. She grabbed onto the railing for balance and on naked feet that slapped along the floorboards, she swept inside her room.
The overpowering silence converged in her ears which popped in retaliation. Damon had only been gone for two days, and though she was use to his absence when he traveled for work, this felt different. Off. It wasn't just her who knew he was missing, but their home as well. And it seemed to silently moan at his self-imposed withdrawal.
Aimlessly, she meandered into his closet, flicking on the light. He had taken several weeks-worth of items but overall hadn't made much of a dent in his wardrobe. Most of the pieces hanging were garments he owed before they met. Only twice had Bonnie gone shopping to pick something out for her husband: their first Christmas together and his birthday that just passed in June.
Her gaze was drawn to the new set of golf clubs she bequeathed to Damon on the day of his birth. He thanked her with his tongue in his mouth and a hand on her breast. For Christmas she had given him several monogramed shirts.
Those, as Bonnie walked down the phalanx of perfectly aligned suits and shirts, were gone. Damon must have packed them. She had given him other gifts as well that probably weren't as practical, but weren't anything he couldn't purchase for himself.
Bonnie caught her reflection in the three-sided mirror. She looked tired and lost but found her gaze inexplicably drawn to her naked left ring finger. The shackle was removed, theoretically, but the chains were still attached. Damon was still in her thoughts, still everywhere.
Sighing, Bonnie backtracked out of Damon's closet. Her heart palpitated, a sure sign she was imbedded far deeper than she ever thought she'd be.
A week later…
It was late afternoon, the precarious time right before dusk when the upheaval of motor vehicles clogged highways, restaurants changed their specials, and the pressures of the day began to fade into the bottom of a shot glass, cigarette tray, or shower drain.
The haunting voice of Inva Mula played softly through his suite, his substitute manor of sorts.
It had been five days since he'd been in his home, six nights since he slept in his bed, and even longer since he had sex with his wife. Damon cracked his knuckles as the blood in his veins carried on with its persistent roaring he needed to do something about this shit. Wading through a quagmire of gray matter wasn't their thing. Dealing in absolutes was.
He had just tucked a linen napkin into the collar of his shirt when a knock sounded on the door. Sighing, Damon pulled the napkin free and slapped it on the table. He wasn't expecting anyone, but looking through the peephole, had to say he was surprised by his visitor.
Quickly opening the door his eyes hungrily seared his wife down to the underwire in her bra.
Bonnie, equally affected by seeing Damon after a week apart had difficulty in finding an adequate greeting. One that wouldn't reveal the modicum of relief that slammed into her.
Her presence here had to mean something right? Damon couldn't be too sure, but anticipation impaled him nonetheless.
Bonnie gestured slightly with her head. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah, sorry," Damon stepped aside and got a lungful of Bonnie's scent as she sauntered past him. That scent he missed more than he cared to admit was like fingers tickling the bottom of his chin.
He closed the door which automatically locked. "What are you doing here?"
The words 'I needed to see you' were on the verge of exploding from Bonnie's mouth, but her lips flattened into a thin line. "I was in the neighborhood. How've you been?"
"On edge."
"A permanent state with you."
"Maybe," Damon retook his seat on the couch.
Bonnie surveyed her husband's makeshift dwelling. The suite was decorated in cool, neutral colors that made one expect an Oceanside view just beyond the curtains. The furnishings were modern and clean that offered comfort, a surrogate place to call home. It was much smaller than she expected, the sitting and bedroom separated by a pair of mulberry arm chairs. In the corner was a desk where Damon's laptop and cell resided, a miniaturized version of an office.
She shifted her weight on her feet visually showing the awkwardness of the moment.
"Sit down, Bonnie."
She waited a moment or two before complying.
