6. Chapter 6
Mariana
My blood pressure drops so fast I become lightheaded. His comment is an unnecessary jab… but it succeeds anyway.
"Wow, Dom. When did you become such a dick?"
His lips pinch. "I can backtrack that. Foot in my mouth syndrome. Can't seem to hold my tongue around you and I apologize. But it doesn't change the fact that I didn't need to know your plans."
I square my shoulders, and stare at Dom from under the ridge of my eyebrows.
"I spent too long hiding my true thoughts and acting as if I belonged among the nobility to regret what I said, so you'll have to deal with that, I'm afraid.
If I'm here in this room with you right now, it's because I hoped you'd agree not to talk to your friends about me.
That you wouldn't interfere with the life I'm trying to make for myself. "
His face hardens. That mouth I used to love kissing, once upon a time, pulls down at the corners. He takes a minimal step forward, but it brings him much closer. With his hands on his hips, his chest ends up a couple inches from my chin. It forces me to bend my head higher.
"If you want my friends to be honest with you, tell them." His voice is low and growly. "If you want to know what they're thinking, ask them. I'm not going to be a mediator."
"I'm not asking you to be a mediator." I dig my fingertips into my hips. "This job matters to me. If I'm going to fit with the Strike and reach my goals, I need to fit in with them, and I have to find a way to be cool with you, too."
I need the room. The hint of peace. So I can find who I am beneath the performance. So I can learn to distinguish what I want from what I believe I must do, and make choices I can be proud of. So I can focus on the next point in my to-do list. And the next, and the next.
"I never planned for us to be cool," he says. "We need to be nothing."
"Don't worry, I agree. I'm not saying this out of wanting to pacify you. I'm only thinking about my standing here at work. I'm trying to have a productive conversation."
"We don't need to be cool to do that."
"Great! Much easier that way."
"Definitely, considering your newfound attitude," he quips.
My lips pull down at the corners. "Maybe my attitude isn't new."
Maybe it's necessary, so I can handle the pain of my past with Dom, now that we're sharing space again. My plans are too big, too important, to ruin them by allowing jagged rocks into the gears.
"I don't believe that for a moment," he says. "I saw the real you. No one is that good an actress."
"It's been six years, Dom. Maybe your memory fails you."
"Yeah, how is your memory doing these days? You're thirty and older than me."
"By two years! And don't change the topic."
His nostrils flare. He shakes his head, turns around, and takes a few steps away, rubbing his scalp with both hands. He's frustrated, too.
His towel isn't very large, covering his hips and thighs and nothing else.
It's a miracle that it's stayed up this whole time, and I'm grateful for it.
Truly. It lets me focus on our aggravating conversation.
Our tone helps me ignore the way my stomach rolls.
Anger and anxiety continue to play a zero sum game inside, it seems.
I don't get to inspect his back and the tattoos there, or the way his muscles shift under his skin. He comes back and invades my space again, his lips pressing into a thin smile.
"Just letting you get it out of your system," he counters, "because you can't be nice, but you can't be rough around the edges either. If my friends catch even a whiff of anything between us, they'll get ideas in their head. They will meddle."
I frown. "What does that mean?"
"You and I have a past. They'll think we carry unresolved feelings. They'll want to help us fix things if we're not careful."
I scoff. "You date a lot. Why would they try setting you up with anyone? Least of all me. It's not like you need any help."
He doesn't miss a beat. He raises an eyebrow. "How do you know I date a lot?"
Oops. I didn't mean to let that out. If it's up to me, he'll never learn that I couldn't stop myself from looking him up once in a while. For years I told myself I needed the reminder of all that I left behind. It was a way to make myself accountable for my choices and remember my whys.
No one ever knew I did that. Not even Cora, who thought giving me an update on Dom before coming to Seattle was a brilliant idea. At least she supplied me with a great excuse.
"Cora told me," I finally say. "But that's not the point."
"No, the point is—"
But he doesn't finish the sentence. He freezes. In response, I do as well.
There must be truth to how the brain analyzes a million bits of information at once, much of it outside of our conscious awareness, because I have no idea how I know this, but… yeah. I don't need to look to know Dom's towel is pooled on the floor.
My heart flutters. I don't check. My eyes lock with his.
The irony of all of this strikes me— the man I used to think no one could compare to.
Someone I loved like I have yet to love again.
An ex with whom I learned what freedom in bed could be like.
He's naked in front of me, and I'm not supposed to like the idea of it.
Of course I don't. I'm indifferent. But it is damn funny that, despite our arguing and general antagonistic disposition, here we are.
Humor bubbles up my chest. "This will not help our cause."
His eyes narrow. "They don't have to know that it happened… or if you looked."
He purses his lips. He's trying to hide his humor, too.
"I'm not going to look." I raise an eyebrow.
"You remember quite well, I'm sure."
I do. For a long while, I tried to forget. When that didn't work, I learned to push the thoughts away. Floating leaves on a stream or whatever mindfulness technique I could remember in the moment. Another item for the list of things I don't want him to know.
I give him my most aloof look. "I don't need to cast my eyes down to know your hand is covering enough and you're not fully exposed."
"You know a single hand isn't enough to cover everything."
I pretend to scorn at the idea. "Are you telling me you're getting hard, Dominic?"
"I think you want to look and make sure, Mariana."
