When she walked into the dining room, she found Damon dressed and waiting for her. She halted and studied him.
“Hello.” She sought out caffeine before she hurt someone—namely her obnoxiously energetic husband.
“Good morning,” He grinned and held out a mug of coffee.
“Ah. Thank you.” She inhaled the aroma, and already the world felt like it made more sense. “So, what are we doing today? I see you’re ready to go.”
He fidgeted and dropped his gaze to his feet. “Well…I thought we would volunteer today. If you don’t mind,” he added.
“Where?”
“The soup kitchen.”
“I’d love that.”
“Good. And then after, I have another surprise planned for you.”
She groaned. “You really won’t give up, will you?”
“Nope. I’m determined to win you over. You are my wife, after all.”
“Business partner.”
“Eat breakfast, and then we’ll go. I have to finalize our arrangements for tonight.” Rubbing his hands together, he left the room with a grin on his face. She laughed and sank into her seat at the table.
As she ate, she wondered what they would be doing after feeding the poor. He managed to surprise her more and more with each “date,” and she suspected this time would be no exception. She really didn’t understand him. Saturdays he lavished attention on her, stopping at nothing to make her happy. He acted as if the world revolved around her, and all he wanted out of life was her love. Her trust.
The two things she refused to give him.
And then, in a complete reversal, on Sunday he abandoned her for his booty call. Every. Single. Week.
Sighing, she exited the dining room. Damon was in the foyer, directing servants to carry out garment bags full of clothing.
She pursed her lips. “Do I get to know why we need a change of clothing?”
“Nope.”
“You’re ridiculous sometimes.”
“Perhaps. Are you ready to go feed the hungry?”
She brushed her hair out of her eyes and pulled it into a tight ponytail. “Sure. And then we are…?”
“Going somewhere else. Come on.” He grinned and strode out the door without waiting for a response.
…
Damon served the last person in line and swiped sweat from his forehead. Unfortunately, all it really accomplished was to make him even stickier. He never felt as unattractive and foul as he did in this moment—but he’d never been so bloody satisfied, either. Every grateful smile thrown his way from the homeless, every sidelong glance shared with Johanna, combined until his heart threatened to burst.
Speaking of which… Johanna set down the empty plate she carried and strolled toward him, smiling from ear to ear. He straightened, tearing the hideous hairnet off and wiping his hands on his apron.
“Hey, put it back on,” she protested. “You looked hot.”
He grinned and smoothed his hair. He ached to touch her.
To kiss her. Hell, at this point he would settle for a bloody kiss on the cheek.
“Oh?” he teased, tugging it back on his head. “Well, in that case, come a little closer, or I’ll smack you with my wooden spoon.”
She swatted his hands away. “I think we can go now. Our job is over.”
The door opened and he sighed. “Nope, here comes another one.”
She smiled at the woman approaching—and froze. An odd expression came over her face and she paled. “Mom?”
“What?” He glanced at the woman, then back at Johanna.
He could see no resemblance whatsoever. “That’s your mother?”
The woman stumbled forward, hand outstretched. “Is that you, Johanna?”
Johanna gave a curt nod. “When did you come back?”
The woman rubbed her dirty nose, shuddering. Damon couldn’t believe this shell of a woman could be his Johanna’s mother. There was no mistaking the track marks up her arms.
Her mother darted a look at him before returning her greedy eyes to her daughter. “A few days ago. I got tired of Vegas. I went by your place, but they said you moved.”
Johanna glanced at Damon, blushing. “Could you excuse us, please?”
Swallowing hard, he nodded. “Certainly.”
He backed away, but could still make out snippets of conversation. Her mother asked for money, and Johanna headed to her purse. Returning to her mother’s side, she handed her mother a check and patted her shoulder.
Of their own accord, his feet inched closer. He picked up a spoon and stirred the remaining gravy before sliding even closer to check on the corn.
“Remember, I’ll send money to your apartment manager once you pick a place. Just make sure you call the number on the check and let me know where you are. Okay?” Johanna asked.
“Yeah. I’ll let you know.” Her mother scurried out of the room with the check clutched close to her chest. Johanna bit her lip.
Damon clenched his jaw and rubbed her shoulders. There was obviously more to Johanna’s resistance than playing hard to get. Could he somehow break through the barriers her obviously drugged-up mother had helped erect?
Damn right he could. He didn’t have a choice, not if he wanted to succeed in his plan to save everything in his life that mattered to him.
“Are you all right?”
Sighing, she shook her head and turned away. “Can we go now?”
He squeezed her shoulder. “All right. Let me talk to the owner before we leave.”
She nodded and retreated, heading out the back door. He watched her walk away, his heart heavy.
…
Johanna watched Damon through the window as he wrote out a check and handed it off to the ecstatic owner of the shelter. He’d probably donated enough to keep the kitchen open for a year. He came out of the building and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice heavy.
She nodded and followed him to the car. Knowing he’d seen her mother—and what her mother was—made her queasy. Once seated, she stared out the window. Maybe he would finally realize that she was damaged goods, not worth the trouble.
“What happened with your mother?” he asked quietly.
The car rolled into motion. “Are you sure you want to know? It’s not pretty.”
“Of course I want to know. It’s what makes you…you.”
He clasped her hand.
“…Fine.” She exhaled heavily and looked out the window.