Page 75 of Scorned Beauty
“Unbelievable.”
I spun around and ran to the door. When I reached the top of the stoop, Dom called out, “I know about the pregnancy.”
My stomach dropped. I was unprepared to discuss it. Even my therapist didn’t know about it yet. I’d skirted around my miscarriage because I’d known I was pregnant only for a fleeting moment. But maybe I was lying to myself. The signs were there. I avoided confirming the pregnancy because I had no business bringing a baby into the world, but if I had taken the test sooner, maybe I would have made different choices.
I turned around. “I didn’t know I was pregnant.” My voice came out eerily calm. “If I did, I would have told you.”
“I’m not accusing you of keeping?—”
“I know you’re not,” I cut him off. “Because it’s my babyIlost.”
“Sloane…please…can I come in?” I couldn’t stand the longing in his eyes any longer. The bleakness in them was threatening to shatter me inside.
“No. We’re over.”
I ran into the house, shut the door, and leaned against it. Dom wasn’t one to go away easily, but I didn’t know the Dominic De Lucci I just witnessed. I couldn’t allow myself to believe he was as broken as I was. He was simply feeling guilt for treating me unfairly.
I peeked through the window and saw him staring at the house, but he hadn’t taken one step farther than where I’d left him.
I reminded myself that he didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt. That he accused me of being a rat. That hurt the most. Everything that followed resulted from my choices. I didn’t blame him for Billy’s death. I didn’t blame him for Anton hurting me. I was finding out I wasn’t blaming him at all for the miscarriage.
But an old festering wound from my past was bleeding on my present, on the people who were innocent of inflicting that damage.
You’re nothing but trash.
I thought I’d buried it. Apparently not. What happened with Dom only amplified my delusion that I’d moved on from it.
I rifled through my drawer of things, looking up briefly to see Dom walking back to the beach house. I found the notebook of phone numbers. Two weeks after I’d healed enough, I drove to my storage unit on the outskirts of New Jersey and grabbed my trunk of things. In it were my passport, money, a spare burner, and phone numbers stored the old-fashioned way—in a little Moleskine book. Technically, I violated my agreement with the woman. I have no doubt she was tracking either me or my car, but so far, no one had come after me.
I entered Bianca’s number and called it.
The first call went to voicemail and I left a message.
“Hey, it’s Sloane. Answer the next time if you forgive me for disappearing.”
Walking to the window, I watched Dom’s figure recede in the distance. The nerve. The utter nerve of him. Didn’t he have a criminal empire to run?
My phone started ringing. It startled me because it was the first time in months someone had called me.
I barely said hello when Bianca started shrieking. “Omigod, Sloane, omigod. Where have you been?”
“Dom didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what? Wait…is this the reason he’s taken a leave of absence?”
At this, I laughed. “What? I didn’t know bosses could take leaves of absence.”
“Well, he did,” Bianca told me. “Fromthe company. He put Sonny in charge. I can tell you Aunt Lottie is fuming.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Two weeks and…I’m confused. I thought he was with you?”
“No, he’s not. He’s renting the beach house beside me, and I need for you to fetch your cousin. Bring your scary husband if you must.”
“Oh thank God,” Bianca rushed out. “I wasn’t sure if I was glad or mad that you forgave him so quickly.”
I laughed again, the tightness in my chest easing. Maybe I was ready to see my friends and rebuild bridges. I might not step foot in Manhattan again, but I was sure there was a workaround.
