Page 45 of His for Christmas
He glances around, confirming we're alone, before meeting my eyes again. "I owe you an apology for last night," he says, the words clearly difficult for him. "My reaction was…excessive."
The acknowledgment surprises me, though I note he's apologizing for his reaction, not the possessiveness that triggered our argument. "Which part was excessive, exactly?" I ask, needing clarity.
A flash of irritation crosses his features before he masters it. "My approach to our disagreement about Saturday's party. I should have expressed my disappointment without attempting to manipulate your decision."
It's a carefully constructed apology that doesn't actually address the core issue. "But you still don't think I should go," I observe.
"I would prefer you spend the evening with me," he admits, no longer trying to hide his preference. "But I recognize thatmy…intensity regarding your time and attention has concerned you."
"Concerned is an understatement," I reply, setting down the carousel horse I've been clutching too tightly. "Dominic, you acted as if my plans to spend one evening with friends was a betrayal. As if my independence is a threat to our relationship rather than an essential part of who I am."
He takes a step closer, his expression softening. "I've never felt this way about anyone before," he says, his voice dropping lower. "The thought of sharing you—even with friends—triggers something primitive in me that I struggle to control."
The vulnerability in his admission affects me more than I want to admit. "That's not healthy," I say gently. "For either of us."
"Perhaps not," he concedes, moving another step closer. "But it's honest. I want you with an intensity that surprises even me. I want all of you, Holly—not just the parts that are convenient or comfortable to share."
There it is again—the possessiveness wrapped in language of desire and connection. I take a small step back, creating distance as his proximity begins to affect my clarity. "Wanting me doesn't give you the right to control me."
"Control is a harsh characterization," he counters, his eyes tracking my retreat. "I prefer to think of it as protection, as prioritization of what matters most."
"And who decides what matters most?" I challenge. "You? Unilaterally? Without considering my perspective or preferences?"
His jaw tightens slightly. "I consider your wellbeing in everything I do."
"My wellbeing according to your definition," I clarify. "Which apparently doesn't include maintaining independent friendships or making decisions without your approval."
He moves forward again, erasing the distance I created, his hand rising to cup my cheek in that gesture that's become so familiar. "I only want what's best for us, Holly. For this connection that transcends anything I've experienced before."
His touch sends electricity through me despite my reservations, my body betraying my attempt at emotional distance. When his thumb traces my lower lip—that signature caress that never fails to affect me—I can't help the small intake of breath, the instinctive parting of my lips.
"See?" he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Your body understands what your mind still resists. You belong with me. To me."
The possessive claim—to me—makes me flinch visibly, pulling back from his touch as the words cut through the haze of desire he so easily creates. "That's exactly what I'm talking about," I say, stepping fully away from him. "That automatic assumption of ownership. As if my response to your touch grants you title to my entire being."
Surprise crosses his face at my reaction, followed by something like confusion. "It's just an expression, Holly."
"No," I counter, finding strength in the clarity of my objection. "It's a worldview. It's how you fundamentally see our relationship—as acquisition rather than partnership."
He studies me for a long moment, his expression shifting from confusion to calculation. I can almost see him reassessing his approach, adjusting his strategy. "Perhaps I've been inarticulate in expressing my feelings," he says finally. "What I mean is that we belong together. That what exists between us is rare and worth protecting."
The reformulation is subtle but significant—from possession to partnership, at least linguistically. But I'm no longer certain I can trust the distinction. "Words matter, Dominic. They reveal underlying beliefs that actions confirm."
"Then let my actions speak," he suggests, his voice softening further. "Go to your party on Saturday. I won't interfere or attempt to dissuade you. Consider it a gesture of…respect for your independence."
The offer should please me—it's exactly what I've been asking for. Instead, I feel a surge of wariness at how easily he appears to concede. "And Alessandra? Will you be spending the evening with her after all?"
A small smile curves his mouth. "There was never any dinner with Alessandra planned. That was…an ill-considered attempt to provoke your jealousy."
The admission of manipulation doesn't surprise me, though the casual way he acknowledges it does. "That's not how healthy relationships work, Dominic."
"Perhaps not," he agrees with surprising candor. "I'm learning as we go, Holly. This territory is as unfamiliar to me as it is to you."
There's genuine vulnerability in his admission—a glimpse of the man beneath the controlled, possessive exterior. It softens my defenses slightly, though not enough to forget the patterns I'm beginning to
There's genuine vulnerability in his admission—a glimpse of the man beneath the controlled, possessive exterior. It softens my defenses slightly, though not enough to forget the patterns I'm beginning to recognize.
"So I'll go to the party, and you'll…what? Spend the evening alone, thinking about me with friends who aren't you?" I can't keep the skepticism from my voice.
