Dominic (Regretfully Yours #4)

Chapter 1 When The Truth Blooms

WHEN THE TRUTH BLOOMS

ENYA

“Did you know that he’s a fucking NSA agent?” my sister demands.

“What?”

Maggie has obviously lost her mind, or she’s been watching too many spy thrillers, or both.

“Did you know that Nick is a government agent?” she grits out.

My brain does a quick reboot. “Nick works at the Smithsonian, Maggie. He’s not—”

“He works for the NSA, and I doubt his real name is Nick Smith,” she snaps, cutting me off.

“Maggie, have you been drinking?” I need to ask because this is crazy talk.

“Enya!” Maggie screams. “He was part of the task force investigating Daddy.”

For a moment, I’m convinced the apartment has been vacuum-sealed because I can’t draw oxygen into my lungs.

I pick up my phone and dial Nick’s number.

It doesn’t ring, not even once, before an automated voice says, “We're sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

I shake my head and try again.

Same message.

And again. And again.

“Stop it, Enya.” My sister tries to take my phone from me, but I evade her.

I check my messages, and the last message from Nick was three days ago.

Just landed in Paris. Will call when I can.

He didn’t call. I told myself he got busy. I lied to myself that it was a time zone thing, even as I wondered if he was done with me. Because how could a man, as handsome and wonderful as Nick, want someone lackluster and drab like me?

I don’t have my father’s charisma or Maggie’s beauty and smarts. I’m a boring florist.

But he never made me feel like that when he was with me. He was part of my life for six months—six golden, impossible, lovely months, where I was the center of someone’s attention. He made me feel seen. Cherished.

But now it appears that I mistook a spotlight for sunlight.

Mistook calculation for affection.

Mistook attention for…love.

“You are precious, baby, and you’re mine.”

“Love is too small a word for what I feel for you.”

Was it all lies?

No. Not possible.

But…also, very possible, since Daddy’s chief of staff was just arrested on espionage charges. I thought that was the scandal Maggie was talking about on the phone when she called and demanded time with me.

“This can’t be true, Maggie,” I whisper, shaking my head as if motion could shove denial back into truth.

“Enya.” Maggie’s voice is tight with irritation. “Wake up. Your boyfriend—and I use that term generously—was investigating our father.”

The ground tilts.

My hand reaches for the back of Grandma Lucille’s floral loveseat. She used to lie on it while I braided her silver hair. My fingers dig into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping me from breaking into a hundred pieces.

“How do you even know this?” I breathe.

“I’m a lobbyist. People talk to me, and some of them are from the DOJ.”

She paces, her red-soled heels tapping furiously against the hardwood, her navy blazer looking painfully out of place in my soft, cluttered living room. The scent of roses from the flower shop below my apartment drifts upward—warm, safe, familiar—while my entire world fractures around it.

“But Daddy is innocent, right?” My voice splinters.

She groans. “This is DC. You think that matters? He’s tainted by association. Lowell was selling intelligence.”

I can’t believe it. I know Lowell. I even went on a couple of dates with him. Disasters. But that was expected. After all, I’ve always been the outsider in the family. But Nick made me an insider. He charmed my father and Maggie and—

Oh my God!

“Daddy’s name was attached to half the compromised cables,” Maggie continues, flustered. “The task force had to clear everyone in his orbit. Including him and me. And you, probably.”

I press a hand over my stomach, nausea rising fast.

“Maggie, I don’t understand what—"

“You,” she interrupts, she jabs a finger toward me, sharp as a knife point, “brought an NSA agent into our family.”

“I didn’t bring an agent,” I croak. “I brought my—my boyfriend to dinner.”

Saying the word hurts.

“Your boyfriend was lying to you every second you were together.” Maggie’s tone doesn’t soften for a beat. “Enya, have you even heard from him in the last few days?”

I sit down on the loveseat, my legs shaking. “He’s in Paris. For an auction—”

She speaks over me. “He’s interrogating Lowell, Enya. They arrested him two days ago. God, you’re so na?ve. You never ask questions. You think life is one big Hallmark movie.”

Her contempt slices through my ribs, lodging deep.

She’s not wrong. I did walk straight into Nick’s arms.

I love him.

But do I, really?

