Allen quickly put his wine glass down on the table. He bowed his head respectfully to the General, but he also felt a sudden, cold spike of nervous tension. He remembered very clearly how Damon's large hands had crushed his throat just a few days ago.
Damon walked slowly toward the center of the room. He did not look at Allen. His dark brown eyes were fixed entirely on Camilla.
"Damon?" Camilla said out loud. Her voice was soft and carried a clear tone of genuine confusion. "What are you doing here?"
Damon stopped a few feet away from her. He looked at her face. The cold, blank mask of yesterday was gone. Her cheeks were slightly pink from the joy of a successful business day.
Damon swallowed hard. His throat felt dry. He felt nervous. His palms were actually sweating inside his dark gloves.
He slowly held out the large bouquet of red roses and the white pastry box toward her.
