34. Tatiana
34
Tatiana
T he ride back to the penthouse is excruciating. Dom stares out the window, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts, while I pretend to be fascinated by the passing streetlights. The silence between us feels like a third passenger, taking up all the oxygen in the backseat.
Ric catches my eye in the rearview mirror and quickly looks away. Poor guy probably wishes he’d called in sick today. The tension in this car is thick enough to cut with a knife and serve on fancy crackers.
Neither of us says a word. What would be the point? Dom’s clearly in one of his moods, withdrawing into that fortress he calls a mind, where mere mortals like me aren’t allowed. He’s either pissed off at Rylan for existing, or pissed off at me. For the same reason.
When we arrive, the elevator ride is somehow worse. Just the two of us in a small box, ascending twenty floors at what feels like a glacial pace. I steal a glance at his reflection in the polished doors. He looks exhausted, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced than usual.
Two days. And then back to being just... me.
Without Dom.
When the elevator finally opens, we walk to the penthouse door. Dom swipes his key card and we go inside.
The door shuts behind us and he loosens his tie with a practiced motion.
“I need a drink,” he mutters, heading straight for the bar cart in the living room.
I follow him, dropping my clutch on the console table with more force than necessary.
“We need to talk,” I say firmly, “And don’t give me some bullshit about having work to do.”
He pauses, crystal decanter halfway to a tumbler.
“Fine,” he says after a beat, setting both down. “Talk.”
I study him a moment. “Dom. I’m tired of this hot-cold routine.”
His jaw tightens. “We had this discussion in the car, earlier...”
“No, we started a discussion that you conveniently shut down.” I move closer, not letting him retreat this time. “And now we’re going to finish it.”
For a second I think he’s going to argue. Instead, he gestures toward the living room. “After you.”
We sit on opposite ends of his ridiculously large designer couch. The distance between us feels both too small and impossibly vast.
I take a deep breath. No more dancing around this. “Earlier tonight, you told me I was worth a hundred of Rylan. You defended me. Protected me. But the minute we left the event, you pulled away again.” My hands grip my knees to stop them from shaking. “I need to know what that means, Dom. What any of this means. Is it really just all for show? All of it?”
“The deal closes in two days, Tatiana,” he says, staring out the window. “None of this will matter then.”
“It matters now.” My voice is stronger than I feel. “It matters to me .”
The air between us feels charged, like right before a thunderstorm breaks. My palms are sweaty, and I resist the urge to wipe them on my pants.
“What do you want me to say?” he asks, his voice low.
“I want you to tell me if any of this was real. The way you look at me sometimes, the way you touch me...” I pause, take a breath. “It doesn’t feel like just sex or convenience or whatever this marriage was supposed to be.”
Great job, Tatiana. Nothing says ‘strong independent woman’ like begging for emotional validation from your temporary husband. Gold star.
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as a sign of his frustration. “It’s complicated.”
“No shit.” I lean forward. “You said it yourself, we have two days left. Two, and then we sign those papers and pretend none of this ever happened. I think I deserve some honesty before we get there.”
And maybe, just maybe, a reason not to sign them at all.
“What exactly do you want to know?” he deflects carefully.
I smile patiently. “I already told. I’ll say it again. What is this between us?” The question comes out softer than I intended. More vulnerable.
He studies me for a long moment, and I fight the urge to squirm under his intense gaze. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even try to skirt the question this time. He just says... nothing.
I fold my hands in my lap. “Okay, let’s start with this. You told me I was worth ten of him. A hundred.” I swallow hard. “Did you mean it, or was that just part of the act?”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. He starts blinking rapidly, and looks away. But again, he doesn’t answer.
And then, he does.
And it changes everything.
“I meant it.”
The simple admission sends a rush of warmth through me, quickly followed by uncertainty.
“Then why push me away?” I ask. “I know this whole situation is temporary, but what happens between us in private doesn’t feel fake, Dom. And pretending it is hurts. I mean, really fucking hurts.”
God, I sound pathetic. Like a desperate woman clinging to scraps of affection.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he says quietly. There’s something unspoken in his eyes, like he’s been holding onto something for far too long.
“Not an answer.”
He stands abruptly, and begins pacing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the Manhattan skyline. The city lights create a halo effect around his silhouette.
“You’ve become... important... to me,” he says finally, his back still turned. “More than I expected. More than I planned for.”
My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to stay seated, to not read too much into his words. “And that scares you.”
He turns to face me. “Yes.”
The honesty startles me. Dom Rossi doesn’t admit to fear. He bulldozes through obstacles, demanding and taking what he wants.
“Why?” I press. “I’m not asking for forever, Dom. I’m just asking for honesty about what this is. Why does it scare you that I’ve become... important?”
“Because this situation is more complicated than just business now,” he admits, moving closer. “And I don’t do complicated. Not with relationships.”
I stand up, needing to be on equal footing for this conversation. “Wow, that’s rich coming from a man who drunkenly married a stranger in Vegas.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up slightly. “Fair point.”
“I’m not trying to trap you into anything, Dom,” I say, softening my tone. “I know the annulment happens in two days. I know that was the deal. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening here because my feelings are getting... tangled.”
Understatement of the century. They’re not tangled; they’re a complete disaster.
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his intoxicating sandalwood and leather cologne. My body betrays me, responding to his proximity like it always does.
“Mine too,” he admits so quietly I almost miss it.
I look up at him, searching his face for any sign that he’s playing me, that this is just another manipulation. All I see is conflict, and something that looks dangerously like desire.
“So what do we do about it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze drops to my lips. “I... don’t know.”
Liar. You want me as much as I want you.
“The clock is ticking, Dom,” I remind him. “So two days from now we just walk away and pretend none of this happened? That we don’t feel anything?”
He reaches out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face with unexpected gentleness. “Would that be so bad? A clean break?”
The question stings more than it should. “Is that what you want? A clean break?”
His hand cups my cheek, and I hate myself a little for leaning into his touch. “What I want doesn’t matter.”
“It does, ” I insist. “It matters to me. ”
Something dark flashes in his eyes. “Tatiana...”
“Just tell me one thing,” I say, forcing myself to maintain eye contact despite the tears threatening to form. “Was any of it real? Any of it at all?”
The silence stretches between us, taut and fragile. I can hear my own heartbeat, too fast, too loud.
“I’ve already told you the answer to that...” he replies.
“Then I want to hear it again,” I tell him. “Please.”
“Yes,” he finally says. His thumb traces my lower lip, sending shivers down my spine. “More than I want to admit.”
The admission hangs in the air between us, changing everything and nothing at all. We’re still bound by a contract. Still heading for an annulment in two days. Still trapped in this beautiful, temporary cage we’ve built together.
But for now, in this moment, as Dom looks at me with hunger and something that might be tenderness, it feels like enough. Enough to get me through the next two days. Enough to let me pretend, just for a little while longer, that this could be something real.
His eyes darken as he steps even closer, his intention clear in every line of his body. And despite everything... the hurt, the confusion, the inevitable rush toward the end... I find myself wanting nothing more than to lose myself in him at least one more time.
Tomorrow, we can go back to reality. Tomorrow, we can remember all the reasons this can’t work.
But tonight?
Tonight, I’ll take whatever he’s willing to give.
Even if it breaks my heart in the end.