47. Tatiana
47
Tatiana
I stare at the business proposal in front of me, trying to process Dom’s words through the sudden roaring in my ears.
My own consulting company.
A legitimate contract with Serenity Shores.
No strings attached.
And then there’s the other part... the part where he just said he loves me. The man who tried to trade me to his brother like a baseball card is now sitting across from me, his dark eyes vulnerable, his voice raw with emotion, telling me he loves me.
I take a careful sip of my coffee, buying time while my brain scrambles to form coherent thoughts. The café around us continues its gentle hum of conversation and clinking silverware, but it feels distant, as if we’re in our own little bubble of emotional chaos.
“When you told me I was important to you, and then you failed me utterly at dinner the next day... it almost broke me,” I finally say, my voice steadier than I feel. “But I also see you owning that failure... owning all of it. I see the change.”
Dom leans forward slightly, hope flickering in his eyes. The cut on his lip from his fight with Nico shines a bright, painful red.
“The thing is, Dom,” I continue, “I’m terrified of trusting you again. My ex leaving me at the altar was one thing. But what you did—” I swallow hard. “Setting me up with your brother after making me believe there was something real between us? That was something else entirely.”
His jaw tightens, shame washing over his features. “I know. It was unforgivable.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I close the portfolio, running my fingers over its smooth leather surface. “I need to know why. Not the surface reason. The guilt over your brother. The deeper why. Why would you sabotage something that was starting to feel real? It can’t be just guilt.”
Dom takes a deep breath, and for once, he doesn’t deflect or retreat into cold control.
“Because it was starting to feel too real,” he admits. “And real means vulnerable. Real means I could fail you, just like I failed Nico. Real means caring so much that losing you would destroy me.” He looks down at his hands. “So I destroyed it first. I told myself you deserved someone better than me. Someone who could never hurt you. Someone stronger than me. Someone who wasn’t a coward. Someone who could stand up to his little brother. I wasn’t that man. At least not a few days ago.”
God, we’re both so fucked up.
“Self-sabotage.” I nod slowly. “I’m familiar with the concept. Though my version usually involves ice cream at 2 AM, not elaborate betrayal schemes.”
A surprised laugh escapes him, relief visible in the slight relaxation of his shoulders.
“I love you,” I say quietly, the words slipping out before my brain can engage its usual caution filters. “That’s the worst part of all this. I fell in love with you somewhere along the way. And I hate that I still love you, even after what you did.”
Dom goes completely still, his eyes widening. “You love me?”
“Unfortunately.” I attempt a smile, though it feels wobbly. “My therapist is going to have a field day with this one.”
“Tatiana,” he breathes, and the way he says my name, like it’s the most precious thing in the world, makes my chest ache.
“I’m not saying we can just pick up where we left off,” I warn him. “Trust is earned. And you’ve got a significant deficit in your trust account at the moment.”
“I understand.” He nods, earnest in a way I’ve rarely seen him. “I’ll spend every day making deposits if you’ll let me.”
“Financial metaphors? Now you’re speaking my language.” I check my Cartier watch. “I should go. I really do have that meeting.”
Dom looks stricken. “So that’s it?”
“For now.” I stand, gathering my purse and the portfolio. “But I’m taking this with me to review properly. And...” I hesitate, heart hammering. “I’m free tonight. If you wanted to continue this conversation.”
Hope blossoms across his face, transforming his features. “My place?”
I shake my head. “Neutral territory. I’ll text you the address.”
“Tatiana,” he says as I turn to leave. “Thank you. For this chance.”
I pause, looking back at him... this beautiful, damaged man who broke my heart and is now trying to piece it back together.
“Don’t make me regret it,” I tell him, then walk away before I can change my mind.
Eight hours later, I’m pacing my apartment, second-guessing everything from my decision to see Dom again to my choice of outfit.
Black dress? Too formal. Jeans? Too casual. Hazmat suit to protect myself from emotional contamination? Sadly not in my closet.
I finally settle on dark jeans and a silky cream blouse that makes me feel both confident and comfortable. I’ve texted Dom the address of a small, upscale restaurant near Central Park. It’s public enough to feel safe, private enough for an honest conversation.
Just as I’m applying a final touch of lipstick, my phone buzzes with a text from Sabrina: Good luck tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Actually, scratch that. My judgment is questionable at best. Love you xo
I smile despite my nerves. I’ll try not to get temp-married again. At least not tonight.
The restaurant is quiet when I arrive, just as I’d hoped. I’ve requested a corner table, and Dom is already there, standing when he sees me approach. He’s wearing a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt, open at the collar. Casual for him, which means he’s only slightly more dressed up than the average CEO.
I haven’t seen any sign of his security detail tonight. But that probably means they’re making an effort to blend into the background more than usual.
“You look beautiful,” he says simply.
“Thanks.” I slide into my seat, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. “You look pretty hot yourself. “
The waiter brings menus and takes our drink orders. Pinot noir for me, scotch for Dom.