Sliding between the sofa and ornate coffee table, Bonnie sat next to her husband. Being so near to him, he was a physical force of masculinity in professional garb. A corporate warrior who used a stylus in place of a sword to cut through the opposition of market competitors. In her peripheral she saw Damon's vein-lined fingers grip his knees as if resisting the urge to grab her, pounce, make her submit in the one language they spoke fluidly. Her palms ached as she imagined Damon's were as well. Instead of giving in, Bonnie eyed the spread he was about to dig into before she interrupted. A giant hamburger with half-inch golden brown French fries waited to be consumed.
"Have you eaten?" Damon asked.
"No."
He picked up a steak knife and carved the burger straight down the middle, offering his wife one half.
She flashed a shy smile in gratitude. For a few minutes they ate in silence, murmuring as their taste buds fired at the flavor of charbroiled meat swathed in classic condiments on a sesame seed bun.
Bonnie wiped her fingers clean and didn't move when Damon wiped a dollop of ketchup off the corner of her mouth. Their big, round eyes played Tag-You're-It.
"Missing me yet?" she went for levity.
"No," Damon smiled glibly. "I've been keeping busy by drowning myself in work much to my employees' happiness. I just got back from San Francisco an hour ago. What about you? How have you been spending our enforced separation?"
Damon's tone hadn't been icy or hard, but his jaw ticked. He already had the answer to part of what his wife had been up to. An unsanctioned house party. Had he been livid about that? Naturally. Damon had already given the order to his head of security Mr. Gill that no one not preapproved by him was allowed on his estate, regardless of what his wife said. He would keep her safe even from herself.
Judging by the accusatory glower beaming from Damon's eye he was privy to her little gathering.
"I had people over. My intentions were to keep it small, but that didn't happen. And nothing happened. Nothing was broken or stolen. I…also had an interview at UCLA this week. I think it went well."
Color bloomed on Damon's cheeks, the tips of his ears engorged, swelled with blood.
Damon swallowed thickly feeling like he was choking for a second. "You had an interview at UCLA? For what department and position?"
"Assistant to one of the tenured professors of the International Development Studies program."
A vein splintered down the center of Damon's forehead. He coughed and wiped his mouth. "I see."
"Go ahead and yell at me."
"And give you the satisfaction and more receipts on the fact I treat you like my property and not my wife?" he wagged his head. "No, I'm not going to yell at you for going behind my back to apply for jobs but…look at the fact you even told me you had an interview. How sad that's the lesser of the two evils?"
"Well, this is what things have come to, Damon. It never had to be this way if you wanted more for me than being your living, breathing, blowup doll."
He licked his teeth and in lieu of making a cutting remark. Taking a sip of his drink when he was satisfied he offered it to Bonnie. "Do you…do you think you have a chance of being hired?"
She accepted the glass of soda. "I don't know. I was given the same spiel about there being a lot of competitive candidates, but they hope to have a definitive decision by the end of the month. If I make it past this round, I'll be called back for a second interview."
"So this job…"
"Career," Bonnie corrected.
"How demanding will it be?"
"It may entail some light travel but nothing extensive. I'd have regular office hours set at the discretion of the dean, and it does offer a nice benefits package."
"Starting annual salary?"
"Sixty-two thousand but that's if you have a million years' experience being an assistant in a collegiate environment."
"Hmm," Damon made a noncommittal noise.
Bonnie's eyes followed him as he rose from the couch and ventured to his satchel propped up against the legs of the desk. He removed a sheaf of papers and brought them over to his wife.
"What's this?" Bonnie slid the packet out of Damon's hand.
"A proposal of sorts."
Bonnie glossed over the document and saw it was a contract printed on Salvatore Incorporated letterhead. She read through the brief, her crumbled brow evening out with each line printed.
"You're offering me a job?"
It was Damon's turn to correct her use of terminology. "A position," he rose again, but this time headed over to the bed where he pulled his shirttails out of his slacks, and began unbuttoning it.
Bonnie glanced up and was momentarily distracted. She observed as her husband disrobed, pulling the sleeveless ribbed undershirt off next. His chiseled, bare torso filled her vision like a large cloud blotting out the sun.
