“Are you expecting some sort of apology?”
Dina snorted at Damien’s question. “From you? I may as well set up an airport for pigs.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You stood me up on prom night. Did you apologise? No. You abandoned me in the middle of Rome, a strange city, among a language I don’t speak, no money. Did you apologise? No. You helped Myra Birbank get the job I desperately wanted. Did you apologise? No. You proposed in front of my entire family at Christmas, then ‘changed your mind’ and asked for the ring back. Did you apologise? No.”
Damien hunched into his seat as her list continued, and people at neighbouring tables started glancing at them and whispering.
She wound up with. “So I neither expect, nor want, an apology. What I want is for you to grow up and take some sort of responsibility for the kid you had with my sister.”
The café sat silent for a moment, before the whispers started again, fast and furious, with dark glares at Damien.
Dina stood, and dropped some cash on the table, then smirked.
So much for Damien running away from his actions. This was a small town, and it was her town. He’d be gone in a month, probably less.
The DNA of Stories 