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Eric Anderson. The guy Damien fought in high school because of me. Twinges of shame and fear burst in my chest, and suddenly I feel like a teenager again.
"Dudes, what's up? Long time no see!" Eric's grinning at us like long-lost friends.
"Hey," Damien says in an even voice. I stay silent because I have no idea what to say.
"Man, I haven't seen you two since high school. How's it going? I heard you were overseas, Damien. Good on ya. Thanks for your service, man."
The open expression on Eric's round face tells me that either he's punking us or that he's forgotten about our senior year entirely.
"You're welcome," Damien says in a gruff voice.
Eric introduces us to the woman he's with, a blonde in a bright blue sweatshirt. I immediately forget her name.
"Yeah, I've been in Orlando the past few years," Eric says in a chatty voice. "Doing medical sales, starting a family."
That's when I notice the woman's belly. I paste on a smile and nod, my palms pressing into the wood tabletop.
"How about you two? How are you, Kate? Heard you took over for your mom at the tiki bar."
"We're getting married in February," Damien says casually, taking my hand and resting his big thumb on my knuckle above my ring finger.
"No shit?" Eric yelps. "Congratulations! I always knew there was something between the two of you. Y'all always made a great couple 'cuz you were both quiet."
This is the guy who spread the rumor that I'd taken it up the butt with Damien in the bathroom that night of the senior year party. It's as if he's glossing over a deeply painful part of my past. How? Does he even remember what he said? Or how he and Damien got into a fight in the school parking lot?
Eric gazes at me with near-colorless green eyes. Creepy. I lick my lips, feeling squicked out.
"Thanks," Damien says. "Guess it was fate that we were meant to be together."
I blink. Damien is also acting like nothing ever happened. The tofu wrap in my stomach churns like clothes in a washing machine.
"What a gorgeous ring!" Eric's wife says. "Is that a two carat?"
Uh. I didn't think to ask Damien how many carats were in his family heirloom stone. I look at my hand, which is half-covered by Damien's bear-like paw. "Yeah," I say.
Eric drums the wooden picnic table with his hands. "Well, congratulations again. We gotta get going. Do some shopping. Merry Christmas, y'all."
I raise my free hand slowly and give a weak wave.
"What the hell," I whisper, turning to look at Damien. "That was super weird. How did you keep it together? I wasn't sure how to act."
He shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee, and for a raresecond, I realize why he's so good at military security. The man is collected and unflappable. Not just cool. Cold. His eyes are a glittering, hard mahogany color in the morning sun.
"Sometimes, babe, it's better to let the past be behind you. And, anyway," he shrugs, "You're the hottest woman here, and Anderson knows it. I saw how he stared at you. I win."
I chuckle bitterly, then let out a groan. "When I realized it was him, all of those old feelings of fear and shame came back."
Damien slides an arm around me and kisses my temple. "As long as you're my wife, no one's ever going to hurt you. Hell, they're not even going to look at you cross-eyed. Don't ever worry about the Eric Andersons of the world again."
It'sten minutes to midnight on New Year's Eve, and we're on the upstairs porch of his family's house, away from his parents and siblings. They're downstairs, drinking beer and waiting for the clock to strike midnight. Mom and Beau were here, earlier, but went home so she could rest.
Earlier in the evening, we talked about our wedding plans with everyone. I held Damien's hand while we went over everything, and my dress was soaked with sweat by the time he finished speaking. Somehow, I want the approval of his family, even though what we're doing isn't quite real.
Everyone seems supportive. Except for his older brother Max. He usually lives in New York but returned home today and will be on the island for a few months to handle the renovation and sale of the resort.
He'd raised his eyebrow and looked at us with a sardonic grin when we first mentioned our February wedding date.
"Isn't it a little soon? Can't you wait until Damien gets back from Syria?" he'd asked. "And aren't you a little young?"
