Page 22 of Beauty and the Billionaire

We went into the sitting room, where a fire was burning in the fireplace. Two armchairs were positioned near it. When Dominic led the way to them, I was glad I stayed in my evening clothes instead of putting on something with long sleeves. Heat washed over me, not at all helped by the trailing scent of Dominic’s cologne. Damn him. If he didn’t smell so good, I would be able to avoid thinking about last night and his bare torso.

Was I so desperate for another man’s proximity that I was suddenly just fine with Dominic’s cruel behavior? I didn’t want to answer that. I feared what I would learn about myself. Perhaps that it didn’t matter if the man was cold and heartless so long as his eyes were on me.

My skin prickled as that thought crossed my mind.

“Dominic,” I said softly. He had just poured himself an inch of something amber over a cube of ice and pushed a Coke to me on the small table between our armchairs. “About the album…”

“It was an overreaction,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have looked,” I went on. “I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

“Let’s forget about the album,” he suggested.

I was silent for a little while. Things felt different. We were both gay men, sitting in the same room and aware of one another. To any other guy, that would have been the end of it, but I had purposely starved myself of it that sitting next to another gay man was impossible to do without considering all the implications. More than that, I was considering the possibilities.

To someone who hadn’t denied himself the mere illusion of it, this would have been just a normal evening. But to me, it was a blank canvas waiting to be filled with color.

The silence drove these thoughts harder, so I inhaled and said what he had just asked me not to say. “Did you burn it?”

Dominic tensed.

“Because I don’t think you should,” I blurted. “Whatever it is that you hate, that you’re ashamed of, it’s not something you can just ignore.”

He looked at me. His face was expressionless, but the tension was clear as day. Even his breathing was so flawlessly normal that it was unnerving.

And when the silence and scrutiny were too much, I whispered, “What happened to you?”

He clenched his teeth. “Why do you care?” It was a resigned sigh.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe because I feel the same way. Maybe because I cut off a part of myself just because I was afraid of getting hurt by it.”

“If you did, then why should I face mine?” he asked.

He was really making me say it. “Because I regret it.” The words tumbled over my lips. Only now, when they were out, when I said them aloud, did I feel the true depth of the truth. I had let my college years go to waste because I had sworn to myself that I would be all that my parents expected.

“Shame,” Dominic said darkly. “I regret nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said. “I think…I think that’s why you agreed to have me here. I think that’s why you gave me a desk next to yours and why you have dinner with me. Because you knew I’d ask.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dominic huffed.

“I’m not,” I insisted. “What happened that made you into this?”

“Into what?” he asked, agitated. “Are you going to take apart every little detail about me? Tell me. What is it that you think I am? A monster? A sociopath?”

“Lonely,” I said.

He stopped speaking abruptly, then shut his mouth and looked away from me.

“This wall you built between yourself and everyone else…” I continued, pausing for a heartbeat. “It’s not something people do for no reason.”

“You read too many books,” Dominic said, but his heart wasn’t in it. After I didn’t rise to the bait, he looked at me. “What is it that you cut off, Zain?”

Truth for truth? It seemed like a fair bargain. But getting the first words over my lips was still hard. Mustering my strength, I looked at my hands folded in my lap. “My parents are traditional. When they married, my mother converted to Islam, and my father…” I shrugged. “All his friends are Muslim immigrants. He never let go of his roots. I think…I think he still dreams of returning sometimes, if only his country weren’travaged and if his children weren’t so, I don’t know, American. Because we are. Father taught us his language, his tradition, but we were born here. We went to school here.”

“And that’s it?” Dominic asked, not unkindly.

I shook my head. “He’s a good man,” I insisted. “But every parent has expectations. And if he knew who I really was, it would break his heart. If he knew I was…” I let that trail off into silence. Straightening, I looked at Dominic. “So I promised myself that I would never be that. If I went out with a guy and fell in love, it would only be a disaster. And instead of risking a disaster, I decided I wouldn’t even try.”

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