Chapter 4 - Finally:
Will you meet me somewhere that is not our house?
That detail mattered.
Not our house.
Somewhere neutral.
I agreed to a quiet restaurant on the North Shore that was closed between lunch and dinner. The owner knew Dominic and let us use a corner table overlooking a small garden.
When I arrived, Dominic was already there.
He stood when he saw me.
I had known him eight months.
I had never seen him look nervous.
Now he looked almost painfully human.
“Claire.”
I sat.
He sat opposite me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I removed the letter from my handbag and placed it between us.
“Did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“No hesitation?”
“No.”
“You wanted to marry me.”
“Yes.”
“Before my father’s debt?”
His eyes held mine.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
He looked down briefly.
“Almost two years.”
I stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s inconvenient. Not impossible.”
“How?”
“The St. Vincent fundraiser.”
I remembered.
Barely.
A hospital fundraiser at a downtown hotel.
I had gone because Tessa worked for the event company.
I had spent half the evening fixing place cards and helping an elderly woman find her coat.
“You were there?”
“I was supposed to give a speech.”
“You gave a terrible speech.”
His mouth almost smiled.
“You remember.”
“I remember someone using the phrase ‘strategic community partnership’ six times.”
“It was five.”
“Still terrible.”
For one fragile second, we were almost us.
Whatever us meant.
Then I remembered why we were there.
“You noticed me at a fundraiser.”
“Yes.”
“And did nothing.”
“You were dating someone.”
I blinked.
“Evan?”
“I believe that was his name.”
The dryness in Dominic’s voice made me study him.
“Were you jealous?”
“Yes.”
The immediate answer startled me.
“You’re suddenly very honest.”
“I have discovered dishonesty is not producing good results.”
Against my better judgment, I nearly smiled.
He continued.
“When you became single, I considered asking Elena to introduce us.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Your mother had died recently. You were taking care of Noah. Your father was already in financial trouble. You looked exhausted every time I saw you.”
“You saw me more than once?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Hospital events. Elena’s gallery opening. Matteo’s restaurant.”
“I don’t remember you.”
“I am trying not to take that personally.”
I folded my arms.
“You don’t get charming points today.”
“Understood.”
He looked at the letter.
“When your father came to me about the debt, I recognized your name.”
“So you bought it.”
“Yes.”
“To help me?”
“To stop the people who held it from pressing him.”
“And then you proposed marriage.”
His face tightened.
“That part is more complicated.”
“I have time.”
Dominic leaned back.
“Your father suggested it first.”
Of course he had.
Something bitter moved through me.
“He offered me.”
“He tried.”
“You accepted.”
“No.”
I frowned.
Dominic continued.
“I told him the debt would be cleared whether you knew me or not. I told him never to mention marriage to you.”
“But he did.”
“Yes.”
I remembered my father sitting at our kitchen table.
The shaking hands.
The speech about sacrifice.
He had told me the Russos expected a family bond in exchange for mercy.
“How did we get from you refusing to me walking down an aisle?”
“Your father told me you already knew.”
I stared at him.
“He said you wanted to meet me.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
Dominic rubbed one hand over his face.
“I met you for coffee. You were polite and terrified.”
“I was not terrified.”
“You stirred the same coffee for forty minutes and never drank it.”
“I was terrified.”
“I asked if you were sure.”
“You asked if I understood what marriage to you would mean.”
“I thought I was asking whether you wanted it.”
“I thought you were asking whether I understood the arrangement.”
We both fell silent.
Two people remembering the same conversation.
Two entirely different meanings.
“So you thought I knew the debt was already gone.”
“At first.”
“When did you realize I didn’t?”
His eyes lowered.
“The week before the wedding.”
My stomach turned.
“And you still let it happen.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wrote the letter.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
He looked up.
“On our wedding morning, your father came to me. He told me about your mother.”
“The lie.”
“I did not know it was a lie.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“That your mother believed powerful families destroyed the people around them. That she would never have wanted you near mine. He said you had spent your life doing what other people needed, and if I gave you an escape you would take it.”
I remembered my mother.
Her soft hands.
