Page 13 of Say Yes To The Fake Date

I remember.

The bubbles appear again, and I wait for the message, but just as quickly, they disappear. The phone is gripped tightly in my hand, and when he doesn’t send another message, I feel a deep sadness hit me.

I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around my knees. I should go to bed. I should worry about getting my shit together, handling my business, and dealing with Ray. But all I can think about is Dom. I know I need to talk to him. For years, it’s been weighing on me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be free unless I finally get some closure.

With a decision made, I get up to go inside. Thinking I’ll be able to sneak off to my bedroom, my mom stops me as soon as I get inside the door. “Honey, is that you? Ray called.”

My mom is hollering from the other room, and for just a second, I debate that maybe I’ll just keep walking to my room, acting like I didn’t hear her, but then she appears from around the corner. “He said he’s sorry and he wants to talk to you.”

I bend over to remove my shoes. “He can talk to my attorney, Mother.”

“But—” she starts, and usually I humor her, but not tonight. Tonight, I can’t listen to all the reasons why I should give Ray a second chance.

“Mom, I’m not getting back with Ray. Truth be told, I never loved him and should never have agreed to marry him.”

I raise up after putting my shoes away and look my mother in the eye. “But besides all that, he hit me, Mom.” She opens her mouth, but I hold my hand up. “And yes it was only one time and yes he apologized, but I would never stay with someone like that, so you should give up on the thought that Ray and I are getting back together. The only thing I want is my part of the business.”

She just stares back at me. I would give anythingfor her to be on my side. Hell, if she hugged me and told me everything was going to be okay, it would be amazing. But when she doesn’t do any of that, I walk past her. “I’m going to bed. Good night, Mom.”

She doesn’t try to stop me, and as soon as I get into my bedroom, I shut the door behind me. Exhaustion takes over, and I strip off my clothes, curl into bed, and try to clear my head of a certain brown-haired man that I shouldn’t be thinking about.

8

DOMINIC

Fuck!

My mind is on Luciana instead of the head gasket that I’m working on. I pull my hand back, and there’s a gash with blood pouring from it. I mutter curses, one right after another, letting the frustration out.

I’m wrapping my hand in a shop towel when Luciana walks into the garage and I forget all about my hand. Damn, she’s beautiful.

“Hey, Lucky.”

She’s walking toward me with determination, but she falters when she sees me holding my hand and the blood that is already seeping through the towel. Her mouth drops, and she rushes the last few steps toward me. “What happened?”

Before I can answer her, she wraps her hands around mine and starts pushing me to the back of the garage. She’s looking around my office. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

Normally, I’d wave her off. I’m not accustomed to being fussed over, but there’s no way I’m going to stop her now. This is the closest I’ve been to her, and I’ll let her do whatever she wants to me. “It’s in the bathroom,” I tell her, nodding to the door on the other side of the office.

“Dom, how did you do this to your hand?”

She’s peeled back the towel and is inspecting the cut.

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

She nods and covers it back up. “Stay right here.”

She walks into the bathroom and returns seconds later with the red first aid box in her hands. Her face is pinched up as she wipes the wet paper towel across my hand, cleaning off the blood. I try not to flinch as she works methodically. She’s talking, and I stay silent, enjoying the sound of her voice.

“Dom, you’ve cut yourself pretty deeply. It really needs stitches, but I know you, you’re not going to go and get it looked at, are you?” Shedoesn’t wait for me to respond. “Of course you’re not. That would mean you need someone, and the Dominic Evans I know doesn’t need anyone.”

The more she talks, the more I realize that she’s not talking about my hand anymore. As she continues to clean my hand and then put a bandage on it, I turn my hand in hers and hold on to her. “I’m sorry, Luciana.”

Finally, her eyes lift to mine, and it’s like a punch in the gut to have her this close again. Before she can stop me, I insist on getting the rest of my apology out. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

She stares at me, licks her lips, and then answers in a matter-of-fact manner. “It was seventeen years ago.”

“I know, but…”

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