2. Chapter 2 #2
"Do you think I didn't spend days agonizing over whether I should call you?
You think it was easy? I knew that letting you go was a mistake the moment you got through airport security, with me standing outside, not moving until your plane left.
But what could I do? Did you know your dad talked to me at that last family dinner?
He said the honorable thing was to let you be free, let you pursue your dreams, and let you do all the beautiful things you were destined to do.
That I would be tied to college for another year, and I may not even get drafted.
So if I really loved you, I'd want your happiness above all and, worse— he was right. And I had no way to prove him wrong."
He looks at me without seeing. His mind is on things I didn't know. Fuck, I had no idea my dad had guilted him into letting our relationship end.
Something tears open in my chest, but I don't look in its direction.
The ice maker rattles in the fridge, dropping its cargo into the inside bucket and breaking the silence.
I stare at it and put some blame on it too.
In my mind, with this confused heart of mine, the appliance has a part in how the past is detonating between Dom and me.
His gaze focuses on me again, staring at me with bitterness of his own.
"If I called you," he says in a low, rumbly voice, "it was because I finally had something that might make them change their mind.
Your brothers are all professional athletes, aren't they?
Maybe having a good contract of my own would make me worthy in their eyes.
But who can compete with the fucking heir to a Duke? Not me, evidently."
The scars in my heart turn tender at his words. Fortunately, I've learned to bite back tears.
Nothing lasts. Not our love, not my plans, not my marriage. None of it deserves for me to break again. It's why I need to build barricades around my heart. Without them, I'll fail again. I'll go back to the worst of it, and I'll really be stuck.
"It was never about competing, Dom." I lift my chin. "But calling me was selfish."
"I hoped it would show you we were not done."
"We agreed on it! We were done."
"I figured, when my texts and calls went unanswered after you hung up. When an email appeared in my inbox, with a screenshot of you smiling in an English newspaper. When you went ahead and got married to him."
His voice turns more and more despondent with each sentence. His eyes grow colder. The line of his lips takes on a tense slant.
He stares at me like he doesn't recognize me. It's okay. I don't think he does.
"I didn't know someone sent you an email," I say. "It wasn't me."
No. What I did was find the only picture of Dom and me that I had secretly saved, and burned it. I was so sad. I made it into a whole ritual. I don't believe in magic, but as the photo turned to ash and flew up the chimney, I said goodbye to him and my naiveté all at once.
If I hadn't, I would have never gone through with a marriage both Henry and my family counted on. An opportunity for the Sinclair family to carve space in prejudiced, powerful spaces, and Henry to save his family's traditional manor.
I was the third daughter of a rich man to marry into his family in a hundred years, and infuse cash into their coffers. I thought it was fair, when I'd get access to philanthropic opportunities I could only dream of before.
Dom stares me down. "And now you're divorced."
His words hurt. They spear my chest. Not because of my failed marriage, but because I hear the judgment in his voice. The assumptions.
The worst part of all is that I agree with him.
When I married Henry, I wondered if it would last. We had shared goals, after all. Over time, a general mutual enjoyment could bloom into affection. Maybe even love, my mom promised. That's how it was for her and Dad. Only to have Henry ask for a divorce.
I didn't see it coming. We were fine. So accommodated to each other. So fucking affable and comfortable.
Why did I ever think that was enough? Henry didn't. He thought we got what we wanted out of our arrangement and it was time to go in different directions.
I hold back my tears. "You know nothing, Dominic."
I should have ended it with Henry. If it wouldn't last, I wish I had been the one to end it. That way I'd know I at least had one win.
"I don't think you do, either," Dom says. "So maybe we just let each other be? No need to disrupt each other's lives now."
I gasp. "You came to the party. You came into this kitchen! If anyone is disrupting anything, that's you."
"Then let me be the one to walk out."
Without any more words or gestures, he turns and goes through the door. I follow him.
"At least I'm trying to figure my shit out!" I hiss-yell to his back.
"All the best," he replies without looking at me. "You have my regards."
He marches out of the condo. The door slams behind him.
I stare at the closed white rectangle, dumbfounded, mind buzzing. Blood rushes in my veins all over again. Words jumble, unsaid, tight in my throat.
"Fuck," I mutter, breathing hard.
I clench my jaw and turn around.
Fuck, I repeat in my mind.
The small group of guests stare at me. Eighteen faces with wide-open eyes, drinks in their hands. Music fills the room, but no one speaks, and the soft ballad clashes with the general vibe.
Did they hear us arguing? Ugh.
I first lock eyes with Cora. She gauges the situation in one second, then shifts to assess the mood in the room. She takes action like the child of a diplomatic family that she is.
"Nothing to worry about, right, Mariana?" She offers canapés to the people around her. "Just a little surprising. I'm sure everything is under control."
She spurs me into action with a quick stare.
"Yes, of course." I force my voice to appear calm. "I'll bring some more drinks out."
And I disappear into the kitchen for another minute.
This is not how this evening was supposed to go. This isn't how my time in Seattle was meant to start. I need to fix it, stat.
But first, hostess duties.
Fuck.