The way she used to say, Choose the life you can live with, sweetheart. Not the one that looks impressive from the sidewalk.
“She would never have said that.”
“I know that now.”
Dominic’s voice became quieter.
“But that morning, I believed your father.”
“So your solution was to hide the truth?”
“My solution was cowardice.”
That silenced me.
He continued.
“I had convinced myself that once we were married, I could give you stability. I would ask nothing from you. I would make sure Noah had opportunities. I would keep my distance.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought if I did not ask for your affection, then I was not taking advantage of you.”
I stared at him.
“You thought ignoring me was noble?”
“No.”
He looked almost embarrassed.
“I thought it was controlled.”
“Dominic.”
“I know.”
“No, I need you to understand something.”
“I’m listening.”
“Every night you slept in another room, I thought you couldn’t stand being near me.”
His face changed.
“Claire—”
“Every time you walked past me at breakfast and discussed schedules with Mrs. Alvarez instead of asking how I was, I thought I was an obligation you regretted.”
“I did ask.”
“No, you asked whether I needed the car. Whether the house was comfortable. Whether Noah’s tuition had been paid.”
“I thought those things mattered.”
“They did.”
My voice softened despite myself.
“But I mattered too.”
Dominic closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, there was no defense left in his face.
“I know.”
“No. You know now.”
“Yes.”
That distinction seemed important.
I looked out toward the garden.
A waiter was arranging chairs on the patio for dinner service.
Ordinary life again.
The world kept moving while people rewrote their understanding of the past.
“Why did you tell me you never wanted me?” I asked.
Dominic took a long breath.
“Because yesterday afternoon I received documents involving your father.”
My attention sharpened.
“What documents?”
“Records showing he had been trying to borrow money again.”
I felt tired instantly.
“For how long?”
“Several months.”
“From whom?”
“Mostly legitimate lenders. One private investor. Nothing dangerous.”
I appreciated that he said it before I had to ask.
“He used my name?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“For what?”
“As a reference. Not a guarantor.”
“Still.”
“Yes.”
Dominic folded his hands.
“I planned to tell you after dinner.”
I looked at him.
“You knew I had made dinner?”
His gaze shifted.
“I saw the table.”
“And left.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was angry at your father.”
“So naturally you punished me.”
“I didn’t intend to.”
“Intent is becoming a very popular excuse in this family.”
“I know.”
His shoulders lowered.
“I thought if I stayed away until I calmed down, I would avoid saying something cruel.”
“And then?”
“You came into the study.”
“I asked whether you wanted me.”
“Yes.”
“And you lied.”
He looked at the table.
“I panicked.”
I almost laughed.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Dominic Russo panicked because his wife asked whether he liked her?”
“Wanted.”
“What?”
“You asked whether I wanted you.”
Heat rose into my face.
He continued before I could respond.
“I had spent eight months telling myself that wanting you was the reason I had made every bad decision. I wanted you before you knew me. I wanted you when your father brought me his debt. I wanted you when I realized you believed the marriage was required. And instead of correcting everything immediately, I married you anyway.”
His voice remained quiet.
“That was the ugliest thing I believed about myself.”
I looked at him.
“So when I asked—”
“I answered the version of the question I had been asking myself.”
“Do you regret wanting me?”
“Yes.”
The word hurt.
Then he continued.
“Because I thought wanting you had made me selfish.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“But I do not regret you.”
That distinction settled between us.
I was not ready to forgive him.
But for the first time, I understood him.
And understanding was dangerous in its own way.
It softened sharp edges.
Made anger less simple.
“I can’t go back to the house tonight,” I said.
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I want to stay married.”
His face went still.
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I finally do.”
He reached into his jacket and placed a small envelope on the table.
I did not touch it.
“What is that?”
“A copy of the annulment petition my attorney prepared this morning.”
I stared at him.
“You said last night you didn’t want a divorce.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why?”
“Because you were never given a fully informed choice.”
May you like
The words landed somewhere deep inside me.
“If you decide to leave,” he continued, “I will sign whatever you want signed. Your father’s debt remains gone. Noah’s education fund remains his. The apartment I purchased for your father is no longer tied to any family company. There will be no conditions.”
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