Chapter 19 Annetta
ANNETTA
After that night, Dom kept his word.
The first morning I slid out from under his sleeping body to shower, Dom joined me moments later, slipping behind me without a word. Neither of us spoke as he wrapped his arms around me and let me finish sobbing onto his chest until my timer ran out.
After, when he asked me how I was feeling, and I told him I was hungry, he laughed and took me downstairs to cook eggs for breakfast.
Each morning, he’s put me through a grueling—at least for someone who hasn’t worked out in months—workout routine that mostly consists of me beet-faced sweating as I sprint on the treadmill in his personal gym and cycle through a calisthenics circuit, before he teaches me basic grappling moves on his wrestling mat.
When I called Neil the next day to make sure his piano came in, he didn’t mention any new visits from Dom.
The biggest change has been the way I’ll sometimes catch Dom looking at me—in the mirrors in our upstairs gym or over breakfast when I pass him a cup of coffee—a significant, intentional look like he’s about to deliver serious news.
He never does, dissolving the tension to crack a joke or wrapping himself around me for a kiss.
I would’ve been happy to let our new routine of training, eating, and making love go on forever, but after I missed Thanksgiving dinner with the family, Mom decided enough was enough.
“It’s a good idea,” Dom told me when I showed him my mom’s text invitation to a family dinner. “If anyone’s watching you, they won’t attack at your dad’s house, and seeing you out and about will keep them from getting desperate enough to try getting into the penthouse again.”
I spent the better part of the evening picking out an outfit, applying a full face of makeup designed to look like no makeup, curling waves into my hair, and stalling until Carlo texted me to get our asses over before he starts chewing on the furniture.
As I make my way to the living room, walking as gracefully as I can with every single muscle feeling like old chewing gum from our workouts, Dom’s attention pans to me like the beam from a lighthouse. He gives me that look again, and a shiver rolls through me.
He has a small yellow cloth, a bottle of oil, his arrows, and his phone playing a video about a guy in the wilderness scattered over the coffee table. He sits up on the couch, an empty bow pulled tight in his hands until he relaxes the string back to rest.
His beard is trimmed, his hair’s tamed into a bun, and only a small bruise remains on his left eye.
His dark, rust-colored button-up is tucked into black jeans, and his heavy boots suit him perfectly.
I’ve never thought much about cowboys, but if Dom had a cowboy hat and a big belt buckle, he’d blend right in with a roster full of bull riders.
Dom stands, dropping his bow on the couch, and takes a step toward me, filling my vision with broad, masculine features, high cheekbones, dark brows, and gentle brown eyes. He glances down at my hand, where my new engagement ring glitters on my finger for the first time.
He gives a wolf whistle and takes my hand, drawing me to him. “You look beautiful tonight, Mrs. Lombardi.”
A strange fluttering starts in my belly, spreading quickly to my chest. The past couple of weeks of spending time with Dom, chatting in the mornings with Valeria, working out, and practicing my shooting have all propped me up in little ways, like extra poles for a drooping tent.
That feeling of happiness sours to nausea. How can I be girlish and carefree when it’s my fault Serafina never got to feel anything like this?
Dom takes my shoulders, his fingers spreading long over my shoulder blades. “Stay with me, Annetta.”
My name sounds as soft and sensual as cashmere when he says it.
I smile, gazing up at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
In the parking deck, he tosses me his car keys—which by some miracle, I manage to catch.
I give him a dumbfounded look. “What are these for?”
My voice echoes against the concrete walls.
He tucks one big hand into his pocket. “Generally, to drive.”
“I’m not driving that.” I glance at his massive SUV, and my chest constricts like it’s caught in one of those medieval screw torture devices.
He rocks back on his heels. “You should.”
“I can’t.” I toss the keys back, and he easily catches them.
“You said you wanted training.”
“Not this kind of training.”
“So the Chiarellis will see that you don’t like driving and let you be? If you won’t commit to this fully, then why are you wasting your time?”
I stand there for a few moments, flicking my gaze between him and his giant SUV. “What if I scratch it?”
“Then I’ll have someone fix it.”
I chew on my bottom lip for a few seconds and, slowly, stick my hand out.
Dom slaps the keys into my palm and kisses my temple. “You’ll do great.”
“I haven’t driven more than a couple times in the past three years,” I say as we make our way to the driver’s side.
Dom opens the door for me. “You used to drive for babysitting and the soup kitchen, right?”
I glance at him in surprise. “How’d you know?”
