Chapter 8 - What Dominic WantedDominic kissed me for the first time when Eleanor was seven weeks old.
It was an accident.
At least that was what I told Rebecca.
She stared at me across my kitchen table.
“How does an accidental kiss happen?”
“I don't know.”
“You tripped mouth-first?”
“Please stop.”
“Was there an earthquake?”
“Rebecca.”
“A localized gravitational event?”
I threw a napkin at her.
She caught it.
“I'm trying to understand.”
“There is nothing to understand.”
“You kissed Dominic Moretti.”
“He kissed me.”
Her eyes widened.
“Important distinction.”
“I kissed him back.”
“Oh.”
She leaned forward.
“Now we're getting somewhere.”
“There is nowhere to get.”
“Claire.”
“Eleanor woke up.”
Rebecca stared at me.
“That is the least romantic conclusion I've ever heard.”
It had not felt unromantic.
It had felt terrifying.
The evening had begun normally.
Dominic brought dinner.
Not a chef.
Not a restaurant reservation.
Takeout noodles from the tiny Thai place four blocks away because I had once mentioned liking their basil chicken.
We sat on the living-room floor because Eleanor had finally fallen asleep and neither of us wanted to risk moving the bassinet.
I told him about Grant's second supervised visit.
It had gone better.
Grant no longer looked as though holding Eleanor required approval from a regulatory agency.
He changed a diaper badly.
Eleanor responded by ruining his shirt.
I considered the incident evidence of excellent judgment.
Dominic laughed.
Then he became quiet.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is never true.”
He looked toward the bassinet.
“Grant will be in your life.”
It was not a question.
“Yes.”
“For a long time.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
I knew where this was going.
Or thought I did.
“If that's too complicated—”
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
I blinked.
“No?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Dominic rested his arms across his knees.
“I need to tell you something before I become dishonest by omission.”
My entire body tightened.
Apparently omission had become my least favorite word.
He noticed.
“Not that kind.”
“What kind?”
“I've been offered Singapore.”
I frowned.
“Offered?”
“The board wants me to lead the Asia expansion personally for eighteen months.”
My stomach dropped.
“Oh.”
“I haven't accepted.”
“When did they ask?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“And you're telling me now?”
“Yes.”
I looked away.
Three weeks.
Not nine months.
Not a hidden medical diagnosis.
Still.
The sensation arrived quickly.
Someone had information.
I didn't.
Dominic saw the change in my face.
“I was waiting until I knew whether I wanted it.”
“That sounds familiar.”
He flinched.
Immediately, I regretted it.
“That was unfair.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
“You aren't Grant.”
“No.”
“And I don't want to punish you for something he did.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
Dominic thought.
“Because I was afraid.”
I laughed once.
“Men around me are apparently terrified.”
“Reasonably.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
He continued.
“I didn't know what we were.”
“We aren't anything.”
“I know.”
That hurt more than it should have.
He looked directly at me.
“But I knew what I wanted us to become.”
My heart accelerated.
I said nothing.
“I also knew you had just had a child. Your divorce had barely settled emotionally. Grant had reentered your life as Eleanor's father. The last thing you needed was another man presenting you with a decision.”
“So you made it privately.”
“Yes.”
“You see the problem.”
“Yes.”
He stood.
“I am trying very hard not to become another person who decides what is best for you without asking.”
“Then ask.”
His eyes held mine.
“Do you want me to go to Singapore?”
I stared.
“That is not fair either.”
“Why?”
“Because it's your career.”
“And you are part of my life.”
“We haven't even kissed.”
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.
That was the moment everything changed.
My breath stopped.
Dominic noticed.
I noticed him noticing.
The space between us became suddenly fragile.
Then Eleanor made a small sleeping sound.
Neither of us moved.
“You were saying?” he asked.
“I don't remember.”
“I believe you mentioned kissing.”
“I said we haven't.”
“Correct.”
Another second.
“Dominic.”
“Yes?”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Probably.”
“I have a seven-week-old daughter.”
“I've met her.”
“My ex-husband visits twice a week.”
“I've met him too.”
“I cry for no reason.”
“I assumed there were reasons.”
“I haven't slept more than four consecutive hours since February.”
“You are making an excellent case.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
Then he touched my face.
One hand.
Nothing more.
Slow enough for me to stop him.
I did not.
“Claire.”
My name was a question.
I answered by leaning forward.
His mouth touched mine.
Gentle.
No urgency.
No claim.
For half a second, I forgot how to breathe.
Then I kissed him back.
His hand moved to the back of my neck.
Mine rested against his chest.
I could feel his heartbeat.
Fast.
That surprised me.
Dominic Moretti, who remained calm during hostile board votes and once negotiated through a fire alarm, was nervous.
Because of me.
The thought was so unexpectedly tender that I smiled against his mouth.
He pulled back.
“What?”
“You're nervous.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“Defamation.”
I laughed.
Then Eleanor woke up and began screaming.
