Chapter 54 Crème brûlée
JASMINE
I take a careful spoonful of the vanilla crème brûlée, lifting it slowly to my lips.
We had already finished our main course—something elegant and delicate that I barely remembered tasting because my nerves had been too busy tangling themselves around every glance Damien gave me.
Now dessert sat between us, its glass dish catching the golden light of the candle on the table. The sugar crust had been cracked open neatly, revealing the pale, silky custard beneath.
I had never tasted crème brûlée before.
Damien had ordered it for both of us with such quiet confidence that I hadn’t questioned it. If he chose it, then surely it must be good.
When it touched my tongue, I froze.
The flavor bloomed instantly—rich and creamy, warm from the caramelized top but cool and smooth beneath.
It was sweet without being overwhelming, velvety and indulgent, like something forbidden.
A soft sound escaped me before I could stop it.
A small moan.
My eyes fluttered shut as I hummed unconsciously, savoring the taste as it spread across my tongue.
“Oh…” I whispered before I realized I was doing it out loud.
When I opened my eyes again, Damien was staring at me.
Not casually. Not politely.
His gaze had darkened, intense and unreadable, fixed entirely on my face as if I were the dessert instead of the woman eating it.
I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his stare.
Heat crept up my neck and bloomed across my cheeks. “I—” I cleared my throat and looked down at my plate. “I’m sorry.”
My voice was barely above a whisper.
How could I behave like that in a place like this? In public? Surrounded by elegance and chandeliers and strangers who expected composure?
I felt foolish. Unsophisticated. Too much.
“I didn’t mean to—” I muttered, embarrassed. “It just… tastes really good.”
He said nothing, only continued watching me with that strange, knowing smirk resting on his lips.
I focused on my dessert, forcing myself to eat slowly and quietly now, though I could still feel his gaze burning into my skin like a spotlight.
Each movement of the spoon felt exaggerated, every breath too loud.
When I finished, I noticed something that made me pause.
Damien hadn’t touched his.
Not even once.
His crème brûlée sat pristine in front of him, its caramel top unbroken.
I frowned slightly. “Why aren’t you eating yours?”
He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head, a peculiar smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m not hungry.”
“That’s a lie,” I said softly. “You ordered it.”
He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”
There was something unreadable in his eyes, something teasing and deliberate that made my stomach twist.
Then, just as suddenly, he shifted the subject.
“My sources have assured me,” he said calmly, “that your name will never appear on any public platform. No photos. No articles. No records that can be traced.”
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“That means… you’re safe. For now.”
Gratitude washed over me like a wave. “Thank you.”
It bought me time.
Time until Uncle Thomas found another place for me to go. Time until I had to move again.
Because staying in one place too long was dangerous. Every day I stayed left a trace.
A footprint. A possibility for him to find me.
And then a thought struck me.
Something sharp and sudden.
“You didn’t ask,” I said quietly.
Damien frowned. “I did not ask what?”
I lifted my eyes to his. “You didn’t ask who I was running from. You didn’t ask why I was so terrified.”
Silence fell between us again.
He looked away for a moment, thoughtful, as if weighing something invisible.
Then he spoke. “Because I trust my wife.”
The word made my heart stutter.
“I trust that when you’re ready,” he continued, “you’ll tell me. And when you trust me enough… I’ll listen.”
His words stole my breath.
I had been speechless so many times tonight, but this—this felt heavier.
Before I could respond, Damien leaned forward. Slowly, deliberately, he reached across the table.
His thumb brushed the corner of my lips.
I gasped.
A shiver ran through my entire body at the lightness of his touch. It was barely there, yet it burned like fire against my skin.
“You spilled,” he murmured.
I couldn’t move.
He drew his thumb back and brought it to his mouth.
And tasted it.
My eyes widened.
He hummed softly. “You’re right. It’s delicious.”
I lifted my hand to my lips, stunned, realizing only then that I must have had a smear of custard there—and that he had chosen to wipe it away like that.
Before I could gather myself, Damien stood and extended his hand to me.
“Would you do me the honor of this dance, Mrs. Blackwood?”
The music had changed to a slow, enchanting violin melody that seemed to wrap around the room like a spell.
{Song: I Wanna Be Yours(Violin) by Dramatic Violin}
My heart stuttered.
I looked from his hand to his face. His smile was small, sincere. His eyes waited patiently for my answer.
I placed my hand in his.
It fit perfectly. Too perfectly.
He led me to the open floor, and we took an intimate stance—his hand settling at my waist, pulling me close. His other hand held mine firmly. My free hand slid up to rest against his shoulder.
We swayed together, bodies molded as one.
I could smell him—dark musk and something warm beneath it. I could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress.
It made me feel safe.
I rested my head against his chest, closing my eyes as he guided us gently across the floor.
I knew people were watching us.
I didn’t care.
For once, I let myself exist without fear.
Darius rested his jaw against the top of my head then twirled me suddenly, making me laugh before pulling me back into his arms.
I looked up at him.
The way he gazed at me felt dangerous—like he was memorizing every detail, like I was something precious.
His hands slipped fully to my waist. Mine wrapped around his neck. Our foreheads touched.
Then the song reached its end.
Damien dipped me, pulling me back up slowly until our faces were inches apart.
His lips called to me but he waited, asking for permission, I nodded and met him halfway.
Our mouths met in a slow, tender kiss, filled with need and longing and something buried deep.
Cheers erupted around us.
I pulled back first, flustered and blushing. Damien only smiled and bit his lower lip.
Outside, the night was dark and glowing with streetlights. I leaned against him as we waited for the valet, his hand wound around my waist. He had draped his suit jacket around my shoulders, gazing down at me.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The car arrived. He helped me inside.
As we drove, I watched the lights blur past and finally let my eyes close. My eyelids felt heavy, maybe from my recent lack of sleep or the wine was taking effect.