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“Were you there when she proposed?” I ask her and Gaby curiously.
They both nod. “James overheard her talking to a friend about how she’d hooked a billionaire and was about to land him. He thought Damon should know, and went and told him. Five minutes later, she went down on one knee.”
“What happened?”
“He just turned around and walked out,” Juliette says. “None of us knew why at the time. Rachel got up and went the color of beetroot. She was absolutely furious, and started calling Damon all the names under the sun. James, bless him, told her in front of everyone that she shouldn’t have announced she wanted Damon for his money. Everyone was shocked. We all left pretty fast, I can tell you.”
“He said she cut up his suits and keyed his E-type.”
Juliette tries not to laugh. “Yeah. He was angrier about that than he was about her, I think. It wasn’t funny at the time, though. He was pretty upset. He said he was done letting women get close to him. And he hasn’t really dated anyone since, not long-term. I think he might have worked through all the girls on Tinder though.” She sends me an apologetic look.
“I know he’s not an angel,” I reply, thinking of the devil emoji he sent me. “He told me he wasn’t a good guy, and that he’s cursed where relationships are concerned. He’s tried to warn me off. I know he’s had a lot of one-night stands, and that he likes to think he’s a bad boy. But I don’t believe it. You all know about Christian and Kennedy, right?” They nod. “That affected him deeply,” I say. “I think he’s very mixed up.”
“You know he paints, don’t you?” Juliette says.
All our eyebrows rise. “What do you mean?” Gaby asks. “Walls or canvases?”
“Canvases. I didn’t find out until our third year at uni. He was sharing a house with the guys, and I called in one day to pick James and Alex up for a class, and they’d already left. Damon came out of his room, and he was covered in paint, and said he was in the middle of a piece of artwork. Alex told me later that Damon’s parents suggested he take a degree in art, but he wanted to do something practical that would help people, and he says his art is just a hobby.”
“Is he any good?” Gaby asks.
“You know the painting of Ranginui and Papatuanuku at Kia Kaha?” Juliette replies.
“The one in the lobby?” I ask. “Aw, I love that.” She just smiles, and my jaw drops. “You’re kidding me? Damon painted that?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my God.” I’m filled with wonder. “I never knew.” The painting is beautiful, and sensual too, with Rangi’s lips hovering just above Papa’s, one arm draped over her body as if they’re making love.
“He’s got several hanging in his office at Kingpinz,” Juliette adds. “He usually paints goddesses—Greek, Celtic, Maori—or angels, in white robes with flowing hair.”
“I wonder why?”
“He says his studio is the only place that God exists for him now,” she says. “Something to do with the death of his cousin, I think. The family used to go to church, but he lost his faith after that.”
“Did you know he’s the president of the Wellington branch of the Women’s Refuge?” Gaby says.
Once again, my jaw drops. “No.”
“Tyson told me last year. Damon did a parachute jump to raise money and awareness for them. I think he made a considerable amount of money, and he drew on some of his contacts and got them a lot of publicity.”
I love women. I’m not ashamed to admit it.He told me that himself. I assumed he was talking about sex, but it obviously goes deeper than that. I think that deep inside the man is the little boy who couldn’t help his cousin when she was in pain, and he’s spent the rest of his life trying to make it up to her by looking after women in one way or another. And all he’s received for his efforts is three failed relationships. No wonder the poor guy’s determined not to get his heart broken again.
Gaby’s eyes meet mine, and her lips slowly curve up. “You really like him, don’t you?”
“I do,” I admit. “I really do. But he’s made it clear he’s not going to date me, so there’s not much I can do about it.”
“Bullshit,” Juliette says with feeling. “Have you never heard of seduction, girl?”
“It’s not really my thing,” I reply doubtfully. “I’m not really the seducing type.”
“You’re a woman, aren’t you?”
“Kinda.”
“Belle,” Aroha scolds, “Juliette’s right, you need to do your womanly thing on him.”
My heart’s racing. “What about Alex?”