Dominic looked toward the bassinet.
“Excellent timing.”
“She takes after Rebecca.”
“I heard that.”
Rebecca, who had arrived early and been standing in the open kitchen doorway with a bag of groceries, froze.
I screamed.
Dominic stepped backward.
Rebecca's mouth opened.
“No.”
I pointed at her.
“You saw nothing.”
“I saw everything.”
“You were supposed to call.”
“I knocked.”
“You did not.”
“I absolutely did.”
Dominic picked up his coat.
“I believe this is my opportunity to survive.”
“Coward,” I said.
“Correct.”
He kissed my forehead.
In front of Rebecca.
Which caused her to make a sound I had previously heard only from teenage girls at concerts.
Then he left.
The next morning, I panicked.
Not because of the kiss.
Because I wanted another one.
Wanting something felt dangerous.
For years, I had trained myself not to want loudly.
Grant was not cruel about preferences.
He was worse.
He was convincing.
By the end of a conversation, his restaurant became obviously more practical.
His vacation destination made more sense.
His furniture choice had better resale value.
I had become easygoing as a survival skill.
With Dominic, I wanted.
I wanted him to stay.
I wanted him to refuse Singapore.
Then I hated myself for wanting that.
So I called him.
“Take Singapore.”
Silence.
It was eight in the morning.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I'm serious.”
“I assumed.”
“You should go.”
“Why?”
“Because it's important.”
“To whom?”
“You.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide what I want because it saves you from admitting what you want.”
I sat down.
I hated that he knew me well enough to say it.
“What if what I want is unreasonable?”
“Then say it.”
“What if it affects your life?”
“Most meaningful wants do.”
I stared at the wall.
“I want you not to go.”
There.
Ugly.
Selfish.
True.
Dominic was silent.
My pulse pounded.
Then he said, “Okay.”
I blinked.
“Okay?”
“I don't want to go either.”
“Then why have we spent five minutes discussing this?”
“Because I needed you to say it.”
“That is manipulative.”
“A little.”
“Dominic.”
He laughed.
“The board offered me Singapore because I made them believe I wanted it three years ago.”
“Do you?”
“Three years ago, yes.”
“And now?”
“Now there is a woman in a crooked townhouse who argues with her kitchen cabinets.”
“My cabinets are defective.”
“And a baby who hates me when I hold the bottle at the wrong angle.”
“She has standards.”
“And for the first time in fifteen years, I don't want my life optimized.”
Something inside me softened.
“Are you staying because of me?”
“No.”
That answer startled me.
“I'm staying because I want the life I have here.”
A pause.
“You happen to be the most important part of it.”
Better.
So much better.
Three days later, Grant arrived for his visit while Dominic was leaving.
They met on the front step.
I prepared for tension.
Grant looked from Dominic to me.
Then at my face.
He understood immediately.
Something flickered in his expression.
Pain.
Jealousy.
Regret.
But he did not weaponize it.
“Moretti.”
“Kingsley.”
Dominic left.
Grant entered.
For several minutes, he focused entirely on Eleanor.
Then, while warming a bottle, he said, “Are you together?”
I considered pretending not to understand.
I didn't.
“I don't know.”
Grant nodded.
“That sounds healthy.”
I stared at him.
He smiled faintly.
“I mean it.”
“Thank you.”
He focused on the bottle.
“Does he make you happy?”
The question surprised me.
“Yes.”
Another nod.
Then Grant said, “I think I spent years believing your happiness was evidence of whether I was succeeding as a husband.”
I stayed quiet.
“So when you were unhappy,” he continued, “I tried to change the evidence.”
Not himself.
The evidence.
That might have been the most accurate thing he had ever said about our marriage.
“I know.”
He gave Eleanor the bottle.
She grabbed his finger.
Grant smiled.
“I don't want to do that with her.”
“Then don't.”
“How?”
I almost laughed.
“You're asking me?”
“Yes.”
“Listen when she tells you who she is.”
“She can't speak.”
“She will.”
I watched them.
“Until then, pay attention.”
Grant looked down at his daughter.
“I can do that.”
I believed he might.
That evening, Dominic came back.
No dinner.
No flowers.
No grand gesture.
He stood at my door and said, “I turned down Singapore.”
My stomach jumped.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because you wanted to?”
“Yes.”
“Not because I asked?”
“You asking helped me admit what I wanted.”
That distinction mattered.
I stepped aside.
He entered.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Excellent.”
“I thought so.”
“No promises?”
“Only honest ones.”
“No pretending Eleanor isn't part of this.”
“She is the loudest part of this.”
A cry came from upstairs.
“See?”
I smiled.
“No competing with Grant.”
“I don't compete for things that aren't competitions.”
My chest tightened.
“And no deciding for me.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Never intentionally.”
“That is a suspicious qualification.”
“I'm human.”
“Unfortunately.”
He touched my cheek.
“So are you.”
Then he kissed me again.
May you like
This time Eleanor slept through it.
Progress.
