I’ve been considering I need to accept all this and move forward accordingly, being real with myself about what’s what. Before that can work its way into my psyche, my brother groans.
“Ryder is moving around. Shit.”
“So I have that to look forward to,” I say, half-kidding.
“You still want us? Look, Dom, if not it’s no big deal. We’ll figure—”
“Damn it. If I didn’t want you to come, I wouldn’t have offered.”
“You know I appreciate it, right?” he says. The relief is evident, lingering on the last note. “I’ll help out with the rent. With groceries. Whatever you want.”
“We’ll figure it out.” I look across the hall into the dark bathroom. “There’s a bed in the guest room. If you want to bring his kid bed with you, you can fit it in there. Or one of you can take the couch.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it all sorted.” He heaves another breath. “Did you mention it to Cam?”
Her face pops up in my mind and I fall back on my sheets, wishing she was lying a few inches over and waiting on me to end the call and curl up next to her to listen to her lecture me about the cut above my eye. “Yeah, I told her.”
“She okay with it?”
“It’s not her decision.”
“So that’s a no?”
“It’s a ‘I didn’t ask her opinion,’” I tell him. “Why would I? I fuck her sometimes. That’s it.”
“Oh, that’s it, huh?” His laugh makes me cringe. “I think not, little brother.”
“Okay. I fuck her often. Better?”
“Sure. If that makes you happy, I don’t give a shit. But I think it’s a little deeper than that.”
He waits for me to respond, but I don’t. Not immediately. I think about his question and how I can navigate these waters. Was my assessment of my relationship with Camilla accurate? Fuck no. But should it be? Definitely.
It’s my fault I see her so damn much. I can’t help myself. And as much as I’d like it to be just for the sex, even I know it’s not. That’s what fucks me—the non-fucking. That’s where I’m going to get so burned I’m afraid I’ll be unrecognizable.
“You know, it’s okay to actually feel something for someone, Dominic.”
“You’re using my whole name now. Is that some kind of hint that you mean business?”
“That’s my way of telling you to listen to me before you go messing up a lot of shit,” he sighs.
My abs strain as I sit back up, my eye starting to pulse like it’s swelling. “Look at me,” I laugh, “and look at her. I’m sitting here with the taste of blood in my mouth from the cut inside my lip, and she’s lying on some thread-count bullshit I don’t even understand. You don’t think this isn’t already messed up?”
“No. I don’t.”
“And you claim to be the smart one,” I joke. “Look, I’m okay with this as-is. I see it for what it is. But don’t go telling me, ‘It’s okay to have feelings for someone, Dominic,’” I mock, “because it ain’t real. You don’t have feelings for something that’s gonna be busted in the days to come.”
“You’ve been with her almost a year,” he tosses out like he’s some kind of genius.
“Okay. Fine. You wanna go with me to meet her family? I mean, let’s just do the family-to-family thing. You’ve already made friends with her brothers, yeah?”
“Fuck them,” he growls.
“My point. That’s before they even know our uncle is the guy that almost tanked Barrett’s campaign. How’s that gonna look in their press release in the next election cycle?” I point out. “Look, I hate Nolan too. But that doesn’t matter. It’s all about appearances with these people, Nate. This would be a PR nightmare, and they’re all about avoiding the problem.”
“Again, fuck them.”
I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “And then the shit about—”
“Don’t tell me you’re going there. Our piece-of-shit father has nothing to do with anything.”
“But he does.”
“But he doesn’t,” he hisses. “Use whatever reasoning you want for not locking that girl down, but don’t let that motherfucker play a part. That’s not fair to her or you.”
“Fair or not, it’s life,” I say, feeling defeated.
He yawns through the line, saying something I can’t make out.
“I’m guessing you said you’ll see me tomorrow,” I say, glancing at the clock. “I gotta try to get some sleep.”
“Me too. I’ll start moving our stuff in tomorrow?”
“Sounds good. I’ll be working up north, but you have a key, right?”
“Yeah. Thanks again, Dom.”
“No problem. See ya tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
Dropping the phone to the blankets, I lie back again. My head feels foggy like it usually does after a sparring session.
Closing my eyes, I see Camilla’s face. The fact that I’m beginning to associate her with my life—that she’s what I envision when I have six seconds of quiet or how I automatically hope to see her in my bed—worries me a little. No, it worries me a lot.
I get why. She’s the full one-hundred percent. The problem? I’m not.
Camilla
“CAMILLA, WOULD YOU WAIT A moment, please?” My mother gives me her best no-nonsense look over her clasped hands.
“Sure.” I fight the anxiety in my chest as I say goodbye to my sisters-in-law and watch them walk out of Picante, a restaurant nestled inside a ritzy hotel downtown. We had lunch and discussed a charity launch the family is putting together through Landry Holdings. It’s been a nice afternoon . . . until now.
I know the look on her face. This isn’t Mom wanting to get pedicures tomorrow. This is her wanting to talk. Real talk. The kind I’ve been avoiding.
Smoothing out my dress, I retake my seat. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to see how you were, sweetie.”