“Your dad asked me to trail you a few times.”
“I never knew that.”
He leans in. “That’s why you need training. And, for what it’s worth, you were a good driver.”
I swallow and lift my head high, hopping into the driver’s seat. I drag the seat all the way forward so I can reach the wheel.
Next to me, he keys my parents’ address into the GPS, adjusts his seat, and closes his eyes, resting his hands on his belly.
Okay, I have to do this.
I think of Serafina, and I’m suddenly glad I never went to her burial.
Then I think of Mikey.
If Serafina’d had more driving practice, would she have been able to avoid Mikey’s car crashing into hers? I would have arrived home hours after. She only needed to buy herself a little more time.
“Take a deep breath.” Dom rests a hand on my thigh. “You’re doing fine.”
“I haven’t even started moving yet, and I’m about to have a panic attack,” I say in a squeaky voice.
“You’re still trying. That’s something.”
I push his hand off my thigh. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I would never.”
The unexpected sincerity in his voice fills me with a small measure of bravery.
I have to do this. I can do this.
I start to pull out—SCREEECH—and I slam the brakes.
I’m frozen, my hands glued to the steering wheel. My cheeks burn.
I just scraped the SUV against Dom’s truck.
“It’s just a truck, reginetta.” Dom’s eyes float closed. “Aren’t your parents waiting?”
A thrill of attraction courses through me. I adjust the SUV and pull out cleanly this time. My back is ramrod straight, my hands are death-gripping the steering wheel, and my heart is pounding, but I make it to the exit in one piece.
With his eyes seemingly closed, Dom throws me a few tips as I drive.
“Keep an eye on the speed limit.”
“You have to fully stop there.”
“Cop on your left.”
At a red light, I finally throw up my hands in frustration. “How do you see all that? Your eyes are closed!”
He smiles without opening them. “I got eyes on the back of my head.”
I go to smack him, but he catches my hand and kisses my knuckles. I watch him with parted lips and wide eyes. Everything inside me tenses. When will I get used to this? When will he stop making me feel so light with only a touch or a glance?
“Light’s green,” he says, right before the driver behind us honks.
On the way there, he fiddles with the radio, stopping at a pop-rock station, and we both hum along to the songs that pour in while he drums his fingers on the center console, somehow making even this awful experience fun and light-hearted.
When I roll to a stop in my parents’ driveway, I give him a grateful smile.
He grins back. “You did amazing. Now let’s go, I’m starving.”
“Are you ever not?”
As we walk up to the front door, I take his hand in mine. He glances down at me with a look of flirty amusement that has butterflies swarming in my belly all over again.
“For my parents,” I say.
His fingers tighten over mine.
The moment we step inside, Mom comes rushing up to greet us. “Domenico! I saved a whole crostata just for you!”
Dom laughs and answers my mom smoothly, “Ricotta filling?”
“Of course!”
As usual, Mom’s stuffed every spare corner, banister, and surface with Christmas knick-knacks and fake snow. I used to think it was cheesy, but now it’s nice to see that some things are still the same in my childhood home.
Dad, Rafa, Carlo, and Cousin Red are all at the dining room table, drinking whiskey.
The skin on Dad’s knuckles from Don Salvatore’s basement is healed, not that he gives any sign of that night as he snoozes in his chair with his hands resting on his belly.
Carlo’s slumped onto one hand, swirling his nearly empty glass of whiskey with his other.
Rafa’s tapping something out on his phone under the table.
Red’s gaze skates all over me, lingering at my hips like always, as we approach. Dom’s hand tightens over mine.
“Serafina, will you help me get the first course?” Mom asks and steps off to the kitchen. I hate that it’s always me and never my brothers who have to help.
Dom releases me easily, waltzing over to sit next to Red. He slings an arm over the back of the other man’s chair.
“How’s it been?” he asks Red, who’s slowly wilting into his seat.
In the kitchen, Mom makes a beeline for her Pinot Grigio. After a few gulps, she motions to the cabinets. “Serafina, can you plate everyone’s food and take it out to them?”
And just like that, I feel like a kid again in my parents’ house, doing exactly as I’m told. “Sure, Ma.”
I open up the nearest cabinets and pull out a stack of plates.
Mom leans one hip against the counter as I pile up a ceramic plate with sauced pasta and fillets of fried eggplant. The breaded eggplant is burnt on one side—normally something Mom would never let slide. I almost hesitate to plate it, but it’s best to shut my mouth.