His Secret Addiction

Chapter Thirty-Six

Alex's POV

We'd been in the new apartment for six weeks when Damien brought up marriage.

Not a proposal. Just a conversation over breakfast on a Sunday morning.

"Do you ever think about getting married?" he asked, completely casual, like he was asking about the weather.

I nearly choked on my coffee. "What?"

"Marriage. Do you think about it?"

"Sometimes. Why?"

He shrugged. "Just curious. We've never talked about it."

"We've been together less than a year, Damien."

"I know. I'm not proposing. I'm asking if it's something you'd want. Eventually." He looked at me directly. "Because it's something I'd want. Eventually."

I set my coffee down. "You want to marry me?"

"Not today. But someday, yes." He said it simply. Matter-of-fact. "I wanted you to know that's where I see this going."

"That's possibly the least romantic way to discuss marriage I've ever heard."

"Would you prefer I got down on one knee right now?"

"God, no. This is better." I reached across the table. "For the record, I'd want that too. Someday."

"Good. Now we both know." He went back to his breakfast like he hadn't just casually discussed our future.

I sat there processing. Damien wanted to marry me. Eventually. It shouldn't have been surprising. We'd moved in together, built a life together, chose each other every day. But hearing him say it out loud made it real in a different way.

"Stop overthinking," he said without looking up.

"I'm not overthinking."

"You're doing that thing where you spiral about the future. I can see it on your face." He finally looked up. "I'm not asking you to decide anything right now. I'm just telling you what I want. So you're not wondering."

"I wasn't wondering."

"You were absolutely wondering."

He was right. I had been wondering where this was going, if he saw a future beyond just living together. And now I knew.

"Okay," I said. "Good talk."

"Excellent talk." He stood and cleared his plate. "Want to go look at furniture? We still need a couch."

Just like that, the conversation was over. Marriage mentioned and filed away for later. On to the next thing.

I loved that about him. The ability to say something important and then move forward without making it heavy.

*********************

We spent the afternoon furniture shopping.

Tried seventeen different couches. Damien hated everything too modern. I hated everything too traditional. We finally found one we both liked at the eighth store we visited.

"This one," I said, sitting on a gray sectional that was somehow both comfortable and stylish.

Damien sat next to me. "It's good."

"Just good?"

"It's perfect. We're buying it."

The salesperson looked relieved. We'd been there for an hour testing every piece of furniture in the showroom.

Delivery was scheduled for Thursday. We celebrated by getting ice cream and walking through Prospect Park. Damien held my hand the entire time, which still felt novel enough to notice.

"My brother wants to visit," I said. "James. He mentioned maybe coming next weekend."

"That's fine."

"With his wife and kids."

"Also fine."

"You sure? It's a lot. His kids are seven and nine. Very energetic."

"Alex, your family is welcome anytime. You don't have to ask permission." He squeezed my hand. "Besides, I should probably get used to family stuff if we're doing this long-term."

"Is that what we're doing? Long-term?"

"We just had the marriage talk over breakfast. I think long-term is established."

Fair point.

********************

James and his family came the following Saturday.

His kids, Emma and Noah, ran through the apartment the moment they arrived, declaring everything "cool" with the enthusiasm only children could manage.

"Nice place," James said, shaking Damien's hand. "Good to see you again."

"You too."

James's wife Sarah gave me a hug. "Alex showed us photos but it's better in person. Very you guys."

We ordered lunch and ate in the living room on our new couch. Emma asked Damien a thousand questions about everything. Noah showed us his collection of bottle caps he'd brought for some reason. It was chaotic and loud and completely different from our usual quiet weekends.

Damien handled it better than I expected. Answered Emma's questions patiently. Looked at Noah's bottle caps like they were actually interesting. Even laughed when Emma spilled juice on the new couch and immediately started crying about it.

"It's just a couch," he told her. "See? It wipes right off."

After lunch, James pulled me aside while the kids played with Sarah in the other room.

"He's good with them," James said.

"He is."

"I wasn't sure he would be. Last time I met him he seemed kind of formal. But this is different." James looked at me. "You two are serious."

"We are."

"Good. You seem happy. Really happy, not just saying you're happy." He paused. "Mom would have liked him."

That hit unexpectedly. Our mother had died when I was twelve. James barely mentioned her anymore.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "She would have."

After they left, the apartment felt very quiet.

Damien and I cleaned up in silence. Put away dishes, wiped down counters, picked up toys Emma had left behind.

"That was nice," he said eventually.

"It was loud."

"Loud can be nice." He threw away paper plates. "Your niece asked if we were getting married."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her maybe someday. Then she asked if she could be the flower girl." He smiled. "I said probably."

"You're already planning our wedding with my seven-year-old niece?"

"She had strong opinions about flowers. I just listened."

I laughed. Actually laughed. The image of Damien seriously discussing wedding flowers with Emma was too perfect.

"I like them," he said. "Your family. They're good people."

"They liked you too. Sarah told me before they left."

"Good." He came over and wrapped his arms around me from behind. "I want your family to like me. Since I'm planning to stick around."

"How long exactly?"

"How long you got?"

"Rest of my life, probably."

"Perfect. That's exactly how long I was thinking."

We stood there in our kitchen, in our apartment, in the life we'd built. Outside the city hummed. Inside everything felt still and right and permanent.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you too." He kissed my neck. "Even when your niece spills juice on our brand new couch."

"She felt terrible about that."

"I know. That's why I didn't care." He turned me around. "Want to watch something?"

"On our juice-stained couch?"

"It adds character."

We settled onto the couch. Put on a movie neither of us paid attention to. Just existed in the same space, comfortable and easy and home.

Somewhere in the middle of the movie, Damien said, "I meant it, you know."

"Meant what?"

"The marriage thing. When you're ready. If you're ready. I'm ready."

I looked at him. "I know."

"And?"

"And I'm ready too. Whenever we decide to actually do it."

"Good." He pulled me closer. "Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

"We are. We have been for a while now."