The warm eyes behind the gold framed eyeglasses seem to study him for a few moments before recognizing him. Damon is not entirely happy about it, because though it will be cause for less explanations to give he cannot help but remember the awkward moment the man mistook Bonnie for the woman he is about to marry, the subtle satisfaction that the little misinterpretations gave him, and the guilt that that carried.

"Good afternoon," he says politely at the two men, "I thought you would be joined by your fiancé." He laces his fingers above the glass, long veiny fingers pale and graceful.

"Oh, you mean, my partner is not feminine enough for you?" Damon asks, gesturing toward Alaric with mocking indignation. The man looks unsure for a moment. He is used to traditional couples, and suddenly he wonders if the gorgeous man in front of him could have other inclinations despite the beautiful girl he had brought along the last time.

Alaric's face darkens with embarrassment. "Please, forgive my idiot friend," he says, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Damon a threatening look that went completely unnoticed. Bonnie was way better at this. He suddenly feels acutely inadequate in the role he's been given. "I've been instructed by the bride-to-be — or her second in command, rather — so we're here to pick the rings."

"Is Caroline really the second in command?" Damon asks doubtfully. "That doesn't seem accurate. I should call her and—"

"Shut up," Alaric interrupts him, his patience slipping away.

"This authoritative tone suits you," Damon comments, raising his eyebrows suggestively, but the old man is merciful enough to pretend not to notice.

The man turns his back on them, opening one of the many safes on the wall to pull out a ring storage display in black velvet which is opened carefully to show them the available options.

"We have many possibilities, which I'm sure—"

"We need them to be ready in a couple of days," Alaric informs him brusquely before the man can go on. The shock registers on the old clerk's face rapidly.

"Well, then I'm afraid our options just got reduced to one." He lowers his eyes to extract the rings he can request on such short notice.

"Even better." One corner of Damon's mouth goes up, relieved this task is going to take so little effort. He has great taste but picking something that will stay with him for the rest of his life is a commitment too big right now. And what if she realizes it's not the one for her after the wedding? What if it feels uncomfortable and heavy to wear? Can they just exchange them for another pair? At least, he can blame the choice on the rush they had to tie the knot and the limited choices he got.

"We usually need at least two weeks' notice, but since you're in such a rush I'm afraid we can only provide the most classic model, which, may I add, is an evergreen piece." He shows him a simple golden band. "If you would prefer, we can give it a matte finish," he adds, reaching for another ring to show him the effect it's going to give to the metal.

Damon's eyes follow his fingers, but when they do, his gaze falls on another ring; a classic one with a wrap of diamonds on each side of the ring and a high polish finish.

The man catches his gaze and smiles contritely. "That's our Avalon Eternity Diamond Wedding ring," he explains. "Very elegant, we make it in yellow gold and white diamonds, and white gold with black diamonds." They look incredible, especially next to each other, almost like a mismatched pair with the same soul. As he drags his eyes away he makes it a point not to imagine Bonnie wearing that wedding dress. He doesn't picture her, does not remember even the faintest touch of white, but he feels his stomach drop and he opens both hands on the surface of the glass counter like he needs some help to stand. "But I'm afraid we'd need more time for those, even if I could give precedence to your request."

"Of course," Damon replies, averting his eyes with a blank expression. "This one will do. I think the matte finish will be fine. My fiancée is a future surgeon, it would suit her needs more since she won't need to worry about scratches."

He's been thinking for so long about what Elena needed, and what she wanted, and he's bent himself backwards, shrunk his own ego, squeezed himself into the mold of a man that could deserve her; and now, sometimes, only sometimes, it is hard to distinguish between what he wants and what he's told himself to want.

Maybe if his brother was still with them, and the humanity he had longed for didn't leave him, on occasion, terrified to lose everything he loves, he would be able to walk into this marriage with a lighter heart.

He's tempted to call his fiancée on the way home and ask her to go to Las Vegas to elope. Only it would defeat the purpose of having Bonnie back. After all, as long as they are busy with the wedding, she's compelled to stick around.

"Perfect. What size should I request?" The man asks, bending over a form he's ready to fill.

"I have those," Alaric says, opening a piece of paper on the glass surface while Damon's eyes fall on the open safe behind the man's back.