And then we’re alone again, the candlelight casting soft shadows between us.
“I reviewed your proposal,” I tell him after a moment. “It’s... impressive. And generous.”
“It’s fair,” he corrects. “You’ve earned it. Your insight on the supplier issue alone saved millions.”
“Yes, but—” I take a breath. “I don’t want you to think I’m accepting you back because of this business opportunity.”
“That’s not why I offered it.” He leans forward, his gaze intense. “The offer stands regardless of what happens between us personally. I need you to believe that.”
Our drinks arrive, saving me from having to respond immediately. I take a generous sip of wine, letting the rich flavor coat my tongue.
“I believe you,” I finally say. “But here’s the thing, Dom. I’m not just worried about what happened with Nico. I’m worried about your pattern. You push me away, you pull me close. You’re hot, then you’re cold. How do I know you won’t panic and shut down the next time things get too real?”
He considers this, swirling his scotch thoughtfully. “Fair question. I can’t promise I won’t ever have moments of fear or doubt. But I can promise that I’m starting therapy. I can also promise that I’m learning to talk about those feelings instead of acting on them impulsively. And I can promise that I’ll never, ever use you as a pawn again.”
“You’re starting therapy?” I can’t hide my surprise.
“That’s the plan.” He nods. “I’m trying to get Nico to join me for joint sessions as well.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest. That’s more commitment to change than my ex ever showed.
Maybe he really does mean it this time.
“I appreciate your honesty,” I tell him. “And the effort you’re making.”
“I’m trying, Tatiana.” His voice drops, intimate despite our public setting. “I’ve never tried this hard at anything that wasn’t business-related.”
We order dinner. Sea bass for me, steak for him. The conversation shifts to lighter territory. He tells me about the dirty Italian songs he sung with Nico after their fight. I share stories from my week back at work, including Christopher’s unexpectedly profound relationship advice.
By the time dessert arrives, this dark chocolate soufflé thing that we agree to share, something has definitely shifted between us. The tension is still there, but it’s different now. Charged with possibility rather than pain.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Dom says as we finish the last of the soufflé. “I still haven’t signed the annulment papers.”
“I know.” I dab my lips with my napkin. “My lawyer told me.”
“I couldn’t do it.” He meets my eyes directly. “Not without at least trying to fix what I broke.”
“And if I’d refused to see you? If I’d told you it was over for good?”
“Then I would have signed them and let you go,” he says simply. “But I had to try.”
I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “I don’t want you to sign them.” The words come out in a rush. “Not yet. Maybe not at all.”
Dom freezes, his eyes widening. “Are you saying—”
“I’m saying we should try. For real this time. No contracts, no time limits, no hidden agendas. Just us.”
His hand reaches across the table, covering mine. The warmth of his palm against my skin sends electricity up my arm.
“Come home with me,” he says, his voice dropping to that deep register that always makes my insides melt. “Not for sex... unless you want that. Just to be together. To talk more. To start building something real.”
I hesitate only briefly before nodding. “Okay.”
He pays the bill despite my insistence that I’ll do it, and soon we’re in his car, Ric driving with discreet professionalism. I finally noticed the security detail earlier: Just the follow car, hanging back a respectful distance.
“You scaled back security?” I ask.
Dom purses his lips. “I’ve told them to be more discreet. I know how much you value your independence. I won’t compromise that again.”
It’s a small thing, perhaps, but it speaks volumes about his willingness to change.
When we reach his penthouse, memories wash over me. Some painful, some surprisingly sweet. The last time I was here, I was bent over his couch and hastily used for sex. He says he’s changed...
Please don’t let me be making a colossal mistake.
“Would you like a drink?” Dom asks as we enter the spacious living room.
“No, I’m good.” I’m already feeling light-headed enough from the wine at dinner and the emotional whiplash of the day.
I notice the coffee table has been replaced, presumably a casualty of the break-in and the fight that followed. There’s also a new painting on the wall. Something abstract and vibrant, full of motion and life.
“I like the new art,” I tell him, moving closer to examine it.
“I thought it was time for a change.” He comes to stand beside me, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “A fresh start.”
I turn to face him, and now we’re only inches apart. His dark eyes search mine, patient yet hungry.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “Terrified, actually.”
“Of me?” The pain in his voice is palpable.
“Of us. Of trying again and getting hurt. Of loving you so much it consumes me.”
He raises a hand slowly, giving me time to pull away, and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’m scared too,” he confesses. “But I’m more scared of losing you forever.”
And then I’m kissing him, or he’s kissing me. I’m not sure who moves first.
All I know is that suddenly his lips are on mine, hot and desperate, and my arms are around his neck, pulling him closer.
He tastes like scotch and salt, and I drink him in like I’ve been dying of thirst. His hands slide down to my waist, firm but gentle, holding me as if I might shatter.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips. “God, I love you so much.”