He challenges me with narrow eyes. I hold his gaze for a second, two, then make my face show disdain. It's the only way I allow myself a single look— one he'll see, and I choose not to hide. Only so that he knows I'm not the kind to cower anymore.
I lock eyes with him again as if the view of his large hand, with long, thick fingers, wide palm, and protruding veins didn't affect me. As if the way he holds it over himself doesn't tell me he may be getting affected after all. Like my heart doesn't immediately go into a gallop.
Fake it till you make it, they say.
I turn around. "Cover yourself, Dom."
I cross my arms and close my eyes. Memories flood my mind in a way I'll never admit to him. They trip my lungs, with the way banter used to lead us to bed, and mindblowing sex I've never experienced with anyone else.
"You think of it often, too," he adds. "I'll let you look properly if you ask nicely."
This time, he hides his teasing in a fake grumpy tone.
"Never!" I exclaim.
"I'm not shy," he insists in the same tone. "This is your opportunity to refresh your memories, if you want. You won't get another chance."
"I don't want another chance!"
Funny, that I had to work so hard to pretend nonchalance, only to have him teasing me about it anyway. But if this kind of teasing won't take us back to sharing a bed, the very least it can do is bring some levity to the moment. Better than everything else I was feeling, at least.
"Are you sure, Miss Sinclair? You used to call it so pretty. So good to you."
I bite my lip not to smile. "Give me a break. What's taking you so long?"
"All I had to do was give you a look and we'd get creative in a library study room."
"Stop that!" I aim for annoyance, but laughter escapes me.
"Don't do that. Don't laugh."
His voice comes devoid of the humor and irritation that sung in it just a few seconds ago. It pours ice on my insides, until I feel nothing. My heart goes on standby, waiting to figure out what happened before it clicks onto the next feeling.
I turn and look him up and down. He's wearing the towel again. His hands hold it in place, firm on his hips. He rolls his shoulders and stares down at me.
"Then don't joke around," I say.
"You know it's in my nature," he retorts.
"But I don't get to laugh?"
"We'll manage better if we don't remember how good it used to be."
"He says after bringing up all those memories up himself." I arch an eyebrow.
He scowls. "You weren't meant to enjoy it."
"We aren't meant to feel anything."
"At all. If my friends see us having any kind of feelings for each other— whether good or bad— they will assume we're rekindling things and push us to it. And these people? My dear friends? They're relentless."
"We're not rekindling anything!" My voice gets louder on the last word. My eyebrows go up to my hairline. "I'm not dating an ex, especially not an ex I work with while trying to impress the boss."
I take a step back, needing extra distance between us. No way I'm jumping out of a yet-to-be-finalized fucking divorce to go back to Dom's bed.
"Oh, I know that." Bitterness etches his words. "I'm not looking to reminisce with you either, Princesa."
The word is a punch delivered right to the center of my chest. Back when we were happy and in love, I told him I hated pet names.
Of course, that meant he teased me with them, relentlessly, continuously finding new ways to make me laugh and cringe in equal measure.
None of them stuck for long, but he used Princesa a few times.
He said it was for the way my family treated me.
Not the fairytale kind, but the ones who come with a million political responsibilities.
I bet he thinks it's hilarious that I ended up marrying into the extended monarchy. He'd argue he won that bet. Nevermind we never wagered on that.
"Don't call me that, Dominic." I clench my jaw. "Don't go back to those ridiculous names."
Dom crosses his arms again. "It slipped out. Won't happen again."
"Make sure of it, or your friends will for sure meddle, and I hear we have to do whatever it takes to stop that from happening."
"Correct. So we need to get out of here before they decide I'm fucking you against the wall, and decide to interfere anyway."
"They what?!" I gaze around, as if witnesses have appeared out of thin air… or as if the walls are calling my name all of a sudden.
"We need to be neutral with each other." He runs his hands down his short beard. It's a strained gesture. "We need to pretend we have no past. Convince them there's no future."
"I can do that." I purse my lips. "We need to be cold? I learned to appear collected."
"Use your royal training and mask away."
"You know I was getting etiquette classes before all of that."
"I'll pretend I forgot everything, Duchess."
"If you're going to keep using those names, then I can stay angry instead."
"I prefer not feeling anything at all."
"And yet you're angry, too."
His smirk is cold. "I was never good at making my heart do as told."
The dryer stops. A short tune plays, announcing the job is done. We ignore it. Dom and I stare at each other. My heart pulses again, but is undecided on what emotion to settle on. Disappointment, hurt, and frustration are top of mind.
I take a quick, but deep, breath. "I said I wouldn't fake pleasantries anymore, now that I'm getting free of all of that. But for this, I'll fake some more. Cool and collected Mariana, once more."
"That's what I thought."
He doesn't give me more than a simple nod. With one hand keeping his towel in place, he walks past me and opens the door.
"Right after you," he says.
I glance at him. He stares right back at me.
Pursing my lips, I leave the service room. Not a pleasant word his way. Not even a see you later. I walk away toward my office, and don't look back.
A few hours later, I send an email to my lawyers in England. They'll get my request first thing in the morning. I need them to push harder. I want my divorce done as soon as possible.
When the confirmation finally comes on Monday, I'm ready to throw a party.
Pen's invitation to the club seems like the perfect way to celebrate if I don't think too much about it. If I did, the double edge on that sword might scare me off.
Something tells me Dom will be there, too.