There's a box with colored stones and diamonds. Rubies and topazes and diamonds, one of which looks like a brown pear-shaped one.

"I am afraid that considering the timing I cannot ask for a deposit only," he says, pressing his lips together like he feels the need to apologize more to the young man, but Damon shrugs his shoulders and opens his wallet readily, making a platinum card appear between his long fingers.

"That won't be a problem," he says calmly, before adding, "But I haven't done shopping yet."

#

The resort she's picked for their girlfriends' getaway is not exactly cheap, but she couldn't resist the "Aqua Thermal Suite which features European-style healing aquatic environments" promising to let them "enjoy the geothermal Octagon Pool fed by two hot springs rich in magnesium, potassium, and calcium" as the brochure stated. Caroline was instantly enamored with the place the moment she saw the minuscule green and black tiles covering walls and the beautiful grass green marble of every step and every indoor pool, and she isn't disappointed. The burning candles and incense around them, and the sound of running waters and zen music just adds to the peaceful experience, so the moment the expert fingers of the masseuse pressed down against her shoulder muscles a moan escapes her mouth and her eyes dance behind her closed lids.

"My God…"

"Caro…" Elena breathes, starting to feel the accumulated stress of her workload finally falling away from her. "You're a genius…" the words are half muffled by pleasure and relaxation, and she giggles as the sensations cover her like a warm blanket.

Her friend seems to reply something about her unrecognized superiority but Elena is too enraptured by the massage to take part to the conversation. All she can do is moan occasionally, perfectly happy to let herself be handled by the professional hovering over her.

Elena was so busy with her courses and the internship, constantly struggling to keep herself at the same level of her colleagues and not fall behind, that sometimes it seemed like she hadn't stopped running for years, though it had only been a few months since it all began.

The disparity between her competence and her colleagues' felt obvious, but her teachers could see, in the same way, the greater effort she constantly put into every task, and so there was no shame in learning every day from those around her, because she had the humility to recognize her faults and the will to fix them. It was tough. It required long hours and all of her energy, but she had never felt this proud or this happy.

Even from the outside, Caroline could guess the satisfaction and the pride that her friend found in following her newly discovered dream. All the years Caroline had known her, Elena had always talked about having writer's ambitions, but she had discovered that she had spent so much time in her little microcosm, where she was the female lead and damsel in distress and the reason to die, she didn't need more microcosms to command, and she hadn't become the kind of person that could teach anything.

So, she was learning, and discovering that there was so much to learn yet, about people and herself.

"Are you nervous about the wedding?" Caroline asks, feeling the knotted nerves of her neck finally being loosened.

"Mmm."

"We're almost there…" Her blue eyes roll behind her lids and she feels confused herself, about what she was really referring to, the magical massage she is enjoying or the wedding day. It is less than 24 hours away now.

"You guys seem to be handling the situation well."

The noncommittal sound does nothing to answer Caroline's question, or to help her navigate this conversation she is trying to start. She wants to ask if everything was okay between her and Damon, but it seems indelicate. Yet, even after a couple of openings she had generously given her friend during the long drive to the spa, Elena hadn't said a word. Was it because she didn't trust her enough? Or because there was really nothing to share about it?

It's probably the latter. Damon and Elena were so pig-headed in their decision to be together, and to hell with everything else. Doubting them now seems rather pointless. Just because of a look in Damon's eyes. Just because a few well-chosen words that reminded her more of Bonnie than it did Elena. What does she truly know about Damon's heart? Very few people had seen it, and she isn't one of them. Caroline could not understand him.

Damon is ready to marry Elena, and he hadn't tried to escape any of his tasks, nor found an excuse to delay the ceremony. And all along Bonnie was so detached, so aloof, so satisfied with her own choices and her shot at being a free spirit traveling the world with no attachment.

The more Caroline thinks about it the more she can see her paranoia has just gotten the best of her.

"I bet you guys can't wait to finally be husband and wife," she says, feeling the excitement bubbling up in her stomach at the idea that her friends would finally seize the happiness they had longed for. That happiness she herself had felt, that made her feel at peace with the world even now that Stefan wasn't with her anymore.

Her friend says nothing, prompting Caroline to raise her head from the hole in the massage bed where her face was resting.

