"Welcome back!" Damian says as we saunter into my house.
I heave out a deep sigh in and out. I can’t say I messed up my house or that I missed home because what I had was so terrific, but I don’t want to be back either since had no choice. "Mmh! Thank you, and welcome back too," I taunt back as we inside my condo.
He shuts the door after resting the two heavy satchels inside. "Do you want to have a minutes of rest before going to work? I know you aren't used to those long, drives." Damian mumbles as he hauls our suitcases further inside.
A rest? I wouldn’t mind, but he made me have enough rest during the vacation. Now, are needed in the office. "Thank you for being such a sweet, caring daddy, but no.
We have been away for a week so there is no way I would get even a wink of sleep that we are back and needed. Work is calling, and I am good," I retort with my convincing expression.
"As you say, my queen," he hunches his head down in a playful bow, a smirk to his face, revealing the eye-catching dimples. Well, it is nothing new. It is him and his bewitching beauty that can't go unnoticed, and it is my adoration for . "So shall we take a bath together?" He adds.
"Sure. You need help with those?" I gesture at the heavy satchels, hoping he would my aid in lugging them upstairs, but... pass!
He shakes my idea ohh. "No, baby. I can better make use of my muscles this way."
With a subtle smirk gracing my lips in response to his joke, I take the lead and guide way upstairs, my eagerness palpable. The anticipation of returning to work fills with a sense of excitement.
Upon reaching the door to my bedroom, I swing it open, only to be met with a sight that instantly captures my attention. In here, occupying the floor with imposing presence, are two massive satchels that clearly do not belong to me.
They look fully stuffed. Their unfamiliarity sends a jolt of curiosity through me, questions to swirl in my mind.
As I pivot to face Damian, the soft thud of the items he has deposited on the floor in the room. Memories of his thoughtful gesture flood my mind, recalling how meticulously packed my essentials before our departure for that much-needed . His considerate nature had always been a constant in our interactions.
But now, at this moment, a seed of suspicion begins to germinate. He was indeed the person in my condo before we embarked on our trip. Could he possibly hold a to the mystery unfolding before me?
"These aren't mine," I state calmly, pointing at the bags, but he doesn't look surprised all, but... nervous?
As I calmly point out that the bags aren't mine, Damian's lack of surprise is unsettling.
His demeanor, usually composed and collected, now betrays a nervous energy. The motion of his hand scratching his head adds to my growing unease. Is he something? Could he be planning to leave? My mind races with questions, for answers in his actions.
“Umh, they are mine!”
His sudden admission that the bags belong to him catches me off guard. As he slumps the bed, avoiding direct eye contact, his discomfort becomes palpable. His gaze around the room, evading mine as if seeking refuge in the familiar .
I glance towards the closet, where his clothes still hang undisturbed, a stark contrast to bags on the floor. Confusion clouds my thoughts as I try to reconcile his claim the evidence before me. If these bags are his, then why the secrecy? Why the demeanor?
A knot forms in my stomach as I realize that there may be more to this situation than the eye. With each passing moment, the tension in the room grows thicker, for resolution. But until Damian is willing to meet my gaze and reveal the behind his actions, the mystery remains unsolved, hanging in the air like a heavy .
I stroll to the suitcases and try to lift them up, but, my! How many kg do I weigh ? They are damn heavy.
So, they are his? plus the one he just returned with—those are three suitcases full of clothes. Plus the spare ones I have in my closet—that kind of equates to almost of his clothes. What is this? Another trip wouldn't require the two huge, giant . He hasn't even told me a thing about going away, duh!
I turn to him with questions lingering in my head. "Are you going on a trip?" I query a very heavy heart, confusion apparent both on my face and in my tone.
He finally meets my eyes. "No, come on! Do you think I can afford to be away from this soon again?"
I know that, but this is all confusing. "Okay, no." I sigh out loud. "So what? What's the suitcases then?" I anxiously implore.
He springs to his feet, and his sudden movement catches me off guard, and I can't but notice the unfamiliar sight of him fiddling nervously with his fingers. It is a gesture, but it speaks volumes, setting off alarm bells in my mind. When did start? I mean, is he getting this nervous?
"Damian?" I call out, bridging the gap between us and peering up at his face, for answers in his expression. “Talk to me. What is going on here?”
His response is hesitant, his words stumbling over each other as if struggling to from behind clenched teeth. "I just thought that we should..." His voice trails , swallowed by the weight of his own apprehension.
His eyes, usually so warm and comforting, now betray a mixture of fear and worry, storm clouds gathering on the horizon. They bore into mine, seeking solace and , yet holding back secrets that he was not yet ready to reveal. I am to hate this, you know.
As I meet his gaze, I can sense the depth of his turmoil and the unspoken fears and that threaten to engulf us both.
So, what the hell is happening here? He thought we should do what? Proceed to vacation, perhaps in Dubai or something? "I hate freaking out, so please spare the anxiety, Damian. What is it?"