Chapter 26 Losing Control
Losing Control
Dominic balled up his napkin.
His chair grated harshly on the stone floor. What was left of the chicken capsized into the sauce, skulking beneath soggy lemons, and something about it churned his stomach. Vance gave him a look that hovered somewhere between surprise and disapproval.
“Where are you going?”
Dominic’s voice was tight. “To check on her.”
“She’ll be fine,” Vance said.
His father turned back to flagging a waiter.
Dominic gripped his chair, his pulse thundering.
He was vaguely aware of fellow diners staring, although he no longer gave a shit.
Bloody hell. Vance had been like this all night, hadn’t he?
Spewing off all sorts of sexist bullshit.
No wonder Juliette had left so abruptly.
And Dominic had just sat there through all of it, not saying a word in her defense.
His stomach churned with acid.
Juliette would think him spineless. Subservient to his father. And worst of all, she’d be right. But some impulses were innate, he thought: Breathe in and out. Eat when hungry. Obey your father. There were things that couldn’t be changed.
Anyway, he hadn’t forgotten what Vance was capable of when he was angry. I’m doing this for you, his father had calmly said in Paris, and even years later, Dominic could recall the exact feeling of his heart being fed through a paper shredder.
Still.
He couldn’t sit here any longer. Not if it meant bottling things with Juliette all over again.
“Thank you for dinner,” Dominic said. “I’ll see you in Belgium.”
He threw down a stack of fifties, then turned for the door.
He could feel his father watching his retreat.
Anthony said something in a low voice, but Dominic was no longer paying attention; he stopped long enough to ask a passing waiter where Juliette had gone—the young man had no idea but pointed toward the exit—before jogging from the restaurant.
Cars whizzed by, sending rainbow sprays washing over the pavement. Dominic scanned both directions. No sign of a familiar brunette.
Shit.
A thousand thoughts sped through his mind, each more dizzying than the last. He should have never let Juliette sit down at that dinner table. He should have stood up for her. He should have done something.
But to go against his father…
Vance had given him everything. Cars, driving experience, a seat on the fastest team on the grid…He owed his entire racing career to his father. To defy Vance now would be to spit in his face.
“Hastings!” a voice called.
Dominic paused.
Anthony Sinclair stepped into the street. He was wiping his hands on a napkin, and his blond hair gleamed in the late evening sun. The scent of expensive cologne hung off his clothes, as if he’d recently reapplied it.
“Stay here,” Anthony said. “I’ll go after her.”
Dominic almost laughed. Right. That explained the cologne. “I’ve got it.”
Anthony tilted his head. “She doesn’t even like you. You know that, right?”
Dominic’s pulse sped up. Right. He didn’t have time for this. Juliette could be anywhere by now, phoneless and without her house keys. He was about to start in a random direction when Anthony spoke.
“That’s right, Hastings.” Anthony’s voice was a taunt. “Walk away, just like you walk away from everything. You’re used to that, aren’t you? Always hiding behind your father’s money. Your father’s team. The entire world’s been handed to you.”
Dom stilled. His heart pounded so fast that he felt sick. And even though he knew better than to rise, he was already turning. “Funny.”
“What?”
“You struck me as the sort to enjoy staring at your own reflection. Turns out you need to look in a mirror.”
Anthony’s smile was sharp. “We’re not so different, you and I. Born with natural talent and the connections to make it happen. That sort of thing would be wasted on other people. But not us. We know how to harness it.”
The scent of rotten eggs drifted up from the city gutters. Dominic wrinkled his nose. “No. The difference between you and I, Sinclair, is that I don’t throw around my checkbook like it’s a substitute for a personality.”
“Sure,” Anthony said softly. “You tell yourself that.” He stepped closer. “You’ve never had to fight for anything. You don’t know how to.”
Anthony didn’t sound boastful. He sounded as if he were reciting facts from a textbook, and it was that certainty that chilled him.
It couldn’t be true, could it? Yes, he’d had a head start in life, but he’d still put in the hours.
Tennis balls in the yard, hill sprints at six o’clock in the morning, concussions and scrapes and fractured relationships…
He’d made so many sacrifices in the name of racing. Given up so much.
Dominic thought of Juliette, shivering in her sodden white dress as she spoke to the ma?tre d’, and he clenched his fists. Yes. He’d sacrificed more in the name of racing than Sinclair could ever know.
Anthony’s smile was feral. “You won’t last a second by yourself.”
“Funny,” Dom said mildly. “Lasting is something that I’ve never had a problem with. I’m assuming you can’t say the same. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Anthony seized his shoulder. His face was white with rage, his lips thin and bloodless, and a shiver of anticipation went down Dominic’s spine. So he’d finally managed to push his buttons. Good.
Let him try.
Anthony’s breath smelled of sour wine. “It’s tough, isn’t it, when Daddy cuts you off?” He waved a glittering hand. “At least your mum isn’t around. You can still pretend that she loves you.” His smile was smug. “Especially since Juliette never will.”
The words landed like a blow.
Dominic took a deep breath. The fire was an inferno, scorching a path through his chest. He had the sudden urge to grab Anthony’s collar, to slam his head into the wall, but he was painfully aware of passersby eyeing them curiously. Someone was surreptitiously raising their phone.