"Elena?" she asks, trying to call her friend's attention.

The masseuse working on her friend's back smiles up at her.

Elena is asleep.

#

By Google suggestions the ideal gift for a Best Man is a shaving kit or a pair of personalized cufflinks, or better, a double pour over coffee stand. He really doesn't know where the "better"part would be in that, but even with his limited knowledge in weddings, somehow he's sure Bonnie wouldn't be particularly excited about that.

It seemed only easier to pick a jewel for her, he tells himself. He doesn't have much time left for shopping, and the man in the boutique seemed eager to help out, so why not. He has the means to pick a little something for his favorite buddy.

Only, when the moment came to ask for what he had in mind it suddenly occurred to him how inappropriate and ambiguous it would look to drop around $5,000 dollars for a sparkling trinket for his pretty bestie, when even the wedding bands he had picked wouldn't cost half that price.

So, in the end, he settled for something less pricy but probably more sentimental, or at least so he hopes.

In his experience women were always impartial when it came to jewelry, no matter who gifted it to them it would always be welcome, but he supposes Bonnie would have wanted to receive a diamond from someone that was about to bend the knee and pop the question, possibly in a very romantic manner. He knows, somewhere inside, when he eyed that diamond, he was trying to step over the confines of their friendship, have a diamond dangling from her neck to instill doubt in the brain of her suitors, a little cold presence over her skin to remind her of him constantly whenever she's trying to forget about his petulant, childish existence.

Because the fact is just because he's made a promise to Elena – he made so many of them and staked his brother's life on them like there was nothing to compare – doesn't mean that he can let her go on with her life like he's old news.

So, he decided that requesting the jewelry maker transform his Lapis Lazuli ring into a necklace for her to wear was the right choice in the moment. In a way, now that she's said clearly that she can't wait to pack her bags and go on her way again, now that she seems so independent and strong and far, he looks a little like a whiny child grabbing his mother's skirt to not let her get away after she dropped him at the nursery. It might even be called pathetic, but he's never been one for minor details, and if he can get what he wants, whatever.

Maybe as she wears something that has belonged to him forever, and without which he wouldn't have survived, she can begin to understand her role in his life.

And maybe she can start now, with letting the pettiness go.

She can't really be mad at him because he tried to manipulate the situation in his favor. That's what he's always done after all. She can't really hold it against him. He's just remained true to himself.

He'll torment her and pester her until she forgets their little tiff, because she's still his best friend. And between the half a million things that changed since he's become human again that it not one of them. Though a few doubts try to creep in, he refuses to believe otherwise. After all, she hasn't left screaming, so that's a good sign. He can work with that.

So, as he enters the front door of the mansion, he's absolutely positive he can do it. He can convince her that she is actually not mad with him at all. They are fine. He tried to kill her a couple of times, so this doesn't even rank in the top ten of all the dreadful things he's done to her. She has no reason nor right to be mad at him.

Damon can hear the sound of the TV turned on in the sitting room, and he's so eager to see her and have her smile at him like everything is okay that he doesn't even check his boots to make sure he's not bringing dirt inside.

"So…" Damon begins, thrilled the moment he enters the room, before he can even lay eyes on her. But as he is ready to deliver his question about who's her best bestie in the whole world, he hears the muffled sound of the remote control falling to the floor over his favorite Persian carpet, her hold weakened while she sleeps half balled up on the sofa, one hand in a loose fist next to her mouth, the other dangling from the sofa over the remote.

And he thinks, absurdly, that his sleeping best friend, that Bonnie – generous, supportive, with a martyrdom tendency – looks almost mean from where he stands.

Now I'm falling out of touch

You don't seem to care so much, do ya?

I'm the one collecting every scar

You don't have a broken heart, do ya?

It's unnerving how she can be so relaxed that she's able to sleep peacefully while he is a bundle of nerves. How she can just live her life while he's persecuted by love songs that remind him of the wrong girl. And it doesn't matter how many times he reminds himself it's cold feet, he's alternatively suffocated by the feeling he's about to smash himself to pieces in a void one moment, and that he's struggling to suck in the last breaths of air before the concrete might cover his head in the other.

But above all, Damon doesn't know why the sight of her makes him feel like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, and he remains still for a long minute.

