10. Elise
— ? —
Elise
Three Months Into the Relationship
We’re having a perfect evening.
The restaurant is small and Italian, our place now, the one with the red-checkered tablecloths and the Frank Sinatra on the speakers. We come here at least once a week, always the same corner booth, always the same bottle of wine.
Dominic’s hand is on my thigh under the table. I’m telling him about a project at work, a sustainable housing development that might actually happen, and he’s listening with that focused intensity that still makes my breath catch.
“The client finally approved the green roof design,” I say, stealing a bite of his pasta. “Can you believe it? They actually listened.”
“Of course they listened. You’re brilliant.”
“I’m persuasive. There’s a difference.”
“You’re both.” He leans in, kissing my temple. “I’m proud of you.”
“It’s just a housing development.”
“It’s your first major project since you started over. That’s not ‘just’ anything.”
My chest tightens with something warm and unfamiliar. Happiness, maybe. Or belonging.
Then the door opens, and everything goes wrong.
***
I see Connor first.
He walks in with Margaret on his arm, both of them dressed like they’re attending a funeral - dark colors, serious expressions. They spot us almost immediately, and I see the recognition flicker across Connor’s face.
This isn’t a coincidence.
“Dominic,” I say quietly.
He follows my gaze. His jaw tightens.
“We can leave,” he says. “Right now.”
“No.” I take a breath. “I’m done running from them.”
Margaret reaches our table first, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor like a metronome of disapproval.
“This needs to stop,” she says without preamble. “Both of you. This spectacle you’re making of yourselves.”
“Good evening, Mother.” Dominic doesn’t stand. “Care to join us? The pasta’s excellent.”
“I am not here to joke, Dominic. I’m here because you’re embarrassing this entire family with your... your situation.”
“My situation?” He raises an eyebrow. “You mean my relationship with the woman I love?”
“I mean your transparent attempt to hurt your brother by parading his ex-wife around-”
“I’m right here,” I cut in. “You can address me directly.”
Margaret’s eyes snap to mine. Cold. Dismissive.
“Fine. You want to be addressed directly?” She leans in, her voice dropping to a hiss. “I know what you are. A gold-digger who couldn’t keep her husband satisfied, and now you’re working your way through the family-”
“Mother.” Dominic’s voice is sharp, dangerous. “That’s enough.”
“It’s not nearly enough. She needs to understand-”
“No, you need to understand.” He stands now, putting himself between us. “Elise didn’t do anything wrong. She was faithful, supportive, and devoted for six years while your precious Connor lied to her face and fucked his assistant behind her back.”
“Language-”
“The only person who should be embarrassed here is Connor. And you, for defending him.” Dominic’s voice is ice. “I spent my whole life watching you excuse his behavior, clean up his messes, pretend he was something he’s not. I’m done.”
“You’re choosing her over your family?”
“I’m choosing the woman who makes me happy over the family that never gave a damn about me.”
The restaurant has gone quiet. Every eye is on us, every ear straining to hear.
Connor steps forward. “Elise. Can we talk? Just for a minute. Alone.”
“Absolutely not.” Dominic moves to block him.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
“And I wasn’t giving you a choice.”
They stare at each other - brothers who look nothing alike, who have never understood each other, who are standing on opposite sides of a divide that will never close.
“I just want to explain,” Connor says, looking past Dominic to me. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
“You had six years to explain,” I say. “You spent them lying.”
“Elise-”
“No.” I stand, taking Dominic’s hand. “I don’t owe you five minutes. I don’t owe you anything. You made your choices, Connor. Now live with them.”
Margaret’s voice is venomous. “You’ll regret this. Both of you.”
“The only thing I regret,” I say, “is wasting six years of my life on your son.”
We walk out.
***
In the car, I’m shaking.
Dominic pulls over two blocks from the restaurant, puts the car in park, and turns to face me.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh, but it comes out wobbly. “I can’t believe I just said that. To Margaret Reid. In the middle of a restaurant.”
“You were incredible.”
“I was terrified.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” He reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry. About my mother. About all of it. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It’s my family.”
“And you’re nothing like them.” I catch his hand, press a kiss to his palm. “I knew what I was getting into, Dominic. I knew there would be complications. I chose this anyway. I chose you.”
Something shifts in his expression - wonder, maybe. Or gratitude.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly.
“Don’t do that.” I cup his face in my hands. “Don’t compare yourself to him. You’re not the brother who failed me. You’re the man who showed up when I was at my lowest and never asked for anything in return.”
“I asked for you.”
“And I gave myself willingly.” I kiss him softly. “No regrets.”
“No regrets,” he echoes.
We sit there for a moment, breathing together, letting the adrenaline fade.
“Take me home,” I finally say.
“Yours or mine?”
“Does it matter?”
He smiles, slow, warm, full of promise.
“No,” he says. “It doesn’t.”