Page 4 of Dominant

“Hi,” I said, wide-eyed with surprise. I extended a hand dumbly.

He stared at my wrist. Jennifer’s hand on my elbow had pulled my sleeve up, and the perfectly thin line of bruises that encircled it like a bracelet underneath the elastic band I always wore were visible. Self-consciously, I pushed my sleeve back down, and his eyes flicked upwards to meet mine. For the second time that evening, he closed his large, warm hand around mine.

“Nice to meet you,” he answered, in his smooth, baritone voice, and smiled. It was easier to pretend we hadn’t already been talking - I was sure Jennifer would disapprove if she knew - and he seemed perfectly content to go along.

As he dropped my hand, he looked downwards again. Most people didn’t notice the elastic band around my wrist, or even my habit of snapping it against my skin when I was anxious, but I had a feeling he knew exactly what he’d seen.

For once I was relieved when Jennifer dismissed me. “Jordan was just going to go help her sisters with the desserts,” she said quickly. “But like all of us, she wants to welcome you into the Andilet family.”

“Thank you,” he said politely.

“Uh, yes. Thank you.” I said, unable to think of anything else, and bent my knee in a weird little courtesy. Then I excused myself and rushed to join my stepsisters.

“That guy is a snack and a half,” said Jackie, when I joined them. She was leaning against a large table that was being decorated by the catering staff, eyeing him as he spoke to our parents.

“How old is he?” I asked judgmentally, even though I personally thought older men were sexy. My stepsisters and I were close in age, I was only three years older than Nicki, but I somehow felt older.

“Mom thinks he’s forty,” answered Nicki.

“Jesus,” I uttered. “That’s twice your age.”

“Our parents have a bigger age difference than that,” she countered.

I frowned; I didn’t think our parents were a great model for anything.

“Besides,” she continued, “if Alexander and I get married then the winery will stay in the family.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it. There was no point discussing the likelihood of Alexander joining the family. Although, if he did, it would make family dinners that much more awkward for me, as I would surely be unable to keep my eyes off him.

Servers descended on the table with the coffee service and desserts: platters of little cakes and a giant sheet of Jennifer’s homemade tiramisu. Her tiramisu recipe was her pride and joy, and she made it for every conceivable occasion. It especially pleased her to serve it at a formal, catered event. She always said it added a homey touch. As it was being placed on the table, she scurried over, hovering over it and fussing like a mother hen.

“Girls,” she instructed us. “Spread the plates out evenly and put some flowers between them. These caterers just plonk them down like presentation doesn’t matter. When you’re finished, stand behind the table to serve the guests as they come over. Push the tiramisu! It’s my best one yet.”

Her attention was pulled away by my father clanging a spoon against his crystal glass. He stood in front of a microphone on a stand.

“Attention, everyone. Attention.” He smiled and nodded at the guests as they turned to face the grand staircase, where he and Alexander stood side by side. The house lights began to dim, and my stepmother rushed back across the floor to join them. A spotlight rose on the three winery partners as the room hushed.

I was used to seeing my parents under a spotlight. They had one in their home as well, where they loved to entertain and give speeches.

They were obsessed with attention and publicity, and everything they did was with consideration for appearances - and always about status. They didn’t care about me; they didn’t even care about their golden-haired minions, Nicki and Jackie. They cared only about success, power, and their own wealth.

It suddenly occurred to me that I hated them.

Oh, I’d thought it before, of course. Ever since I had first met them when I was a teenager, including my father, it had been clear that I was cast in a scapegoat role. I’d learned to blame myself, too, taking their microaggressions to heart and always trying harder. But watching them in their element, patting themselves on the back and ensuring that everyone was watching, I had a simple realization: They were just terrible people. And I hated them.

“Thank you so much for joining us today,” my father continued. “We’re so happy to share the spirit of the season with all our friends, and we’d also like to take a moment to formally introduce you to our new partner - the new, fresh face that’s going to take Chateau Andilet in the right direction for the future. Please join us in welcoming Alexander Abbott to the Chateau Andilet family!”

The grand hall thundered with polite applause.

All eyes were turned towards my parents and Alexander. Even my stepsisters and the catering staff stood facing them, hushed and alert. Eyeing the dessert table unnoticed, a purely evil and vindictive urge overtook me.

Reaching silently for a salt shaker that had been left on the table, I unscrewed the top and slowly, carefully, scattered an even layer of salt over the top of Jennifer’s tiramisu.

Salt for every time she’d reminded me I didn’t belong; salt for every time she’d excluded me; salt for every veiled criticism, every passive aggressive slight, every evil insinuation. I felt my heart rise with a kind of frantic glee as I sifted the entire contents of the salt shaker over her tiramisu in a sparkling, iridescent shimmer. When the shaker was empty, I silently rescrewed the cap and, looking back up towards the speakers, dropped the empty shaker into the loose pocket of my kimono-style dress.

My father’s speech was still in full swing, but looking up, I caught one set of eyes looking directly at me.

Alexander’s fierce blue eyes were fixed on me, dancing with the same liveliness they’d had when he’d tugged his hundred bill away from a man’s grasping fingers.

---