Her feet are off the sofa to not dirty the fabric with the sole of her shoes, yet his instinct prevails so he gets closer and slowly slips the boots off her tiny feet.

He rests her feet on the cushion and puts her shoes to the side of the sofa before taking the blanket folded on the head of the couch to cover her so she won't get cold.

Every night you're out late while I'm losing my mind

Been a while that I can't sleep, can't eat, can't see the light

Damon crouches down next to her, tucking the blanket under her chin, eyes constantly falling down over her barely open lips, buying time as he wishes hard that he could have his old senses back so that he could feel her breath harsher over the skin of his fingers, and hear the regular sound of her steady heartbeat as she rests. But she's mean.

It's tearing me apart

That you're moving on while I'm paralyzed

Guess sometimes that love and hate, oh my, it's a fine line

She's mean and she gives him nothing as he stays there like a dog waiting for a crumble to fall off the table of his master.

She's mean and he's not completely at fault for leaning in. There's nothing sinful in a goodnight kiss, a voice in the back of his mind reassures him, if there wasn't any need for it.

He can almost catch the taste of her lips as he gets closer and closer, ready to guess with a curiosity purely mundane what she's eaten for lunch, but there's a strangled sound behind him, that he hears before it's too late, and he stands rapidly, turning around with a blank expression on his face.

Caroline Forbes is looking at him like a scared animal, the way people used to look at him when they started to realize what was about to happen to them, and that no amount of begging could save them from his hunger. It gives him a strange sense of déjà vu, and for a moment he's transported back into her bedroom and she's dragging herself back towards the head of the bed, fearing the attack that is about to come.

He feels like shit, and he's not sure if it's because of what he did to her back then, or because of what he is about to do right now.

When her lips tremble, Damon raises one finger over his own to make her stay silent and walks away to the kitchen.

He can hear her follow him, and he pours her a cup of coffee, before realizing he's never done anything like that before and if he starts now she'll think he's trying to distract her, because he wants to hide something. He is.

"I just got back from the jewelry store," he says, taking a sip of coffee. He hates it when it's cold. "Alaric gave me a ride back home. You just missed him."

Caroline is staring at him with wide eyes, and he can read the confusion on her face, the way she's wondering if she really saw what she thinks she saw.

Damon gives her a puzzled look. She's smart, and noisy, but she cannot admit to herself she just saw him on the verge of kissing their common best friend, because that would open a Pandora's box she would never be able to close again, and if he acts well enough she'll believe she got it wrong. If he doesn't sweat it — and he's always been good at bluffing — he can easily convince her that her own eyes betrayed her.

"Are you okay?" He waits for a reply, looking at her with a mix of worry and annoyance. Looking at her the way he'd look at his sister if she was starting to act strange, for she is his sister after all, the person that kept his brother's promise safe. And that's another reason why, against her better judgment, she'll trust him over her own eyes.

"Yeah…"

"What's that?" He looks down at the pale pink faux-leather bag she holds tightly in her hand.

"Oh…" She seems to wake up from a trance. "This… I just… I wanted Bonnie to come with me and Elena to the spa for a girls' day but she said she couldn't, so I brought her a goodie bag."

"She seems tired," he says, grimacing. "I took off her boots and covered her and she didn't even move," he continues, taking another sip of horrid cold coffee. "But if you want to wake her up and talk about girls stuff, go on. I need to take a shower anyway because I probably stink," he explains bending his head to the side like he's considering sniffing himself. "There's no other explanation why Alaric hasn't made a move," he says with a wink. "So, I'll get out of your hair." He places the mug down.

"No, no." She shakes her head, making her blonde hair bounce around. "We better let her rest. Just tell her I came by and left this for her." She raises the hand holding the bag.

"Of course," he replies with his signature smirk as she walks back, eyes on his face like she's still trying to reassure herself she's had a waking dream.

Damon is completely normal, after all. There's no trace of nervousness, no rush to get rid of her. And Damon has always wanted Elena, or a version of Elena, since the day she met him, and she's becoming paranoid.

Maybe it's the stress of organizing a wedding in such a short time that's making her a bit insane.

"I'll leave it on the coffee table," she says, rushing to disappear behind the kitchen door.

