by Kendall Ryan
“Sorry about all your troubles, handsome,” Jess says, still smiling at me, but with a look of sympathy in her eyes. “It’ll pass, you know?”
I guess I have my answer. I nod, grumbling, “I know.”
She smiles sadly and pats my hand.
With that, we make our way into the kitchen where homemade macaroni and cheese is being prepared, along with a big pot of spicy chili and cornbread.
“It smells great, Jess. Can I help?” I ask, surveying the countertops. There’s no sign of Oliver, but he left right after we shared a drink in my office, so I’m assuming he’s here somewhere.
She gives her head a shake. “I’ve got everything under control. Figured you guys could use some comfort food.”
“Thoughtful of you, thank you.”
She nods, then gazes down at the girls. “Uncle Ollie is in the den, setting up for a tea party I hear never got finished from the last time he was over.”
“Tea party!” Lacey and Emilia both squeal at once and scramble from the kitchen toward the adjoining den.
I watch them go, their feet clapping across the hardwood floors as quickly as their chubby legs will carry them.
When I hear Oliver’s voice from the other room, and then laughter, I smile for the first time all day and release a slow exhale.
Then Oliver strolls into the kitchen and gives my hand a shake. “I’m glad you came.”
I nod. He knows me well. I almost didn’t. Hiding out at home in the dark where I could sulk properly sounded pretty damn appealing. But then I’d just end up watching the news on repeat and feeling even more miserable and helpless than I do already.
“Everything’s just about done. Oliver, pour some drinks, would ya, babe?” Jess says, giving the chili one final stir.
After peeking in the other room to check on the girls, I lean one hip against the counter and watch as the final dinner preparations are made.
Seeing Oliver and Jess together, it’s . . . I don’t know . . . nice. Domestic. Blissful.
It surprises me how much I enjoy watching them as they move comfortably together in the kitchen—him helping her reach a high cabinet, her finishing his sentences. The tender looks they give each other. My thoughts flash to Presley, and something kicks hard inside my chest.
This could be us, a voice whispers inside my head.
Yes, but that would mean giving up my entire way of life.
But it wouldn’t feel like “giving up” when you’d be gaining so much.
Christ. I shake my head. Now I’m answering the voices inside my head? Even I know that’s not a good sign.
“Are you all right, Dom?” Oliver asks, giving me a strange look.
I swallow. “Just hungry,” I lie. “Everything smells terrific.”
Jess smiles kindly at me, pausing with oven mitts on both hands to look at me. “Maybe you need a good woman in your life. Someone who can cook for you and take care of you. You deserve it, you know? And one stupid news story doesn’t change that.”
Oliver chuckles darkly. “Oh no, didn’t you know? Dom here is going to die old and lonely. It’s his lot in life.”
Jess scoffs, throwing me a pointed look over her shoulder on the way to the oven. “I said what I said.”
As we sit down to dinner, I still haven’t been able to quiet the voices inside my head, but two things are certain: there’s a strange pinching feeling inside my chest, and I’m more eager than ever to talk with Presley in a few hours.
Chapter Twenty-One
Presley
The sun just set, and with it, all the warmth was sucked from the city, it seems. Today was cooler than usual for July, and the evening air is damp.
Tugging my sweater tighter around me, I check the maps app on my phone to make sure I’m walking in the right direction. If the GPS is accurate, then Moon and Stars Lounge and Bar should be right here. I frown, looking at the barbershop where the tarot card parlor should be.
Turning, I finally spot it—an unassuming narrow staircase that leads down toward a dark wooden door with a silver crescent moon nailed to it.
A little chill of excitement runs down my spine. I was surprised when Dominic agreed to meet me here. It was a place neither of us had been, which would ensure it would be neutral ground.
He said that I could name the place, so why not pick a spot I’ve been dreaming of coming to for months?
I walk into the dimly lit lounge and wait for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The door swings closed behind me. The lounge is all velvet and low-hanging lights, with a bar at the far back of the room. Art on the walls depicts the goddesses in all their beauty and ferocious glory. It’s surprisingly fuller than I thought it would be.
When I can make out the shadowy figures, huddled over their tables with glasses of wine, I find the silhouette I’m looking for. As I gaze at the line of his broad shoulders and the curl of hair at the nape of his neck . . . a little pang of worry shivers through me, and I desperately want to turn and run back to Bianca’s apartment and bury myself in her couch cushions.
This is going to be impossible.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my composure.
Dominic turns, his eyes so dark and empty that I almost take a step back in shock.
I take in everything in a matter of seconds.
Thick eyelashes. A strong jaw. Too pretty of a mouth. The notch of an Adam’s apple peeking out above his shirt collar. He’s perfection, but he looks more somber than I’ve ever seen him—even if he’s trying hard to hide it.
“Presley.” Dominic stands from the table and pulls out a chair for me.
I take a seat, acutely aware of how stiff we’re both acting. A glass of water is waiting for me, so I take a greedy gulp.
“This is quite the little spot,” he says, his gaze flitting from table to table. “I ordered a drink, and they asked me what my zodiac sign is.”
“What is your sign?” I ask, intrigued.
