"But essentially you're telling them the way they are doing it is wrong and they should do it your way. But I would guess your sister is happy living her life the way she does."
"But she puts herself in danger, she does things and they're stupid, and she ne—" Marley stopped speaking, took a breath to calm herself. "She doesn't make wise choices for her son."
"It seems to me the wisest choice she made was to leave her son with your cousin. The rest of the mistakes are hers and hers alone, and I bet she doesn't even consider them mistakes. Only you do."
His words rang true to her, and she resented it. Why was she the bad guy here? She was the one who just wanted Lizzie to have a happy, healthy, productive life. Why did that make her a control freak? "Would you let your sister disappear for two months with no word and not try to find her? Is that what you're suggesting? That I just assume she's fine and living it up and go about my business?" Because she couldn't do that. She had to know that Lizzie was alright. She couldn't ignore the foreboding' feeling that had taken up permanent residence in her gut.
"Of course not. I know how worried you are. But chances are, she is off having fun, stripping on Bourbon Street or something, and will be surprised to find out that you've wasted one minute worrying about her, because if your roles were reversed, she wouldn't. If it were my sister, I would do exactly what you're doing, but then I admit I'm controlling. Or I try to be. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you cannot control someone else." Damien raised his wineglass in a mock toast. "Most of us can't even control ourselves, let alone someone else."
Was he talking about himself? Marley had no idea what he could or couldn't control. But she did know she didn't agree. "Maybe I can't force Lizzie to do what she doesn't want to, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't be there to support her."
"I respect that. I admire you, Marley, for your love and loyalty to your family. But are any of them grateful for the sacrifices you make? You're spending, what, like five hundred bucks a day while you're here trying to find your sister, bleeding yourself dry financially and emotionally. Would any of them do it for you?"
No. She knew the answer as clearly as she knew her name. But she didn't need him to tell her she was wrong, to mock her choices. "I don't do it for gratitude. I do it because I love my family, because it's the right thing to do. It's not about me."
Though hadn't she just spent the whole summer wondering why it was never about her? Pondering if her role as family martyr was the right thing to do, or if she was merely denying herself a full and complete life at the same time she played enabler to her screwed-up relatives?
"It should be," Damien said, his shoulders stiff, voice firm. "For once, just once, it should be."
"Is it about you, Damien?" All her anger had deflated. God, he was right, and she was so tired. Just so absolutely bone-deep tired. She had spent twenty years trying to fix people who didn't want to be fixed, but how the hell could she just walk away? It felt wrong, too selfish.
"When I was younger, it was about me. Always about me. I was a spoiled rich kid, I'm ashamed to admit. I was thoughtless and selfish, but I made a huge mistake, one that I've been paying for ever since. And that mistake taught me it's not about me. Ever. I fight every day to remember that."
He looked sincere, eyes burning with agony and passion for his convictions. Marley had known all along there was more to Damien than what he showed the world, she had seen that pain, sensed that desolation, but now, it pulsed from him in a great ugly wave of raw emotion.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, because it hurt to see his hurt.
"Let me do the right thing now. Let me take some of that burden from you."
It was so tempting to slump her shoulders and give in. To let him field some of her worry, her pain; to take their mutual burdens and share them together, or better yet, push them aside and just enjoy each other. Marley wanted something so desperately, and she didn't even understand what it was.
His hand covered hers, and stroked her warm flesh. "Stop fighting me and let me focus on you."
It was a gesture meant to comfort, she thought, but the touch was more sensual than comforting. Marley felt desire spark to life, felt the vibration between them yet again and recognized it for what it was: sexual tension. They both wanted to have sex with each other, that was blatantly obvious, had been from the minute he had touched his lips to her skin that morning. And it suddenly occurred to her what he was doing. This was all part of the chase. This was a very skilled and sensual man gaining her confidence, manipulating her.
The waitress sashayed over right then and plunked down their plates. Marley waited impatiently through the waitress's ketchup/soft drink refill/napkin speech, grateful when the server moved on to another table with a final parting smile for Damien.
Marley leaned forward, ignoring her entree. "Is this about sex? Some kind of game?" she said in a low voice, conscious of the table next to them with two older couples eating their dinners. "Last night I offered it and you didn't want it. This morning you wanted it and I said no. If you think I'm going to give in and have sex with you because you proclaimed it should be all about me, forget it. Nice try, but if I want to have some Me Time, I'd rather have a spa day."
She was lying. She was almost positive having sex with Damien would be better than a seaweed wrap, but she had a point to make.
"I'd be happy to give you a spa package, because you certainly deserve it. But I don't know where you got the idea I was talking about sex. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to stay in the big house so you weren't getting killed with hotel costs."
Her jaw dropped. She was surprised she didn't actually break it on the patio bricks. Oh, damn, he was good. And he was digging into his food like he didn't have a care in the world, at the same time he dug around in her head, picking through her emotions like a fork through rice. Marley gritted her teeth. "That's very generous of you."
He shrugged. "You seem to like the house. It's big and empty, so no one would bother you. You're waiting for the party on Saturday and I feel guilty that you're spending so much money. It makes sense."
"So you're just Mr. Nice Guy looking out for me?" Marley didn't bother to hide the sarcasm.
"No. I'm a selfish bastard who likes to think he's reformed, and who relies on other people to accept his easy gestures so he can ease his guilty conscience."
Damien popped a shrimp into his mouth and winked at her.