CHAPTER 8

Damien's POV

I exhale with contentment that I made the correct choice as I sit in the back of the Mercedes Benz that is taking me home and closely study the photo of my assistant, Lisa Gracia Rodriguez.

She is the best candidate for the position. I now see why she doesn't have a man; she has to modify her terrible sense of style when it comes to clothing.

She is not a people person, which is exactly what I need since I do not need some affluent, pampered brat who would destroy everything for me and make it extremely difficult to quit this fake marriage we are going to enter into.

Lisa won't be tough, and my mother could even enjoy her for being introverted.

One of the issues between my mother and my deceased fiancée was this. I was aware even though she never told me anything. The mother is skilled at masking her feelings.

As I continue to scroll down, I notice additional images of Lisa wearing ruffled dresses, tank tops with skirts, simple black dresses, and many other unattractive clothing.

I'm trying hard not to chuckle.

I requested further details about her from my private investigator. Despite the fact that she has been working for me for over a year, I know nothing about the employee.

The only thing that lingered in my brain was her first name, Lisa. I don't like to address my staff by their official names.

I even recall calling her Miss Romano rather than Miss Rodriguez a few days ago. I wish she had corrected me since I'm terrible with formal names.

He also sent me a photo of her grandmother, who seems to be in very bad shape.

I don't regret assisting. I don't feel bad about giving her more than I originally intended.

As soon as the vehicle stops, Fred pulls into the garage and descends to open the door for me.

I give her face one more glance, shut the laptop, and give it to Fred before getting out of the vehicle with my briefcase.

Today was a lengthy day at work since I allowed Isabella to go right after she signed the contract. She has been elevated to a higher position as my wife, thus she is no longer my personal assistant.

We can no longer work together since we are going to be married, but after a year, I will try to find her another job.

What to make of my relief is a mystery to me. I'm not sure whether it's because I now have good news to share with my mother or because I'm relieved I won't have to go through the drawn-out process of hiring the right person.

My mother is a kind, desperate lady who sees the fact that I am single as an illness that has to be addressed as soon as possible.

I would have let her choose someone for me, but I am aware that she would go crazy, and getting a divorce after a year will be difficult.

I've been my mother's fixation ever since my cousin gave birth to two sons a year ago.

She told me right away that she now considers getting married and starting a family to be her top priorities.

However, I had no curiosity. I could have spent my time doing greater things. I wished just for a tranquil existence free of the guilt that consumed me.

Mother is blind to it. She claims that all I want is to be happy and that I would be content if I had a family and kids.

I don't believe I'm prepared to have any kids. Even now, I don't like the concept anymore. I believe I still haven't entirely healed from the tragedy of losing my wife and kid because it gives me a type of dreadful terror. I just cannot stand to witness my children suffer yet another death.

I do not want kids. I can't, however, tell my mum. I also can't give her my explanations. Although they may not seem sincere, that is what I desire.

The briefcase has been seized by my butler, along with the laptop bag I handed to Fred, so I enter the home clutching my suit securely in my left hand.

Sir, welcome. The head maid, Sandra, bows her head respectfully and says, "Your mother is here.

I furrow my brow. Mom is here, right? Such a perfect time!

I was just considering taking a bath and giving her a call to let her know I had something to tell her.

Although I am sure she would be happy, I will look over it and go forward with my plan. I must demonstrate to her that I am good without a wife and that I don't need a woman in my life.

Contrary to popular belief, marriage is not a bed of roses. Although my mother's marriage may qualify, I don't view it that way.

In a marriage, there will be ups and downs, difficulties, difficulties, and obstacles that knock on your door.

Marriage can't still taste as good as when it first began. At some point, the love will be revealed, and in the end, it will disintegrate.

Both spouses' attraction to one another will wane. Divorce will become common, just as it is in today's environment.

Safina, my biggest customer, was unable to attend last week's board meeting because her husband had filed for divorce.

All of them give me the creeps, and I can't continue and allow the agony to return.

I will never be able to find another someone like Helena, who was my one and only real love. She has left.

Forever.

My heart has left. I've lost the ability to love.