“Aquarius,” he says, then gives me a curious look. “What?”
“No, it’s just . . . of course you’re an Aquarius.” I should have known from the beginning. The rebellious nature, the desire for innovation, the need for emotional freedom . . . it all makes sense.
“I’m not a big water person. I don’t love swimming.”
“Aquarius is an air sign,” I say with a smirk into my glass of water.
“Ah, well, you’re the smart one. So, what are you?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s your sign?”
“Scorpio.”
He shudders dramatically. “That sounds intimidating.”
“We’re conniving . . . vindictive.” I smile sweetly. “But also loyal friends and lovers. Ride or die, as they say.”
“Ride or die,” he repeats, as if he’s never heard the phrase before.
He raises his glass of whiskey to my water, and we clink them together amiably. Sitting here, talking like we’re on our first date . . . it’s definitely weird.
Better to cut to the chase.
“Anyway. There’s something I want—”
“Do you want a real drink? Let me get you a drink.” Suddenly, he’s on his feet and heading toward the bar.
Okay . . .
He has to know why I asked him here. He knows we need to talk. Is he avoiding it?
When he returns with a tall glass of bubbly, I smile. At least he knows my drink.
“Thank you,” I say. I clear my throat, attempting to summon the courage I need in order to have this conversation. I practiced it in the mirror this morning, ran it by Bianca before I left, and even rehearsed it on the walk here.
How hard is it to tell an emotionally unavailable man you’re in love with him?
A woman wearing a long purple gown makes her way to our table. In her hands is a stack of beautifully illustrated tarot cards. The drawings are intricate, moons and flowers and hands and hearts—all the makings for a beautiful deck. The gilded edges catch in the candlelight like jewelry.
&n
bsp; “A reading?” she asks, presenting the cards before us.
“No, thanks,” I say. I need to get these words out before I explode, lady. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something?
“Can she use your cards?” Dominic asks suddenly. He turns to me, meeting my surprised gaze. “What? You read, don’t you?”
The woman turns to me with an amused tilt of the head.
Oh my God. This is so humiliating.
“I—sometimes. My grandmother taught me,” I stammer, feeling my cheeks growing rosier by the second. Tarot cards have been a very private part of my life, and to suddenly be facing a professional—well, it’s humbling. I really don’t want some stranger listening in.
But without another word, the woman places the stack of cards in the center of our table and gives me a reassuring wink. Then she walks away, her long skirts brushing the floor behind her.
“They’re bigger than I thought they would be,” Dominic says, brushing his fingers against the deck.
It’s so hard to be sitting here with him, with all of his masculine beauty and strength and his quiet confidence, and with the heartbreaking knowledge that he’s not mine. Knowing I can’t touch him. Knowing he left a huge hole in my heart.
I release a short sigh. So far this isn’t going how I planned.
“Do you actually want me to read your cards?” I ask, a little unsure of his intentions.
Do I want to read his cards? I admit I’m fiendishly curious.
“Sure.” His tone is casual, even if he doesn’t appear entirely relaxed.
I contemplate the decision for a moment. Maybe the cards will help me say what I want to say to him. They’ve never failed me before. And maybe it’s crazy, but using the cards helps me feel closer to my grandma, and my mom too. I could use a little motherly wisdom right about now.
“Okay.” I shuffle the deck, piece by piece, the way I was taught. “The way I do tarot is just for beginners. It is only as accurate as you let it be.”
“I have an open mind,” he says.
“All right. Cut the deck into three stacks,” I tell him, and he does. “Now, reveal the leftmost card. This card will give us insight into your past.”
“The Emperor?” he says, scrutinizing the bearded man in the picture. “What does it mean?”
“The Emperor is the father figure, which is very appropriate for you. In your recent past, you became a father to two little girls, and also inherited an enterprise from your own father. You have become a father in both your personal and professional lives, in a sense. But it’s not just the Emperor. It’s the Reversed Emperor. See how it’s facing me instead of you?”
“What does that mean?” His brows push together.
I wonder briefly if showing my new boss / ex-lover his spiritual flaws is really the best way to ensure a happy working relationship.
Fuck it.
“It means you are—or were—exercising too much control on your own life. Your inflexibility was stifling the natural flow of events.”
Dominic furrows his brow, making me wonder if I’ve already lost him. “Continue.”
“Turn over the next card. This will give us insight into your present.”
We both lean in to see what the cards will reveal.
The Hangman. Interesting. I rarely get this card. I have to dig into my banks of knowledge for this one.
“That seems ominous,” he mutters into his whiskey before taking a slow drink.
“Not at all. The Hangman is actually representative of letting go. And since it’s upright, it means that you are excelling in it. You’re moving in the right direction. That’s good!”
Without thinking, I reach out and grasp Dom’s hand in a gesture meant to comfort, but the moment my skin touches his, a shock reverberates through both of us. I can tell by the way his lips part that he feels it too. I pull my hand back, chastising myself for crossing that physical boundary.
Dominic clears his throat. “Let me guess,” he says, pointing at the last unturned card. “The future?”
“Yes,” I say. My stomach churns.
