Chapter 63 A Goodnight Kiss
THIRD PERSON’S POV.
“This was nice.”
“Yeah,” Clara said, her lips curving faintly, “just like old times.”
“I’m glad your dinner party went exactly as planned.”
“Thanks to you.” She smiled warmly, the expression lingering a moment longer than usual.
“I wonder what that reporter is going to write about us.”
“Well, whatever it is, we’ll find out tomorrow.”
“You are right,” Serena said, clearing her throat softly, “good night, Clara.”
“Good night, Serena,” Clara replied, already turning to head back into the house.
The drive back home wasn’t as peaceful as the drive there had been. Damian kept a straight face the entire ride, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the road.
He ignored everything Serena said, or tried to say.
“Why do you keep ignoring me?” Serena finally asked.
“I’m not ignoring you,” he said, still looking straight ahead.
“You haven’t responded to anything I’ve said since we left my family’s house.”
“I haven’t had anything to say.”
“All night?”
“I’m sorry, maybe you’d have preferred if Jonathan had driven you home,” Damian said coolly.
Serena frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You two seemed pretty cuddly all night,” he muttered.
“I said two words to him at most,” she replied quickly.
“Then where did he get the idea of inviting you on his honeymoon?”
“Ohhh… so that’s why you’ve had an attitude all night.”
Damian’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“How the hell should I know?” Serena continued, exasperation leaking into her voice. “I was just as surprised as you.”
Damian didn’t respond — not immediately. He made a quick turn, then glanced into the rearview mirror to confirm his bodyguard was still driving behind them.
“You realize he’s flirting with you, right?” Damian finally said. “He openly flirted with you,all night.”
Serena frowned. “I really doubt that. He and Clara are in love, why would he be wasting his time flirting with me?”
That made Damian tear his eyes from the road. He looked at her sharply.
“Are you serious?” he asked. “You’d have to be either blind or stupid to think that.”
Ouch. Serena winced.
“I’m sorry,” Damian said quickly, his voice softening. “I didn’t mean to call you stupid… but my point still stands. It’s very obvious their relationship has a lot of loopholes.”
“That’s the same way ours has loopholes too. That’s why we all had to work together to stop that reporter from printing that piece about Jonathan being my ex,” Serena said, her voice cracking at the end.
Damian’s jaw tightened. “We just got married. No one is calling our relationship fake,” he said, deliberately ignoring the way her eyes shimmered — or the fact that she looked dangerously close to tears at the reminder that she was now Jonathan’s ex.
“But they will,” she replied quietly, “when they start to see the obvious cracks in our story and relationship.”
“What cracks?” Damian asked, his voice rising.
“Like how we’re never seen together. How we don’t have any pictures from all the months we supposedly dated.”
“We have pictures from the past,” he said more gently.
“What?”
Damian reached toward the back seat. After fishing through the seat pocket, he pulled out a black box wrapped with a neat white bow.
He handed it to her. “Open it.”
Serena tore the box open. Inside was a digital photo frame.
She long-pressed the power button. When the screen lit up, a childhood photo of the two of them filled the display.
Then a video played, the two of them in Italy, sharing a gelato. Them dancing in the rain.
Slide by slide pictures played from the past. Their past.
A time when their innocence allowed them to be friends… more than friends.
More than friends, less than lovers.
Across the screen, a caption appeared: our favorite moments.
“Damian…” she sniffed softly. “This is beautiful.”
He smiled faintly. “I was going to give you tomorrow but I guess tonight is as good as tomorrow.” He paused, then added. “ and Trisha already created an Instagram page for you. We’ve uploaded the pictures — strategically, of course — so it doesn’t look planted.”
Serena hesitated. “But we look really young in these. Who’s going to believe they’re recent?”
“That’s why we have A.I., baby. Oscar had them tweak some of the images to age us up.”
He turned onto his street. “And by the time anybody figures out it’s photoshopped, we would have flooded the internet with more than enough recent pictures to debunk anything they say.
Serena looked at him curiously. “How and where will we get that many recent photos?”
“You’ll see,” he replied with a small, knowing smile as the iron-clad gates opened, revealing the full view of Crowne Manor.
The car slowed to a stop in the compound, Damian stepped out and walked around to open her door.
“I’m going to see Trisha before I come up,” Serena said as they entered the house.
Damian nodded and headed for the stairs while Serena made her way to Trisha’s door.
She knocked gently.
“Trisha, it’s me,” she whispered.
It took a minute, but eventually she heard shuffling behind the door before it swung open.
“Hello.”
Serena lifted the takeout bag in her hand. “Here.” She handed it over. “I brought you Constance’s family pot pie. Your favorite.”
“Hm.” Trisha scrunched her face thoughtfully, then took the bag. “You may enter,” she said, already walking back into the room.
“I’m so sorry for how this morning went, Trish,” Serena said, closing the door behind her.
“Are you really?”
Serena nodded.
“Does that mean you were able to find any information on what happened the night of your death?”
“I couldn’t. There was a reporter present — he was watching and writing about our every move.”
Trisha chuckled. “Who invites a reporter to their family dinner?”
“Apparently the Gregorys do,” Serena replied between soft laughs.
Trisha’s voice dropped, the playfulness fading. “On a more serious note, Rena… we need to figure out who killed you.”
“I know. But can we make that tomorrow’s problem?” Serena groaned. “I’m already exhausted today.”
“Fine,” Trish said, pulling spoons from the side drawer and handing one to her. “How did the dinner go, though?”
“You have spoons hidden in your room?” Serena laughed, accepting one. “Edith would flip if she saw this.”
“And that’s exactly why she’s never going to see it, baby,” Trisha said, already taking a spoonful of pot pie.
“That reminds me,” Serena said between bites. “Did you get my text from earlier?”
“Oh yeah.” Trisha paused to chew. “There’s no record of any drastic incident involving Damian Crowne fifteen years ago. Although… it’s around the time they lost one of their nightclubs.”
“Is that everything you could gather?” Serena asked, disappointment creeping into her voice.
“Yes. I even checked the Valenor newspaper archives.”
Serena sighed. “Well… that’s sad. Takes us back to square one.”
“Yeah.”
Serena dropped her spoon and stood. “I think I’m going to go to bed now.”
“Alright, baby. Good night.” Trisha blew her an air kiss.
She paused at the door, “oh I forgot to thank you for creating my instagram account,”
“I’m always at your service, babe.”
Serena left the room, still carrying the weight of the unknown on her chest. Today was successful… But what trials did tomorrow have waiting for her?
When she got upstairs, Damian was already fast asleep under the covers, a soft snore escaping his lips.
She quietly tiptoed around the room and slipped into the bathroom. After brushing her teeth, she climbed into bed, still wondering if, by morning, Damian would wake up around seven a.m. again.