Damon continued, "A seat on the board just became vacant. I want you to fill that spot, but also to help restructure our Outreach department that's been running inefficiently for some years now; even while my father was at the helm. Being an International Studies major, you were taught to discern and anticipate areas of need in underdeveloped countries, and to fill those gaps with resources, right?" Bonnie nodded dumbly. "Then this will be right up your alley."
Bonnie's head was spinning. Befuddlement made the words jumble in her mouth, crashing into the hollows of her cheeks. "Just like that you're offering me a position at your company."
"Read the fine print, wife," Damon worked on his pants next. Unzipping them, popping the button. They fell to the floor and he kicked them off, shucking his dress socks, and finally his underwear.
For five seconds Bonnie didn't know where to look or what to give her attention to. The contract that would elevate her out of the house and into the work field, or Damon's semi-erection. She finally forced her eyes back to the paperwork and did as her husband instructed. She read the fine print.
"Damon."
He didn't react to the incredulity amplifying her voice. Damon pulled back the duvet getting into bed. He was bone tired but his penis on the other hand wanted to play.
Bonnie shot to her feet and was at the side of the bed with the contract in her hand. "You can't be serious about this."
He blinked sleepily. "I am. Elise is trying to take my father's company; you're trying to leave me. Those are two things I can't allow. Naming you co-CEO is the only way."
"This is too much."
"I don't think so," he refuted but propped up on an elbow.
"You honestly think naming me co-CEO is going to deter Elise from trying to take your company?"
"Probably not, but it will definitely fuck with her head, and she's trying to fuck with us. This will…at least guarantee us more safety. Legally, she has no grounds to stand on. My father's will was very specific. I would become CEO and majority shareholder. Stefan has shares as well but wanted nothing to do with SI because he's a goody two-shoes neurosurgeon. A small percentage of the company is still available that was supposed to go to my mother. She signed it over to me and now I'm giving that percentage to you. Six-figure salary, keys to the company jet, wild sex with the boss," he winked. "All you have to do is sign."
"How is this going to keep you from losing me?" Bonnie challenged.
"You let me worry about those pesky details, wife. But whatever happens or doesn't between us…it won't affect your standing at SI if you sign the contract."
"I…wow…I don't know what to say. Can I have a day or five to think about this?"
Damon yawned and reached for Bonnie yanking her across his chest. She yelped, but didn't squirm or fight against him.
He rolled, pinning his wife under him. "That's all I'm giving you, Bennett," Damon started stripping her. "One day. Twenty-four hours."
Her arms of their own volition lifted as her shirt climbed up her chest, and her hips arched so her jeans could be worked down her legs. Her shoes went missing and she lied in her lacy undergarments to which her husband ogled unabashedly.
Damon settled next to Bonnie, turning her so he could spoon. "I'm giving you something I've rarely given to anyone else."
"An empire?"
"No…respect," with that Damon kissed the back of her neck and promptly fell asleep.
Bonnie didn't drift off right away. She listened to the sound of her husband's breathing, felt the thud of his heart along her back. He almost seemed like a totally different person, but predators knew how to blend. It would only be a matter of time, her rationality inferred, before things would invariably go back to the way they've always been. Don't sign the contract, Bonnie. Don't entangle yourself any deeper.
Yet something even stronger plagued her. What if Damon had turned over a new leaf? Could she really walk away and not regret the decision?
Damon told her to he'd only come back when she asked him to. But that's not where the conversation ended.
Bonnie had walked to the table, collected her wedding band, and passed it to Damon. "This will only go back on my finger when I know I can trust you with everything, and I know you trust me with everything."
That was the stipulation. Would either of them actually reach the goal? She didn't know. She just didn't know. Yet perhaps, this might be a start.
A/N: I have misgivings about this chapter but wanted to get it out while the muse was semi-cooperative. I may make drastic edits later. Nevertheless, thank you so much for reading, and please don't forget to review.