He flips the card just enough for his own eyes to see. Then he lets it slide from his fingers, still facedown.
“What is it?” I ask, curious to see what he’s hiding.
He gazes straight into my eyes. “I can’t be with you, Presley.”
This time, his rejection is like getting punched in the throat. I feel the lump form like a bruise and lodge itself in my trachea. I can’t speak. Can’t breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cutting through me like a cold wind.
“No,” I manage to croak. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He shakes his head, roughly rubbing his eyes with the heal of his hand.
“I do, though,” I say, my voice wobbling. “You told me not to fall in love with you. I did it anyway. I guess I’m not very good at following directions.”
Tears now falling freely from my eyes roll down both cheeks, and I quickly wipe them away. But I’m not ashamed. It feels so good to just say it out loud. I hadn’t imagined that I would ever get this far. I thought he would retreat before I got the chance to bare my soul like this. But I’m not hiding my truth any longer.
“I don’t have the capacity for love,” he says softly, his eyes downcast at the table in front of us.
“That’s stupid.”
He looks up at me in shock.
“I mean, for a CEO, you’re really dumb. You are capable of love. I’ve seen it in the way you take care of your daughters. And in the way that you look to Fran for help and advice when you need it most. I’ve seen it in the way that you work with Oliver. You trust him, more than anyone. I’ve seen it when you talk about your brother that you lost. I’ve seen it when you first gave me that promotion—”
Dominic opens his mouth to object.
“—and don’t pretend that was strictly professional. You care about me and my future. I saw it when I was with Emilia and Lacey, braiding their hair. I know you felt it.”
“Presley . . .”
“That is love. Love is messy and imperfect. It isn’t that you aren’t capable of it. It’s that you’re overwhelmed by it.”
Dominic is stunned silent. I can’t quite make out the meaning behind the look in his eyes. I’ve way overstepped what is appropriate to say to one’s boss, but any and all boundaries crumbled into dust the first time he kissed me.
“I can’t keep working for you,” I blurt out. “If you can’t be with me in the way that we both need you to be, then I’m going to walk away. It’s the only way.”
These aren’t the words I planned on saying, but as soon as they’re out of my mouth, I’m flooded with a sense of relief, knowing they’re the right ones. There’s no way I can work alongside him now—this man who took my virginity, took my whole heart, and offered me nothing in return. If I’m going to pick up the pieces, I need to do it where I won’t be constantly hiding from his shadow.
The silence is deafening, and other people in the lounge are shooting curious glances our way. I’ve made a scene. This isn’t how I wanted to say it. I wanted to be strong, aloof even.
I pull a tissue from my purse, wipe away the tears, and quietly blow my nose. I won’t look at him. I must seem like an immature lovesick idiot to him, and I couldn’t bear to see myself through his eyes right now.
When I look up, he’s placed his final card directly in front of me. I pick it up with shaking fingers. The Lovers.
His voice is soft as he says, “I might be totally awful at this relationship thing.”
Still unable to meet his eyes, I feel the air shift between us. What’s happening?
Dominic takes a deep breath. “I might be insensitive. I might not know when you’re hurting, or when you need me. I might need a lot of space.”
The words fall out of his mouth like salts into a warm bath, easing the knot in my stomach and the lump in my throat.
As if he can rea
d my mind, he lifts my chin with his finger. My lower lip quivers, and his gaze falls to my mouth. With one movement, he leans across the table and kisses me tenderly on the lips. My hands find his under the table. When he releases me, he drops his forehead against mine, our hands tangled together, an array of forgotten cards scattered in front of us.
“I can’t lose you,” he murmurs. “I need you, Presley.”
“What does that mean? I can’t keep doing this. This back-and-forth with you.”
“I know you can’t. And the truth is, neither can I.”
“What are you saying?”
He pauses, his stormy eyes on mine. “I’ve felt for so long that I was unlovable. That I had too much baggage, and that no one would possibly want to take that on. To be with me—to accept me and all of my many flaws.”
I smile at him sadly. “That’s not even a little bit true, Dom.” I can’t help but think of his ex that discarded him and their babies like they meant absolutely nothing to her.
He takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I don’t deserve you.”
“I go after what I want.” I shrug, trying to lighten the mood.
“I can see that.” He smiles. “I want you too, Presley. I shouldn’t. But I’m selfish and I do. There’s no one else.”
I feel like I could float away. My eyes flutter closed. The anxiety in my chest unknots, and I let out a breathless laugh.
“What do you—” I start to ask before he cuts me off with a hard kiss. I pull him close to me, leaning far across the table for a better angle. With every push of my lips against his, I want him to feel exactly how much he means to me. And by the way he kisses me back, I really think he does.
Pulling back a few inches, Dominic touches my cheek, meeting my eyes with a soft expression. "How can you just forgive me so easily? I paid you after we had sex, for fuck's sake. And in London I was so cold. I acted like a complete and total prick."
I swallow down a sudden lump of emotion. He's not known for dramatic emotional displays or baring his soul like this. It's a big moment for him, and his apology means everything to me. He was cold in London, that’s true, but he was still hurting then. I see that now. It was a defense mechanism.