“Show me,” I whisper back.
He searches my face. “Are you sure?”
In answer, I take his hand and lead him toward the bedroom. His bedroom, where we’ve shared moments of passion without ever truly letting each other in.
Tonight feels different. As we undress each other slowly, there’s none of the frantic desperation of our previous encounters. Instead, there’s a reverence in the way his fingers trace the curve of my breast, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hip.
When he lays me on the bed, I notice the scar on his side. Still pink and new from the stitches. I touch it gently, feeling a surge of protectiveness. He flinches ever so slightly.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“Not really.” He kisses my forehead, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. “Nothing hurts when I’m with you.”
“Sappy,” I tease, but my voice catches with emotion.
His smile is soft. “Only for you.”
Our bodies come together with a familiarity that surprises me. My body recognizes his, welcomes him. But where our previous encounters were dominated by his need for control, this time we move together as equals, giving and taking pleasure in equal measure.
He worships my body with his mouth, his tongue tracing patterns on my skin that make me gasp and arch into his touch. When his lips close around my nipple, I clutch at his hair, holding him to me as heat pools between my thighs.
“I need you,” I breathe.
He looks up, his eyes dark with desire but also something deeper. Vulnerability, love, devotion. “Tell me what you want, Tatiana.”
His breath hitches as I pull him closer, my fingers trembling against the stubble of his jaw.
“I need you inside me,” I murmur, lips grazing his ear. “Every part of you, Dom.” The hunger in my voice surprises even me, raw and unfiltered.
He obeys, sliding into me with a groan that vibrates against my throat. No condom, the realization flickers, but I swallow it down.
Let him feel me as I truly am, and I him. Let this be real.
His thickness stretches me, achingly slow, until our hips lock together.
“ God , yes,” I breathe, arching into him. “Just like that…”
His forehead drops to mine, our shared air hot and sweet.
“ Yours ,” he growls, the word a vow. “Body, soul... everything .”
His hands roam my skin like he’s memorizing it, fingertips tracing my ribs, my hips, my thighs. I melt into his touch, almost desperately.
“Mine,” I whisper back, nipping his lower lip. “But I’m yours, too. Always . Forever. ”
My legs cinch around his waist, urging him deeper, faster.
“I love you,” I gasp as pleasure builds within me, coiling tighter with each thrust. “Dom, I really love you.”
“And I love you, Tatiana.”
Each thrust unravels me further. We’re locked in a primal dance of skin and sweat and shared rhythm. The air fills with the wet, rhythmic slapping of flesh upon flesh, and his guttural groans melting into my keening cries and panting breaths.
Slap... slap... slap...
His cadence quickens.
“Yes... Dom ... yes ,” I pant, the plea tearing free as pleasure coils low in my belly. His mouth crashes onto mine, swallowing my moans, his tongue tangling with my own.
Every nerve hums, feels electric, alive.
“I feel how perfect you are,” he rasps, his palm sliding between us to circle my clit. “Cum for me, mio cuore . My heart. I want to watch you fly.”
The pressure snaps. “I’m... oh God, I’m ...” My climax rips through me, violent and radiant. I shatter with his name on my lips, my walls clenching around him as stars burst behind my eyelids. “ Dom! ”
He follows with a ragged cry, spilling into me, his hips stuttering as he rides the waves. Heat floods my core, and I cling to him, trembling. His pulse is wild against my palm, his breath hot in my hair.
Afterward, he collapses beside me, dragging me into the warmth of his chest.
“ Ti amo ,” he whispers, kissing my forehead. “More than anything. I love you.”
I trace the scar on his side, our legs still tangled. He doesn’t flinch this time.
“I know,” I say softly. I can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, strong and sure. “ Ti amo , too.” I giggle. “Did I say that right? My Italian is so rusty...”
“Perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Stay. Not just tonight. Always.”
I prop myself up on an elbow to look at him. “Are you asking me to move in with you again?”
“I’m asking you to be my wife .” His smile is soft, playful. “For real this time. No contract, no expiration date. No ticking clock.”
I laugh, giddy with happiness and the absurdity of our situation. “We’re already married, remember? Vegas? Elvis?”
“Then stay married to me,” he says, suddenly serious. “Tear up the annulment papers. Build a life with me.”
I study his face. This man who has hurt me deeply but is now offering me his heart without reservation. This man who fought for me, literally and figuratively. This man who’s changing, growing, healing.
“Yes,” I tell him, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders as I make my choice. “On one condition.”
His eyebrow arches. “Name it.”
“No more secrets. No more pushing me away when things get hard.”
“Deal.” He seals his promise with a kiss. “Anything else?”
I curl back against his chest, smiling. “Maybe a real honeymoon this time? I hear Costa Rica is lovely.”
His laughter rumbles beneath my ear, and I close my eyes, savoring the sound and the warmth of his arms around me.