Page 63 of Sweetest Sin
“Good job,” I mutter so only Dominick can hear me. “You just agreed to plant a big-ass tree in your yard.”
Dominick’s brows furrow in confusion because he’s never readThe Giving Tree, and I shake my head. I’ll deal with him later. We’re going to have to have a talk about questioning things before saying yes. I understand he’s rich and he can give our son the world, but that doesn’t mean he should.
“Can you throw me now?” Damien asks him. “And then we’ll go get the tree.”
Dominick stares at him for several seconds in confusion, but then he shakes his head and says, “Yeah, let me go get my swim shorts on first.”
Damien cheers again, and Dominick heads inside, his wet shoes squeaking as he walks.
22
Peyton
The next fewhours are spent with Dominick and Damien roughhousing in the pool while I sit on the edge and watch. For a little while, I can’t help but pretend like we’re a normal family—Dominick is an upstanding citizen and businessman who took the day off to spend time with his son, and I’m a stay-at-home mom, looking for a job after graduating from college.
There’s no violence.
No corruption.
We’re just a happy little family, and everything is perfect.
When Damien starts to rub his eyes, I tell him it’s time for a nap. He starts to whine, and I’m preparing for the tantrum that’s about to ensue when Dominick speaks to him.
“Hey, buddy,” he says, holding Damien in his arms like he’s been caring for him his entire life. “How about you go take a nap, and when you wake up, we can play with some of your new toys?”
“I got new toys?” Damien’s teary eyes light up with renewed excitement.
“Yeah. They were delivered a little bit ago. We can check them out after your nap.”
He stops crying, and while I know he’s only giving in because Dominick is new and shiny and totally bribed him, it’s nice to have someone as backup.
I bring Damien his towel and wrap it around him and then carry him up to our room so I can rinse him off and change him into dry clothes.
He falls asleep quickly, and I consider staying in the room with him so I don’t have to face Dominick or anyone else in the house. I overheard his sister’s judgmental remarks about me keeping his son away from him. And although his brother is kind of funny, he’s also pretty freaking scary.
Figuring it’ll be better to talk to Dominick about the future without Damien around, I head down in search of him.
After checking the kitchen and living room, where I see the toys he told Damien about, I find him in what I assume is his office, at his desk, typing away on his laptop.
Once again, he’s dressed in business attire—a gray button-down dress shirt, rolled to his elbows, showing off a few tattoos, some of which weren’t there when we spent the night together. I can’t see what’s below the desk, but I imagine he’s in his usual dress pants and shoes. I’ve never seen him dressed down. Even during our time sightseeing in the Dominican Republic, he was wearing a collared shirt and khakis.
“Are you coming in, or will you just continue to eye-fuck me from the doorway?” he asks, making me roll my eyes.
“You’re going to need to watch your mouth around our son,” I tell him, stepping inside. “I have enough trouble keeping him from cursing without you throwing F-bombs around. And I wasn’t eye-fucking you. I was wondering if you went to bed in a suit.”
He stops typing and looks up at me, mirth dancing in his gray eyes. “Who says I sleep?”
He quirks a brow, and I sit in the visitor seat across from him.
“That’s true,” I agree. “I thought you were asleep in the Dominican Republic, but really, you were just waiting to get away in the middle of the night.” I cringe at the hurt in my tone, wishing I could take back what I said. But it’s too late.
“I didn’t sneak out,” he says, closing the laptop and shifting it to the side. His hand goes to the corner of his chiseled jaw, and he uses it to hold his head up as he locks eyes with me. “My dad had been killed,” he explains, scrubbing his hand over his stubble, “and I wasn’t thinking clearly. It wasn’t until I was on the plane that I realized I’d left without a note, but by then, it was too late.”
I nod in understanding. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“I’m not,” he says, his tone devoid of all emotion. “He was a shitty father, an even shittier husband, and his business partner shooting him saved my brother and me the trouble of taking him out ourselves.”
“And that right there is why I’m scared of you,” I admit. “Violence is just so easy for you. I know you’re mad that I kept Damien from you, but you don’t understand what I went through. Your life is filled with brutality and you’re okay with that. You talk about it like you’re discussing the weather.
