Page 89 of Loss and Damages
He pushes his hands into his pockets, steps away from me, then toward me, then back again. He meets my eyes, opening his mouth, but then purses his lips. Finally, he says, “What would I have to say to make you reconsider? For you to believe that I want you, wantus,more than anything else?”
The words are simple. “That you won’t tear down the homeless shelter, that you’ll leave the 1100 block how it is, and that anything you do to Oakdale Square will help the neighborhood be a safer place for the people who already live there.”
Holding my gaze, he says, “I won’t tear down the homeless shelter, I’ll leave the 1100 block how it is, and whatever I do to Oakdale Square will help the neighborhood be a safer place for the people who already live there.”
I swallow, and my skin heats, just like it does whenever he touches me. “Why are you saying that?”
His eyes narrow. “Why am I saying it? Because I love you, Jemma.” Raking a hand through his hair, he says, “When I toured the homeless shelter yesterday, all I could think about was you. What kind of changes you would want for the shelter, for the daycare, the halfway houses. I want to make you happy, happy withme, and this will, won’t it?”
Every word he says makes my heart drop a little further. He’s saying the words I want to hear, but the reasons why he’s saying them fills my eyes with tears. Dominic thinks they’re from happiness, and he cuddles me to him, chuckling. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’re all I’ve wanted since we met. I don’t know what Leo would think, but I want to believe he’d be happy for us. Aren’t you going to say something?”
I need all my strength to step away. He’s giving me everything I want, but I’m selfish. I want more.
“I don’t know how to explain this. I don’t want you to want those things because the violence will stop. I don’t want you to want those things because the city will love you. I don’t want you to want those things for me. I want you to want those things becauseyouwant them.”
He scowls. “I don’t understand. I’m doing the best I can. I’m giving you what you want. Why can’t that be good enough?”
I’m a coward and take the out he doesn’t understand he offered me. “Because it’s not. I’m sorry, but it’s not. Dominic,” I say, squeezing his hand. I can keep my promise in my own way. “I will always be your friend. Always. You can come to me anytime, to talk things out, to cry about your parents or Leo, or ifyou just want to sit on my porch and drink me out of all my wine. I love you, but you’re not giving me what I need to be with you. If, no,when, you figure it out, buy me a ring and ask me to marry you. I’ll say yes. I have to go. I’ll find my own way home.”
I’m too short to reach up and kiss his cheek the way I want. He would have to meet me halfway and after what I just said, he wouldn’t. I smooth his tie instead, the silk soft under my trembling fingers.
I tense, waiting, maybe hoping, he’ll stop me, but all he does is lightly touch my shoulder in goodbye.
One day Dominic will figure out what I want, I just hope by the time he does, it’s not too late.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dominic
I’m not going to try anymore.
Fuck being her friend. That was good enough for Leo, but it’s not good enough for me. If she won’t accept what I promised to do with the property, risking my father’s wrath for her happiness, fuck it and to hell with her half-assed proposal. I tried to do what she wants, and maybe she doesn’t understand that investing in the shelter rather than using the land for something else, not tearing down the 1100 block to build new luxury apartments, rebuilding Oakdale Square only to benefit the people already living there, I’m not making millions of dollars, I’m throwing it away.
Plenty of women want me just as I am. They don’t give a shit what I do with my business, they just want me to fuck them hard and spend money on them.
Love doesn’t have anything to do with it.
It turns people soft and weak, like my mother when she could have been happy spending my father’s money.
Leo’s apartment no longer gives me peace. It’s a reminder that I’m not my brother. What was he doing with Jemma? Whydidn’t he want her for his own? I want to pull my hair out or slam my head against the wall. Punch something until my knuckles are bloody.
They were perfect for each other, yet Jemma says she loves me.
I don’t understand and I’m never going to be able to. I don’t know what she wants, and how can I give it to her if I don’t know?
My cell phone rings, and I grab it eagerly, thankful for the distraction. The number’s unfamiliar. “Milano.”
“This is Detective Solomon with the SCPD.”
“Do you have news on who set my truck on fire?”
“Yes. Two beat cops chased down a couple of punks running away from the scene. They reeked of gasoline and we found a jug tossed in a dumpster in an alley a few blocks away. We have them in custody, and we’re trying to pull prints off the jug. We found a burner phone on one of them that matches the number that called in the fake bomb threat.”
“Good. Are they the ones who broke into Miss Ferrell’s gallery in Hollow Lake?”
“Possibly, but we haven’t questioned them yet. They’re stewing in an interrogation room. We want a crack at them before they lawyer up and thought you’d want to be there.”
I keep my voice steady. “I would appreciate that.”
