Page 87 of For the Love of the Gods

No, the lock stayed in place. Especially when I was dealing with the status of my plan to bring Pine back.

I hadn’t gone to the Fates since the last time. The decision haunted me like a shadow. I’d forget about it until I stood at the right angle in the sunlight and caught the reminder of my sins stretched out on the floor.

But like a shadow, it was just…there.

I was teetering on this decision, between being settled in this new feeling and dealing with the guilt of abandoning a plan five years in the making.

If Pine had an inkling of what I was planning, and he surely did, he was probably stalking me to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid. He’d kill me before the Fates could if he knew. He’d want me to be happy.

And I was. It didn’t feel like a lie to say that.

At that very moment, I would say I was happy if it wasn’t for that jar of fig jam sitting in the kitchen. Haunting me.

Dominic had no right to do that. I was craving a fight it seemed, because the second I saw it, I ran up to his door without hesitation to disturb his peace.

I knew he probably wanted to be alone. Dominic seemed to enjoy solitude, in the way that it freed him from expectations and authority and responsibility. I understood that—it was the same reason I enjoyed it, even though I might have addedfree from judgmentto the end of the list.

I knew he probably wanted to be alone, but I didn’t care. Not right now. I curled my hand in a fist and lifted it to the door, about to—

The door swung open purposefully, pulled by a hand that was skillful and strong. Dominic stood in the door frame, looking down at me through his glasses and tightening my chest in a quick little pinch. I was expecting it to be him, I don’t know why I was acting shocked to see him standing there. But that shock was enough to kill the wind fueling my anger sails, now leaving me standing there, heaving, without a reason to show for it.

Dominic stared at me for a second, intense as always but with a touch of something close to resignation in his whiskey brown eyes. Wordlessly, Dominic stepped aside and gave me access to his office. I walked through, welcoming the afternoon sun that flooded through his floor to ceiling windows. The exact mirror to my own office.

I got burgeoning, buttery morning light, while he got fading, fiery afternoon sun.

Dominic closed the door behind me, caging us in. I stood still for a second, waiting to see what he would do. Instead of going around his desk like I thought he would, he dropped into the long sofa tucked in the corner of his office and picked up a book.

He continued looking at me, though, now waiting to see whatIwould do. I had a choice then, to ruin the peaceful afternoon he’d made or to join him.

The anger was simmering to a low burn, the same that was always there around him. Scratching the center of my chest.

So I made a decision. Walking over to him, allowing instincts to trample reason, I sat down in the open space in between the arm he rested on the back of the couch and his midsection. Dominic’s hand immediately moved to my shoulder, confirming that this was alright. That we could touch softly, instead of frenzied grasps in the dark.

That permission had me tucking into his side—guided by his hand as much as my own movement—and positioning my legs to rest over his thighs.

The only sound in the room was the soft crackle of a book spine opening, the whispery rustle of pages turning as Dominic and I read a book. Together.

He was in the middle of a chapter, but flipped back a few pages to the beginning to help me catch up. It was a classic novel, one I’d read before, but I needed a bit of context on where in the story he was. I tried to focus on the pages, but the words started swimming together. Within minutes, I was asleep.

†

Dominic

Rose was sleeping on my chest in broad daylight. Taking anapon me.

And it pissed me off.

Not the fact she was doing it, I wouldn’t dare move a muscle to disturb her. Not when her eyebrows finally looked relaxed and I didn’t have to see the glimmer of pain in her eyes.

I was pissed because thisthing, some mellow feeling low in my chest, not too dissimilar from the setting sun’s light outside my window, was building with alarming speed.

The urge to protect her, the fear at the thought of her getting hurt. Her calling me baby in public like that didn’t make me want to throw her to the ground in front of everyone. The fucking jar of fig jam that had all but burned a hole in my desk drawer since I’d shoved it away all those weeks ago.

Her smile—bright, unguarded—and thatlaugh—husky, rich—that made me want to kill anyone who took those away from her. When I was planning on doing the same thing at one point.

So different now.

I’d asked Raiden about our limited staff and he said we were hiring more, just an inconveniently timed slew of job turnovers and I’d felt a sharp sting of panic about leaving Rose vulnerable.

---