Dominic’s smile was breezy. “Fuck off, Sinclair.”
He shook him off, starting down the street.
Twilight settled over the city in gossamer clouds of lavender silk, which would have been beautiful if he didn’t feel like his chest was on fire.
He took a sharp left at a laundromat, only stopping when he’d reached a brick alleyway.
His breath came in gasps. He had the sudden urge to tear into his own chest, to smother the blazing fire with his naked hands.
Dominic cocked his arm back.
Then—almost experimentally—he drove his fist into the wall. Pain rocketed up his wrist. He swore, shaking his fingers, his fist pulsing like a second heart. But his head felt clear. That was something, at least.
“That looked like it hurt,” a female voice said.
Dominic whipped around.
Juliette was leaning against the laundromat, half-shaded by the striped awning.
Her damp hair was curling at the ends. Dominic’s hand gave a painful throb; the knuckles were cracked and bleeding.
Embarrassment washed over him, and he resisted the childish urge to hide his hand behind his back. Too late. She’d already seen it.
“I thought you’d left.”
“Didn’t make it that far.” She nodded at his hand. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” Dominic paused. “I’m sorry about my father.”
Juliette’s expression was shadowed. “Is he always like that?”
“No.” Dominic offered her a wry smile. “Normally he’s much worse.” He rubbed at his forehead. “What he said about Ranya…I’m sorry. That was fucked up. They’ve never seen eye-to-eye, but that doesn’t excuse it.”
“No,” Juliette said. “It doesn’t.”
A breeze blew through the alleyway, and Juliette shivered. Goosebumps pimpled her arms. She was obviously freezing, although he knew she’d rather develop frostbite than admit to it. He held out his phone.
“I have Cap’s number. If you want to try him.”
Juliette nodded. “Thank you.” She scrolled through his contacts, raising the phone to her ear. “Baz has my keys, but the two of them should be together…”
The phone rang three times. No answer. Juliette frowned. She punched a button, then shifted the phone to her other ear.
More ringing.
Juliette tried twice more. She was grinding the toe of her pink boot into the ground, a nervous habit that Dominic had first observed at the academy, whenever she was about to take an exam. A lump rose in his throat.
She held out the phone. “He’s not answering.”
Dominic didn’t take it. “Do you want to try Baz?”
“Can’t.” Juliette’s smile was rueful. “I don’t have his number memorized. But it’s fine.” She placed the phone firmly in his hand. “I’ll walk to my sister’s place. She should be back from her date soon.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Where does Rosaline live?”
Juliette blinked. He couldn’t tell what she was surprised by: the fact that he remembered her sister’s name, or the fact that he cared enough to ask. “Balham.”
Dominic stared. “That’s three hours away.”
She shrugged. “I walk quickly. It’s more like two.”
Heaven help him. This girl. “You can’t even use your phone for directions.”
“I can ask people.”
Dominic clenched his hands, then winced as his knuckles gave a painful throb. “Why wouldn’t you take a cab?”
To his surprise, Juliette looked slightly sheepish. “I didn’t bring my wallet. I was using my phone to pay for things.”
Dominic cast his eyes skyward. It was just like Juliette, he reflected, to be wandering around in central London at night without any form of backup plan. “Here.” He dug in his wallet. “I’ll lend you some.”
“No.” Juliette took a large step back, holding up her hands as if he were offering her a lit stick of dynamite. “I’m not taking your money.”
Exasperation filled him. “Then what do you suggest we do?” A thought occurred, and the words were out of his mouth before he could think better of it. “Why don’t you come to my place?”
Juliette stared. “What?”
“My flat’s just round the corner,” Dominic said, pocketing his wallet. “You can change into dry clothes and try ringing your brother again. Cap knows where I live. He can drop off your keys.”
Juliette eyed him warily. “I thought you lived in Paris.”
Dominic swallowed. He was painfully aware of what she’d just avoided saying: I’ve been to your Paris flat.
I lived there for a time. “I have two. I bought this one a few months ago. I used to stay with my father in Kent, but after what happened at the start of the season…” He hesitated.
“We decided it would be better to live apart.”
Juliette nibbled her bottom lip. “I see.”
Miraculously, she seemed to be considering his offer, which was more progress than he’d expected. “Come on. I’ll even put your phone in some rice.”
Juliette’s smile looked reluctant. “Do you even have normal rice?”
“What do you mean?”
Juliette shrugged. “I didn’t take you for a basmati rice person. That’s all.”
Dominic pulled a face. “Of course I have normal rice.” He didn’t. The most normal rice he owned was arborio rice, imported directly from a small town in Italy. Not that he was about to admit that.
Juliette’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you helping me?”
Dominic looked down at his bloodied knuckles. Because I owe you after that messed-up dinner. Because I want to. Because, for some reason, I can’t stop myself from trying to protect you even though I’m furious with you. “Maybe it’s a disarming tactic. I’m trying to throw you off your game.”
That seemed to appease her. “You can try all you’d like. I’m still winning that seat.”
“Is that a yes?”
Juliette held out an arm. “Lead the way.”