“I’m fine,” I say, furrowing my brow. “Why would you ask?”
It’s a rhetorical question. There’s no doubt why she’s asking. The only thing I’m unsure about is why she hasn’t done this before now. Still, I’m not offering information freely. If she wants something, she’s going to have to ask for it.
She gives me a knowing smile. “It’s nice to see you in love.”
“What are you talking about?” I scoff, feeling my cheeks heat.
Her laugh makes me feel like a little girl called out on a white lie. “Darling, I’m not blind. Or deaf,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Your brothers—”
“It was Lincoln, wasn’t it?”
“No,” she giggles. “It wasn’t.”
“Then it was Graham.”
“Camilla, stop it.”
“They’re overbearing, Mother,” I hiss. “They won’t leave it be. I don’t have to parade whoever I’m seeing in front of the family if I don’t want to. Shit.”
“Camilla Jane!” Her jaw drops open. “That’s no way for a lady to talk.”
“This is also no way to be treated,” I volley back.
“They’re just worried about their little sister. You can’t blame them.”
“Oh, I can.”
She sits back in her seat, getting a new strategy together. It’s the look in her eye, the way the greens flare through the blues that has me forcing a swallow.
“I had a chat with Ford yesterday after the baby announcement. He’s worried, Camilla.”
“I give up,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “I see now why Sienna wants to move to Illinois.”
“That isn’t nice.”
“This isn’t nice either! Don’t you see?”
She ignores me. “Ford hinted that the boys want to call up Nick Parker—”
“The private investigator?” I cry, recognizing the name from Barrett’s campaign. “Mother!”
“I told him not to,” she promises. “I said that was a step too far.”
“You think?”
“But, honey, you’re going to have to let us meet him.”
She sips her water, the lemon a bright spot as it gets flipped below the ice. I focus on that and not the impending doom that’s burrowing in my gut, making the Cobb salad I just ate threaten to come back up.
“I want you to know,” Mom says, wiping her lips with a linen cloth, “that I trust your judgement. If you like this man, then I’m sure he’s an admirable person.”
“I do like him.”
“Do you love him?”
It’s easier to ponder this question in the privacy of your own mind. There, you can answer or not, tell the truth or not, shove it off to the side if you prefer while you go do something else. It’s impossible to consider this question sitting across from the one person that can read you like a book.
“Camilla?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you don’t,” she says simply. “If you love someone, you know it.”
“It’s more complicated than that, Mom.”
“Honey,” she says, her bracelets jingling off the tabletop as she leans forward, “love is always complicated.”
“I said I didn’t know. You said that means I don’t.”
She smiles. “Can I give you some advice?”
“You’re going to anyway.”
“Your brothers are overbearing. I know that. Your father can be too. But don’t let them sway you to or from someone that makes you happy. Okay?”
My eyes drop to the table, my stomach churning. “What if . . . what if no one will like him? What if they even hate him or don’t understand him?”
“Is he nice to you?”
“Yes,” I say immediately, looking up at her.
“Does he make you smile?”
My lips turn up. “Yes.”
“Is he respectful? Is he loyal?”
“Yes.”
“Then your brothers will come around,” she says. “And if they don’t, you’ll have to tell your mom. I hear she has some pull. Most of them have wives now too that can help keep them in line.”
Although I’m still not sure this helps anything or only confuses me more, I stand and walk around the table. Wrapping my arms around her, I squeeze. She smells of expensive perfume and the warmth of home. “Thank you,” I say against her cheek.
She pats my arm. “I do want you to think about introducing him to someone. Me, Ford, Graham—”
“Graham?” I say, pulling back. “Let’s just ask for his tax returns and background check while we’re at it. He’ll make him think it’s an interview for a job!”
Mom laughs, pushing away from the table. “It is, in a way. If he’s serious about stepping into your life, your brothers . . . and your father and I,” she says pointedly, “will expect a certain level of responsibility.”
We gather our things and head for the elevator. I admire the way she almost glides through the room, waving discreetly at certain acquaintances.
“Mom?”
“What, Camilla?”
I rest my head on her shoulder as we stand behind a handful of people for the elevator waiting for the button to ding. “Why couldn’t you have had Sienna and I first?”
“We had to save the best for last.” She turns her head until she’s looking at me and winks.
“Good point.”
The Gold Room sits in front of me in all its non-glory. I didn’t mean to come here specifically. When I left Mom in the parking lot of Picante, I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to call my friend Joy and see if she wanted to head to yoga or go shopping. All I wanted was to see Dominic. Maybe I even needed to see him, but the thought of that makes me lightheaded.
Now I’m here. Biting my lip. Fighting the rumble in my gut.
If needing to see him makes me lightheaded, seeing him here, at the bar, makes me downright dizzy.
Looking from the half-lit sign to my phone, wondering if I should call him first and warn him or just walk in, I refuse to bite my freshly painted nails even though I want to gnaw them off.
It could very well be counterproductive to think showing up here will satisfy the craving I have for him. The Gold Room is off-limits to me. Yet, here I am.