#

Contrary to what he's told Caroline he hasn't taken the shower he wanted to. At some point he sat at the kitchen table, his chin resting on his joined hands until he called Elena. He hadn't called at lunch as usual because he knew she was busy at the spa with Caroline, so it seemed only right to call her when he was sure she was free to talk.

That's how Bonnie finds him when she wakes up from her much-needed nap, waving the goodie bag in front of him to ask for confirmation about what she already suspects.

"It's from Caroline," he mouths without producing any sound, looking up at her and letting Elena's voice be an indistinct sound in the background. Not that they have that much to tell each other, but she seems enthusiastic about her afternoon and he's glad to hear her so happy about something.

Bonnie smiles, turning on her heels and announcing, "I need a shower. We're leaving in two hours."

The conversation with Elena dies naturally five minutes later, though he tries to prolong the moment in which he'll have to hang up. He feels so guilty, having given Bonnie more space than he did Elena. What she doesn't know can't hurt her, but he feels at fault, suspecting he went about this wedding in the wrong way and Elena was so enamored, or so busy, not to have time to notice all the shortcomings on his part. Still, having Caroline see him on the verge of kissing Bonnie – just a brush of lips against lips, that's all – has awakened him somehow, and he's realized how shallow and callous he's acted towards his fiancée.

Well, better late than never.

So, he calls a florist to send roses to Elena's dorm, takes a long shower to release the tension, puts a little bit more attention in fixing his hair, picks a burgundy button-down shirt and a tailored blazer to distinguish himself between the sloppy customers that normally show up in bars where there's a chance to see some nudity.

He checks the watch at his wrist to make sure they still have time and takes the bottle of his favorite perfume to pump a few sprays — the reddish liquid inside is already halfway down — but before he does so he changes his mind to pick the one Elena likes most in an effort to put her first like she deserves. Damon likes the woodsy aromatic scent, though the blue bottle in the shape of lightning looks rather juvenile. But truth is he got over it rapidly and now it serves more like something to freshen up with after a shower rather than to add to his persona.

When he leaves his bedroom, about to reach the stairs, he hears the sound of the fun, flirty music of an old Duffy hit song coming from Bonnie's bedroom and he realizes she's not ready yet; though, she's usually faster than he is. She's not a woman of many frivolities and she forgets she has a right to pamper herself and be appreciative of her own beauty, more often than not.

The door is ajar and the moment he raises his fist to knock gently he accidentally takes a peek inside. Bonnie is dressed, covered in all the places decency requires and then some, but still, there's something about her, so intriguing and sensual he feels like a stalker spying, witnessing nudity.

I love you

But I got stay true

My morals got me on my knees

I'm begging, please, stop playing games

Her head is bent forward as she tries with a little effort to close the white cuffs at her wrists. She's wearing a three-piece pinstriped pantsuit, with a faux neck and no fabric to cover the naked arms, and a pair of glassy black stilettos on her gracious feet. Her hair is pinned up and a few rebel strands escape, giving her a more chic appearance, if that's possible. The pants are perfectly tailored to her body, calling attention to the sweet roundness at her lower back. The belt at the back of the vest highlights the smallness of her waistline, and the veil of gloss on her lips makes them look particularly plump and delicious.

He can see her beauty from every angle as her unaware image reflects in the standing mirror at the side of her bed and it's unsettling to say the least.

Maybe this look is just her way of being "one of the boys" since tonight she's going to be the only non-naked girl around them, but somehow Bonnie has managed to spectacularly miss the mark, for there's a lovely tension coiling at his loins and a warmth tingling spreading through his taut muscles, and Damon needs to take a step back like he's just been slapped in the face.

Still, despite his best effort, he is absolutely unable to tear his eyes off her.

You got me begging you for mercy (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Why won't you release me? (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I said release me

#

Note: The songs I used in this chapter are "Love and hate" by Camylio and "Mercy" by Duffy. The perfumes Damon was musing about are "Terroni" by Orto Parisi and "Bad Boy" by Carolina Herrera (I usually imagine vampire Damon wearing something like This is Him by Zadig&Voltaire but I think human Damon would evolve from there and become a bit classier so a picked a niche perfume). As for Bonnie's look in the last scene I had in mind Blake Lively's character style in A Simple Favor.

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