Page 113 of Knot Your Business

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Dinner,” Dominic murmurs, leading me to the Alfa Romeo and easing me into the passenger seat.

“I’m not really dressed for a dinner out,” I say, the statement very nearly a complaint.

I eye my shorts and fishnets. The types of places Dominic always chooses are definitely not fishnet friendly. Dominic squeezes my hand and murmurs something in Italian. I glance at him, my eyebrow cocked, and he smiles.

Smiles. Not smirks.

It’s like the sun fucking shines or something. I’m caught dumbstruck. He laughs at my speechlessness.

“Sei bella, Sirena,” he says just loud enough for me to hear.

I blush and duck my head, and he laughs again.

Rylan and Jasper load into the back, neither complaining of the seating arrangement, surprisingly quiet as Dominic puts the car in gear and leaves the studio’s small parking lot.

I realize why once Dominic is navigating the rush hour traffic through downtown.

“Jealous I wasn’t invited to make out in the back seat,” I murmur, raising one eyebrow.

Jasper laughs, the breathless sound skating over my skin and making my nipples tighten.

Maybe we could just skip dinner and order something later. Orgasms sound way better than food right now.

“If they had invited you, Sirena, then we would not be on our way to dinner,” Dominic murmurs. He reaches across the console and palms my thigh, running his thumb down the outside line of my shorts’ seam. “Perhaps on the way home, though.”

The restaurant isn’t one I recognize, one of the newer pop-ups along the beach south of downtown. It’s certainly not something Faedra and I would have ever tried before graduation. I’m sure a plate here costs as much as I made working at the Rowdy Seahorse.

Dominic hands off the keys to the valet while Rylan helps me from the car, tucking my hand into the crook of his elbow and kissing my temple. Jasper and Dominic walk behind us, a wall of heat that has my legs clenching and my breath catching.

Rylan chuckles. “And here I thought you being out of your heat would mean we’d be able to take you out places,” he murmurs. “Going to need to start picking locations based off the bathroom situation it seems.”

My chest flushes, but I manage to keep a straight face.

“Always so confident,” I whisper. His laugh brushes over my skin, and I bask in the feeling of it.

It’s a happy enough feeling that it takes me a minute to realize there’s already people seated at our table in the back corner, another subtle frosted door partitioning the area from the rest of the dining space. Two men have their heads close together as they discuss something in low voices. Even with their faces turned away, I recognize them.

Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them away before they can mess up my makeup.

“You have turned me into a fucking crier,” I mutter, elbowing Rylan hard enough in the side that he flinches.

Jasper laughs as he palms the small of my back. “You’ve always been one, love. You’re just in denial.”

Papa looks up, his eyes skating down me. Before he can say anything, Dad stands up and crosses the small space. He cups my cheeks, and I try desperately to not cry for real while reorienting myself to them both being here. His gaze is sharp but his touch gentle. After a long, unspoken moment, he pulls me into his chest and kisses the crown of my head.

“I’m so sorry, Violet,” he says.

I shake my head. “Not your fault.”

His hold tightens, and then Papa is pulling me into his chest, too, his beard scratching at my hair. Dad doesn’t let go, though. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated their combined warmth and strength as much as I do in this moment.

“Darling,” Papa murmurs. “I was so worried.”

His voice breaks, and every piece of strength and resilience I’ve had over the last several days crumbles at the sound. I lean harder into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, breathing through my nose to keep from crying. He hums and runs his hand up my spine. I vaguely hear the guys move around us and settle in at the table.

“We should probably sit down,” I mutter into his chest.

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