Can I love someone who doesn’t exist?

Because if Nick is an NSA agent, then…nothing is real.

Am I real?

Yes, painfully real, Enya, and it’s time, as it always is, to pay the piper.

I handed Nick everything. My trust. My heart. My body. My every soft, foolish part, and he turned it into intel.

“Thanks for coming, Maggie. I’d like to be alone now.” My voice sounds far away.

“I’m not done.” Maggie sits next to me, and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Look at me.”

I do because I don’t have the energy to fight her.

“I came to warn you.” She’s using her calm voice, the one you use on a spooked animal. “Before reporters dig deeper. Lowell is the headline, but the press loves a side story. If they find out you were sleeping with someone on the task force—”

I moan, tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Christ! Enya.” Maggie pushes me away. I fall against the backrest with a soft thud.

I close my eyes for a long moment and regroup. I know how to do this. After a lifetime of being treated like crap by my family, I’m an expert at swallowing emotions.

But it’s never been this hard before.

With my father and sister, I see the backhand coming a mile away. But I never expected the knife in the back now, not even in my nightmares.

I take a deep breath and open my eyes, willing the tears away. “No one will care about my ex-boyfriend. No one will find out.”

She scoffs. “This is D.C,” she repeated, “everyone knows everything. People know who you’re fucking before you do.”

My cheeks burn. Shame and grief twist together, choking me.

Just a week ago, I thought Nick would propose once he was back from Paris because of how he was looking at me, talking to me, telling me he loved me, and asking me to accept a dinner invitation from my father so he could speak to him.

I thought he was going to ask Daddy for permission to ask for my hand, as they do in the old movies.

Lowell had been there at that dinner, along with a senator and an ambassador.

Nick had spent most of the evening talking to Lowell. At the time, I took it as proof that he wasn’t using me to climb the political ladders of D.C.—because if that were his aim, he would’ve been charming senators, ingratiating himself with my father.

I told myself he was paying attention to Lowell because I’d once mentioned I’d gone on a date or two with him years ago. I thought Nick was jealous. I was absurdly flattered by it.

Now I know the truth.

He was talking to Lowell because he intended to arrest him.

And that’s the part I can’t reconcile—if he already had what he needed, if the outcome was inevitable, then why did he come home with me that night?

Why did he touch me the way he did? Why did he kiss my skin like he was starving, hold me like I was precious, make love to me like I was the most beautiful, cherished woman in the world—if it was all a lie?

“Look, I know this is a blow, but if he comes around, you need to—"

A hollow laugh escapes me. “If what you’re saying is true, do you really think he’s going to show his face to me again?”

I’ll never see him again. That realization crushes me. It also makes me feel pathetic because, even now, a large part of me is in denial. Hoping against hope, he’s going to walk through that door, since he has a key to the apartment, and say he’s back and here’s a diamond ring he got me from Paris.

It’s an antique, baby, full of history—so we can build a future and memories as a family.

“You’re probably right.” Maggie shrugs. “Cut your losses. Stay away from him.” Then, softer—but barely audible, she adds, “I’m trying to protect you.”

I shake my head. “No, Maggie, you’re protecting Daddy and yourself.”

She freezes for half a beat—maybe recognizing the truth—but it passes. Maggie is a pragmatist.

She straightens. “If he reaches out to you, tell me. Someone from DOJ will probably want a statement.”

That jolts me. “From me? Why?”

“Because they talked to me not two hours ago,” she snaps, frustration bubbling up. “Daddy briefed me. I’m briefing you. Just tell them the truth.”

She gets up and walks brusquely to my front door. She turns around before opening it to pin me with a stare. “Enya, I hope this teaches you not to trust the first man who smiles at you.”

Her words burn whatever is left of my composure, as does the soft click of the door behind her that tells me I’m alone.

I crumble.

I sit still, sobbing.

I should walk down the stairs, through the back hall, and go to Lucille’s Flowers, my shop, my world. I should flip the sign to OPEN. I should get to work. But I can’t, because I’m trembling violently.

I pick up my phone again, my hands shaking, and call him.

Just one more time. Just in case….

Same result.

That’s it. No words. He’s just gone. I’m ghosted.

That’s my goodbye and my punishment.