When she notices that I am making my way toward the downstairs living area, Mother calls out, "Son." The statement that my mother is nearby prevented me from using the stairway to go to my room.

We hug as I say "Mother" and spread my arms.

I observe her face when she releases the embrace and sees that she doesn't appear happy.

What is the issue? I ponder as I step back and sag into one of the couches.

She responds, "Nothing, I'm fine," but I can see she's not.

Even though a lovely 50-year-old lady who usually has a grin on her face is assuring me nothing has occurred, she still seems to be in mourning.

I believe I understand the main points of this.

I place my hand on my elbow and don't ask her what the issue is; instead, I ignore her.

She screams out "Damien" while pouting. Why are you upset, won't you ask me?

I squint my eyes. "I believed I just did,"

She hiccups. "Something took place. something lovely. Though I should be joyful, I'm not.

The drama queen she is!

My father doesn't make jokes with her because of this. Their level of comprehension and communication is extraordinary. I like the way they love, and I was raised to think that genuine love exists.

Though I had faith, destiny had more in store for me. Fate took its course, leaving me crushed and abandoned to put my broken heart back together.

In the two years since then, my life has changed significantly. I no longer believe in love and fairy tales, which is only one of many things that have changed about me.

Will you not tell me what it is? She strikes again while looking dejected.

I inquire while self-shaming. Asking "What is it, Mom?"

She exclaims joyfully, "Caroline gave birth to a princess last night," as I witness a tear fall from her eye.

My mother started pressuring me to get married since Caroline is the same cousin who gave birth a year ago.

After just a year, she's already expecting a child. I laugh silently.

Caroline is ecstatic that the baby is a girl since she finds it to be quite cute. You know, they're going to name her after me. Isn't it wonderful?

Despite my first want to inquire as to whether or not this Caroline is the same one who gave birth to a pair of twins last year, I concur with her, "It is, mother."

There is no need to inquire again since I already know she is the one. Since she informed my mum that the child will have her name.

My mother and Caroline's mother are related, however, Caroline's mother Grace passed away before she wed her Italian chef husband many years ago.

Why are you upset, won't you ask me?

"Mom, why are you depressed?" I inquire in a hush-hush tone.

"I wish you were the one whose wife gave birth," she said. If it had been the case, I would have been ecstatic. Damien, if you could do me this favor before I pass away? Tears start to fall from her eyes as she says, "I want to see my grandchildren, I want to see you happy again."

I start to feel awkward when I see her crying. She is aware of my dislike for her crying.

Mom, you are aware that I requested some time from you. with a wink.

"The timer has already begun to run. We don't yet have a grandchild, I'll be 51 shortly, and your father won't be 60 until the end of the year. It's unjust.

"Do you want me to choose the wrong wife?" I ask her directly and firmly.

"What? Mom, you are aware that I requested some time from you. with a wink.

I grin and respond, "Good." "Due to that, I'm taking my time,"

She merely responds with "Ok" and a dejected gaze.

We stop speaking to one another and fall into silence. I want to let her know about Lisa, but I'm not sure how to do it.

I can see how delighted she would be if I told her I was about to tie the knot.

So that she would be more enthusiastic about the entire affair, I suppose I will give her the power to choose the wedding date.

"Mother?" She doesn't answer my phone when I try to tell her what my intentions are.

I am aware of the technique.

I say, "I have good news for you," and my ruse is successful. She whips her head up, runs to my side, and looks hopefully and curiously at me.

I grin inside.

She grabs my arms and inquires, "Good news? What positive news?

"Yes," I say, attempting a grin that seems like it would come from a guy eager to wed his true love. "I'm going to marry this person."

I'm about to finish my sentence when she suddenly stands up and starts laughing joyfully.

I don't know when I begin to smile as well until it develops into a broad grin as she joyfully spins around the living room.

She rushes back to my side and makes demands when she pauses, already breathing hard like someone who has just finished a marathon. Who are you planning to wed?

She looks hopeful and curious once again, and I speak out loud. "To Lisa, my assistant."

She takes some time to process what I just said, but when she does, her mouth falls open and her eyes pop up. "What?!"