Elena #2
“No. It wasn’t one dramatic demand. I would have recognized that.
” I look down at the table. “It happened a decision at a time. A project I didn’t take because it interfered with something he needed.
A connection I let him manage because he already knew the person.
Plans I changed because his schedule mattered more.
Every compromise sounded reasonable while I was making it. ”
The lines around Dominic’s mouth tighten. “And when the relationship ended?”
“He used what he knew.”
“How?”
There’s a low, sharp edge to the question.
I straighten in my chair. “I’m not giving you all of that tonight.”
He looks at me for a second, then nods. “All right.”
No argument. He accepts the line exactly where I put it.
I let out a breath. “He had professional influence over me, and he made it clear that access could disappear. He knew which insecurities to use and exactly how much of my future I had allowed to depend on what he’d promised.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Not in a way I could put in writing.”
Dominic looks down at the table. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and level.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not telling you because I want sympathy.”
“I know.”
“I rebuilt everything. My reputation is mine. My title is mine. I bought my condo myself, and no one gets to decide whether I keep my career or the life I’ve made.”
“I know that too.”
I almost tell him he doesn’t because he wasn’t there.
Then I remember the interview. Dominic offered me a position because I found errors that his own team missed.
Every promotion that followed came with expectations I exceeded, and he never once treated me like Cliff’s little sister he had rescued.
He has never taken credit for what I built here.
“What do you want now?” he asks.
The question is so simple I answer without preparing a safer version.
“A child.”
He waits.
“I want stability. I want to know my home won’t fall apart because someone wakes up one morning and decides he doesn’t love me anymore. I don’t want to build my future around a relationship and wait to learn whether the other person still agrees with the plan.”
“And the donor removes that risk.”
“The donor removes romantic dependence. I’ll have childcare and family support. I know raising a child alone will be difficult, but I won’t have to wonder whether someone is staying or whether I’ve made myself too dependent to leave.”
Dominic is quiet. I start preparing for the usual arguments: A child needs two parents. I may meet someone. I’m still young. I’m letting one bad relationship dictate too much.
He doesn’t offer any of them.
“So you want a child, stability, and the right to make decisions about your own life without another person holding the rest of it hostage,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
I blink. “Okay?”
“That’s what you want.”
“You hated the binder this morning.”
“I still hate the binder.”
A laugh slips out. “You can’t say that and pretend you’ve accepted my answer.”
“I can accept your answer and dislike the method.”
“Why do you dislike it?”
He looks at me across the table. “Because any man would be lucky to have you choose him.”
A deep, pulling warmth coils in my stomach, so sudden it’s humiliating.
The wedding video flashes into my head again. Dominic above that woman, his body moving between her thighs while she said his name and he told her to say it again.
Then that nickname.
Big D.
I shift in my chair, angry with myself for getting turned on in the middle of the most personal conversation I’ve had in years. Worse, I’m almost sure Dominic notices. His eyes move over my face, pause at my throat, then return to meet mine.
He doesn’t smile or take the comment any further. The restraint makes the heat worse.
I reach for my glass and take a drink I don’t need.
Dinner moves to safer subjects after that, although nothing feels entirely safe anymore. We argue about dessert and finish all of it anyway.
Outside, the temperature has dropped. I’m reaching for my coat when Dominic takes it from the attendant.
“I can get it.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you holding it?”
“Because I’m being polite.”
“You arranged an entire private tasting menu. I think you’ve fulfilled your annual politeness requirement.”
“Put on the coat, Elena.”
The quiet order makes my pulse jump.
I turn away before my face gives me up again and slide my arms into the sleeves. Dominic draws the coat over my shoulders. His fingers brush the back of my neck, just below my hair, and stay there one beat longer than the movement requires.
My skin prickles under his hand.
I turn my head slightly. He’s close enough that I catch the clean scent of his cologne and the warmth of his breath near my temple. His eyes meet mine, and for a second neither of us moves.
A couple comes through the door behind us. Dominic drops his hand and steps aside.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
The drive to my building is quieter. I keep remembering his hand against my neck and his words across the table.
Any man would be lucky to be chosen by you.
I’m still trying to decide why it sounded so personal when he stops in front of my building.
“Thank you for dinner.”
“You thanked me this morning.”
“That was prior to the financial damage.”
“I’ll recover.”
He gets out and walks around the car. I have my door open by the time he reaches me, ...which earns me a dry look.
“What?”
“I was going to do that.”
“I saved you the trip.”
“You made me take the trip and then did it yourself.”
He offers his hand anyway. I hesitate, then put my hand in his. His fingers close around mine as I step onto the sidewalk, his grip firm until my feet are solidly planted.
We walk to the entrance, and I stop beneath the light over the door. “You don’t have to escort me all the way inside.”
“I know where you live, El. The mystery is gone.”
“I’m devastated.”
He studies me, then the teasing leaves his face.
“You don’t have to do everything alone.”
He says it so softly that I can’t dismiss it. He could be talking about childcare, clinic appointments, or what I told him over dinner, ...but there’s an intensity in his gaze that goes beyond concern.
I hear the offer. I just don’t know what he’s offering.
“I know,” I say.
A flicker of doubt crosses his face.
“Good night, Elena.”
“Good night, Dominic.”
I go inside. His car remains at the curb until the elevator arrives, ...and his words stay with me as I go upstairs.
You don’t have to do everything alone.
I hang my coat in the closet. My condo looks exactly as it did when I left this morning. The kitchen counters are clear. The pillows on the couch sit at matching angles. My coffee cup is in the dishwasher with its handle lined up beside the others.
In my bedroom, I take off my earrings and place them together in the dish on my dresser. Then I pick up my phone.
I can’t find a copy of the wedding video. I watched it on a bridesmaid’s screen at Cliff’s reception, and I don’t even remember which woman had it. Any search would be ridiculous.
My thumb still hovers over the social media icon.
Dominic Rowe—Big D.
Maybe the old nickname exists in a college thread or a tagged photo. Maybe I could find enough to satisfy the curiosity that’s bothered me for years.
Or maybe I’d spend the next three hours digging through pictures of my boss because he touched my neck and remembered which sparkling water I like.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
I lock my phone and set it face down on the dresser.
I look around the precise apartment I built entirely for myself.
My ordered apartment felt less lonely before dinner.