“You’re stupid,” I mutter to myself, grabbing my purse off the passenger seat and locking the car door behind me. I garner a whistle and a lewd offer before I can get to the heavy front doors. It takes a little more effort than it should to pull them open and step inside.
The bar was probably the place to be at some point before I was born. There are traces of its past elegance in the trim, the molding, the layout of the space. It’s almost regal, like some of the old restaurants my parents frequent. This is just less cared for. It smells salty, kind of like body odor but not quite as offensive, and could use a good “air out,” as my mother would say.
“Who the hell is that?” A man at the end of the bar slams his drink down, looking at me with a wobbling swagger.
“That’s a broken jaw if you don’t check yourself,” Nate says, coming around the corner. With a thump on the counter in front of the man, making him jump, he calms me with his bright, wide smile. “What are you doing here, Priss?”
His nickname for me, short for Prissy, bothered me when he first began using it. Now it’s almost a term of endearment. If he stopped calling me Priss, I might be offended.
“Oh, just in the neighborhood,” I say, sighing for effect. “Is Dom around?”
Nate’s lips press together as he tries to hide a grin. “Is he supposed to be?”
“He said he was coming by,” I shrug, chewing my bottom lip.
“I’m guessing he doesn’t know you’re here,” he smirks.
“You would guess right, sir.”
Nate runs his hands through his dark hair that’s the exact color of Dom’s, but cut closer to the scalp. He shakes his head, clearly amused that I’m standing in his bar. He heaves a breath and blows it out slowly.
“Are you going to help me or not?” I laugh.
“Fine,” he sighs. “Dom’s in the back.”
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s just looking over some papers for me.”
“Papers, huh?” I prod. “You don’t know how to read or what?”
His eyes light up as I poke at him, the easiness of our semi-friendship making my nerves settle just a bit. Nate and I have gotten along since the day he showed up with his little boy unexpectedly at Dominic’s. He’s a handful in a lot of ways—loud and a little sharp sometimes—but he’s kind. And when he’s with Ryder, he’s downright amazing.
“I don’t know how to read this shit,” he blushes. “I got some papers from the bank on a loan and he’s making sure nothing looks off to him. They speak a complete other language in the banking world.”
My heart drops as I realize what he’s saying. “Dom told me you were going through a rough patch. Can I help?”
“You sure can. Let him finish looking at those papers before you wind him up,” he winks.
“I’m serious,” I say, shoving him playfully. “If there’s anything I can do, tell me. I’d love to help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He says that, but the look on his face says differently.
“I mean it, Nate. If you and Ryder need anything, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
“That’s sweet of you, Priss,” he says softly, “but we’re gonna be fine. This is life. We’re tough.”
“Of that I have little doubt,” I smile. “Dom said you guys are moving in with him.”
“Just for a while. I’m getting a loan for ten grand, but it’ll take a couple of months to go through. Until then, I’m just eliminating a few bills that I can.”
“The ten grand will bail you out?” I ask.
“And then some. I know how to manage money. I just got hit with a few big unexpected expenses,” he tells me. “Plus, I want to make this place nice again. Build something Ryder can be proud of his old man for one day. Something my brother w
on’t go nuts about when he sees you’re here,” he says, making a face as he takes a step, then two, backwards towards his customers. “Speaking of, head on back to the office. You know where it is, right?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll watch you from here.” He leans against the bar, cocking his head towards the man he threatened earlier. “Hurry up before I have to break Joe’s neck here.”
With a little wave, I ignore the stares of the patrons lined up on stools like drunken ducks and make my way to the back. A door is tucked away with a gold plate that has lost the lettering that once embellished it. I knock gently, but can’t hear Dom’s voice on the other side over the sound of some classic rock song from the jukebox.
“Dom?” I say, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
My face burns in part embarrassment, part anger at the sight before me. Dom is sitting with a pile of papers in his hand and his feet kicked up on a rickety wooden desk. He’s not looking at the papers though. His attention is on a red-headed girl sitting on a love seat that’s looking at him like he just stepped out of the heavens.
“What are you doing here?” His head snaps to me as he sits up, the papers splashing across the desk. The lines that mar his forehead tell me everything I need to know.
This was, as I feared, counterproductive.
“I, um,” I stammer, clearing my throat, “I thought I’d drop by. I didn’t know you’d be busy.”
Glancing to my right, I see Red with the corner of her lips curling into a bitchy smirk. If I knew how to throw a punch, I’d land one in the middle of her too-pink pucker.
“I’m not busy.” Dominic leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I just didn’t expect you. Here.”
He’s unhurried, like he doesn’t even realize Red’s here. Like it’s not bothering me at all that another woman was alone with him and I just walked in. That annoys me. Big time. But if there’s one thing I learned from my mother, it’s not to let them see you sweat.
Growing up, lots of girls weren’t nice to me and Sienna. Our sophomore year, in particular, was rough. We learned to say everything with a smile, to act unaffected. It takes the wind out of their sails. That or it makes them react and look like idiots.
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