The Life we never Planned

Chapter 58

Chapter 58

DAMIAN’S POV

There was one thing about Angela that had become impossible to ignore.

She was mine.

Not in the sense that I owned her.

I would never confuse love with ownership.

But she was my woman now, and somewhere along the way, my protective instincts had stopped being something I could control.

I noticed it everywhere.

At restaurants, I noticed when another man looked at her for too long.

At work, I noticed when someone stood too close to her.

Even when we were simply walking together, my hand seemed to find the small of her back without thought.

And Angela noticed.

Of course she did.

She noticed everything.

"You know you don't have to hold my waist every time we're outside," she said one evening as we walked toward my car.

"I know."

"Then why do you?"

"Because I want to."

She looked at me.

I opened the passenger door for her.

She hesitated.

"What?"

"You've been very possessive lately."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Lately?"

She laughed.

"Okay. Fine. You've always been possessive."

"Better."

She shook her head and got into the car.

I closed the door and walked around to my side.

The truth was, I didn't like people getting too close to her.

I didn't like the way some men looked at her.

And I especially didn't like anyone assuming she was available.

She wasn't.

Not anymore.

She was with me.

I started the car.

Angela looked out the window.

"You know, you scare people sometimes."

"I know."

"You're not even denying it."

"Why would I?"

She laughed.

That laugh.

It was becoming one of my favorite sounds.

I glanced at her.

She was smiling now, relaxed, her hair falling over one shoulder.

This was the Angela I liked.

The one who teased me.

The one who forgot to be careful around me.

The one who didn't calculate every word before speaking.

I reached over and took her hand.

She looked down at our joined hands.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Being possessive."

I squeezed her hand.

"Maybe."

She smiled.

"I don't mind."

That stopped me for half a second.

I looked at her.

She suddenly seemed embarrassed by her own words.

I brought her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles.

"Good."

She turned toward the window again, hiding her smile.

I smiled to myself.

Then my phone rang.

I answered with one hand.

"Yes?"

My secretary spoke.

I listened for a moment.

Then my expression hardened.

"No."

A pause.

"I said no. Move the meeting."

Another pause.

"No, I don't care who is waiting."

I glanced at Angela.

She was watching me.

"I'll deal with it tomorrow."

I ended the call.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Was that work?"

"Yes."

"You canceled a meeting?"

"I did."

"Because of me?"

"Yes."

Her eyes widened.

"Damian, you can't keep canceling business meetings because I'm around."

"I can."

"You shouldn't."

"I decide what I should do."

She stared at me.

I smiled.

"Stop worrying."

"You really are a tyrant."

"I've been called worse."

She laughed again.

And that was exactly what I wanted.

Her laughter.

Her attention.

Her presence beside me.

I didn't care if people thought I was too possessive.

They could think whatever they wanted.

I had spent most of my life being surrounded by people who wanted something from me. People who smiled because of my name, my money, my position.

Angela was different.

And maybe that was why the thought of losing her irritated me more than it should.

Because I didn't just want her beside me.

I wanted her to choose to stay there.

I wanted her to look at me the way she did when she was happy.

I wanted to be the person she called when she had a bad day.

The person she looked for in a crowded room.

The person she trusted without hesitation.

And I wasn't going to apologize for wanting that.

But then she did something that brought my attention back to the problem I'd been noticing for two weeks.

We stopped at a restaurant.

Before I could reach for my wallet, Angela pulled hers out.

"I'll pay."

I looked at her.

"No."

"I can pay for my own food."

"I know you can."

She frowned.

"Then let me."

I took her wallet gently from her hand and placed it back inside her purse.

"Put it away."

"Damian—"

"Angela."

She sighed.

"It's not about the money."

"Then what is it?"

She didn't answer.

I studied her face.

"You keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Trying to pay me back."

Her expression changed.

"I'm not."

"You are."

She looked away.

I leaned closer.

"You don't owe me."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

She looked back at me.

I lowered my voice.

"If you did, I'd be angry."

She blinked.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you with me because you feel like you have to repay me."

Her eyes softened.

"I don't."

"Then stop acting like it."

She was quiet.

I reached for her hand.

"You can be spoiled around me."

A tiny smile appeared.

"I don't want to be spoiled."

"Too late."

She laughed.

I smiled.

"There she is."

"What?"

"The woman who actually enjoys being with me."

She rolled her eyes.

"I do enjoy being with you."

"Good."

I leaned back.

"Because I intend to keep you around for a very long time."

Her smile faded slightly.

Not because she disliked what I said.

Because something inside her was fighting with it.

I noticed.

I always noticed.

And for the first time, I wondered if my possessiveness wasn't the only thing making her uncomfortable.

Maybe she was carrying something I couldn't see.

Something that made her believe she had to earn her place beside me.

I didn't know what it was.

But I knew Angela.

And I knew myself.

I wasn't going to walk away simply because she was complicated.

If anything, it made me more determined.

Whatever was making her pull away, I would eventually find it.

And when I did, I would deal with it.

Because Angela could tell herself she didn't belong to me.

She could argue with me.

She could roll her eyes at my possessiveness.

She could call me a tyrant.

But every time she smiled at me, every time her fingers slipped into mine, every time she leaned into me without thinking, she gave me another reason to believe she was slowly becoming mine in the only way that mattered.

By choice.