The Husband Beside Me(29)

“I relented on the tree, but the music has to go,” he insisted.

“You can huff and puff all you want, but I refuse to stop this music. Every time we put up the tree at home my mother used to put on this music,” I said as I carefully picked up an elegant glass ornament.

“Your mother died years ago,” he muttered as he sat down watching me. Drako jumped up and sat beside him.

“Yes, but I kept up the tradition at home with Sofia,” I said, not wanting him to know his comment truly hurt me.

Every year I did this was a way to atone for what I had done. I wanted her remembered for all the thoughtful things she did for us. I wanted her memory alive and well, especially at Christmas.

“Is Sofia coming?” he asked, petting Drako.

“No,” I sighed heavily. It was going to be our first Christmas apart.

“Why?”

“She said she wanted to stay there,” I muttered as I placed a large hand-painted globe of a classic Santa.

“I’ll drive her down,” Daimon offered.

“Don’t bother. I mean I don’t really blame her. She’s starting a new life and it’s the first time she gets to make these kinds of decisions. She’s finally growing wings. I’m not going to cut them off for her,” I said sadly. Of course, I wanted Sofia here with us, but I couldn’t very well make her spend time with us. She needed to live her own life.

“That’s bullshit! At Christmas, you guys spend it together. She’s being selfish,” Daimon refuted.

“So what? Let her. She’s eighteen. It’s now that she’s supposed to experience life.” I walked around the tree and found a nice spot for a hand-crafted glass snowflake.

Daimon sat, continuing to watch as I decorated the tree. I had no idea that such expensive and lavish ornaments existed yet here they were at my feet as I put them up.

“Don’t you get tired of listening to this shit and doing that? It seriously looks tedious,” Daimon commented.

“It’s once a year,” I said, annoyed. “What, Mommy dearest didn’t celebrate Christmas with you?” I taunted.

I waited for Daimon’s usual banter, but when he didn’t say anything, I looked back to see him sitting on his couch, his arm laid across the top, while Drako had curled up near his lap. Daimon’s sky-blue eyes turned cold as he narrowed them at me.

“Not all mothers were like yours,” he said coldly.

He then stood, making his way to the kitchen. Wow, did the cold front just hit inside? I watched as Daimon took out a long-stem wine glass and began pouring himself a dark merlot.

“Come on, Daimon. You can’t actually make me believe you had a hard life,” I teased again. Daimon ignored me and focused on drinking his wine.

“You were born with a platinum spoon in your mouth, so whatever is bugging you, I highly doubt it was that bad,” I laughed. He placed his glass down and peered at me, through his now glacier eyes.

“You think because your mother died it gives you the right to be pitied. You act like you’re the only one who’s had such a tragic life. I honestly wonder, Addie, who you would be if you didn’t use it as a crutch. At times, I’m not going to lie, you look downright pathetic,” he spat out. His venomous words spread through me like a poison.

“You’re right. I do use it as a crutch. However, I’m not like you. I say it when I’m hurt, while you hide behind your eloquent ways of destroying a person. I might look pathetic in your eyes, but to me, you’re worthless. You think your money can buy you everything you want. Well, it can’t!” I snapped.

“It bought me you,” he said maliciously.

“I know, but I at least have a family, unlike you who seems to hate his,” I said menacingly.

“Do you think your family actually loves you after what you did?” he smirked. His grin was evil at best. “I mean, come on, think about it, not only do you claim to have killed your mother, you sell yourself to the highest bidder. What family could love someone like that?” he sneered.

I stopped myself from going any further. This was the angry Daimon, the hateful one, the one who lashes out, wanting others to feel pain, not caring how far he had to go to do it.

“Do you feel better?” I asked coldly.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“I’m asking you if you feel better. Does it make you feel like a man to completely destroy another? Does it somehow make you feel whole? You go at me like I’m nothing but a fucking punching bag. Yes, you bought me so I guess you have some sort of right to do what you like. But I was just wondering how it makes you feel to do this?” I asked him honestly.