Chapter 7 - This Time, Nobody Was Pretending
A year after I grabbed Dominic’s sleeve, I woke to the smell of burnt coffee.
That alone told me something had gone terribly wrong.
I walked into the kitchen.
Dominic stood beside the coffee machine wearing black sweatpants and an expression usually reserved for hostile corporate takeovers.
Smoke drifted from a pan.
“What happened?”
“The machine betrayed me.”
“The machine makes coffee.”
“Badly.”
“You pressed the wrong button.”
He pointed at me.
“Unproven.”
I opened a window.
Dominic watched me move around the kitchen.
My apartment had become our apartment.
Not his penthouse.
Not his mansion.
Ours.
We had chosen it together.
My name was on the lease.
So was his.
That detail meant more to me than any diamond ever could.
My phone rang.
Tiffany.
I answered.
“You awake?”
“I am now.”
“Turn on Channel Eight.”
Dominic groaned.
“No news before breakfast.”
“Dominic apparently declared war on a coffee maker.”
Tiffany laughed.
“Just watch.”
I turned on the television.
The headline appeared.
FINAL HARBOR POINT CONVICTIONS ANNOUNCED
Daniel Cross had been convicted.
Several former Costantini associates had entered pleas.
Vincent Hale’s evidence had become the foundation of the case.
The anchor mentioned a new nonprofit bearing his name.
Tiffany had launched it.
I smiled.
“You did it.”
“Dad did it,” she said quietly.
“You finished it.”
Silence.
Then:
“Thank you, Claire.”
“For what?”
“For not treating me like the woman who replaced you.”
I glanced at Dominic.
“We both had terrible taste.”
“Hey,” Dominic said.
Tiffany laughed.
“I heard that.”
After we hung up, Dominic poured two cups of questionable coffee.
I took one.
“Is this safe?”
“Probably.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
He leaned against the counter.
Then he became strangely quiet.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Dominic.”
“I have something.”
My eyes narrowed.
“You said that last time and produced a house key.”
“This is different.”
He reached into a drawer.
Pulled out a black box.
This time my pulse jumped for another reason.
“Dominic.”
“Before you panic—”
“I swear, if you say that every important moment—”
He opened the box.
A simple diamond ring.
Elegant.
No ridiculous giant stone.
He knew me.
“I had a speech,” he said.
“What happened to it?”
“You’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I should hurry.”
I laughed through sudden tears.
He took my hand.
The dangerous man everyone else noticed first looked more nervous than he had facing federal investigators.
“Claire Bennett.”
“Yes?”
“A year ago, you grabbed me because you needed somebody to pretend.”
I smiled.
“I remember.”
“I thought you were reckless.”
“I was.”
“I thought you were trouble.”
“You were correct.”
“And I thought helping you would be one interesting evening.”
“That went badly.”
“Terribly.”
He took a breath.
“You taught me something my family never managed to teach me.”
“What?”
“That loving someone isn’t keeping them.”
My smile disappeared.
His voice softened.
“It’s giving them every reason to stay free and hoping they choose to stay beside you.”
That was Dominic.
No poetry.
No performance.
Just truth.
“Claire, marry me.”
I looked at him.
“Is that the entire speech?”
“I had four more paragraphs.”
“Thank God I interrupted.”
He laughed.
Then I kissed him.
When I pulled away, he looked suspicious.
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“Yes.”
His eyes searched mine.
“Yes?”
“Yes, Dominic.”
He slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
Of course it did.
“Marco helped with the size?” I asked.
His expression changed.
“How do you know?”
“Because you once bought me gloves two sizes too large.”
“That happened once.”
“You run a multinational company.”
“Hand sizes are complicated.”
I laughed so hard I almost spilled the coffee.
He wrapped an arm around me.
No cameras.
No casino crowd.
No toxic ex walking toward us.
Nobody to impress.
Nobody watching.
Just us.
---
We married four months later.
Small ceremony.
Forty guests.
Tiffany came.
Marco gave a speech that revealed far too many stories about Dominic.
My former coworkers filled one table and loudly reminded everyone that their boss had once spent an entire evening pretending to be my boyfriend because I grabbed his jacket without permission.
Dominic pretended to be offended.
He failed.
Near midnight, we slipped away from the reception.
The Echelon roulette room was nearly empty.
Dominic stopped beside the same table where everything had begun.
“You planned this.”
“Maybe.”
I looked around.
“One year and four months ago, I stood right there.”
“You were shaking.”
“I thought Mason seeing me alone would destroy me.”
Dominic looked at me.
“And now?”
I thought about it.
About the stolen money.
The fraudulent loans.
The bruise I used to hide beneath makeup.
The woman who believed she needed somebody powerful beside her before she could stand up to the man who had hurt her.
Then I looked at my husband.
“Now I know I would have survived even if you hadn’t been there.”
Dominic smiled.
“That might be my favorite thing you’ve ever said.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because now I know you didn’t stay because you needed me.”
I took his hand.
“No.”
“Then why did you?”
I leaned closer.
“Because somewhere between you terrifying my ex and burning our coffee, I fell in love with you.”
“That coffee machine is defective.”
“Still denying responsibility?”
“Absolutely.”
I laughed.
Dominic touched his forehead gently to mine.
I whispered the sentence one final time.
“Act like you love me, please.”
His dark eyes softened.
“No.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
He kissed my forehead.
Then my cheek.
Then my lips.
When he pulled back, there was no casino performance left between us.
“No more acting, little bird.”
His fingers intertwined with mine.
“This time, I love you for real.”
And the funny thing was, I had once chosen Dominic Costantini because he looked like the most dangerous man in the room.
I stayed because he was the first man who never asked me to become smaller so he could feel bigger.
The roulette wheel spun behind us.
Once, I had thought my life depended on luck.
It didn’t.
Sometimes the biggest change begins with one terrified decision.
One hand reaching for the wrong stranger.
One desperate lie.
Act like you love me.
And, if you are very lucky, the right person eventually looks at you and says:
May you like
I don’t have to pretend anymore.
THE END
