Page 86 of You're The One
Dom’s hand lands on my thigh, and I freeze. I look down, needing confirmation that it’s really happening. Judging by the sudden hush at the table, I’m not the only one who notices.
“Since we’re all about honesty tonight, I’ve got to say this is really fucking weird,” Ryan says.
“I think they’re kinda cute together,” Hannah adds.
“I knew I liked you,” Dom tells her, right as I blurt, “Oh, we’re not together.”
The second the words land, Dom’s hand tightens on my thigh and he clears his throat.
Ryan turns to Hannah. “Don’t you want to know what’s happening here? We have no idea what’s going on between them. I thought they hated each other. Why is he touching her like that?” he whisper-shouts.
Hannah huffs a laugh—used to my brother and his inability to go with the flow on anything—and kisses his cheek, which at least distracts him for the moment.
“Let’s toast.” She lifts her glass, and my brother can’t help but follow with a fond smile.
I silently thank her for knowing when to shift the spotlight.
“To unexpected beginnings and happy endings,” Hannah declares.
“Let’s not talk about happy endings,” Ryan sputters, and she laughs.
Before our glasses can clink together, another sound fills the space: Dom’s doorbell chimes. We share a look but brush it off as someone from production.
We smile as our glasses come together.
But then everything falls apart.
TWENTY-NINE
“I’m sorry I’m late,”a woman I’ve never seen before announces as she bustles into the dining room like she owns the place.
The air changes. Sharp and sudden. Based on the way Dom and his dad both go white, it can only be his mother. And judging by Dom’s stunned expression, there is no way he knew she was coming.
Ryan and Hannah both turn to get a better look.
“Krista?” Charlie says, like he’s seeing a ghost.
Close enough. From what Dom’s told me, this must be the first time he’s seen her in almost a decade. For his dad, I’d guess it’s been even longer.
“My flight was delayed. It was a whole thing.” She waves a hand, already moving toward Charlie. His brow furrows when she wraps her arms around him from behind and kisses his cheek. He doesn’t hug her back.
“It’s so good to see you,” she adds, pulling away.
Dom grips the arms of his chair so tightly the wood creaks.
I slide a hand up his forearm, the muscle taut beneath my touch. It’s enough to ease some of his tension. He exhales, then presses his palms to his thighs.
I hate seeing him like this. I want to take the weight off him, but I don’t know how.
Krista makes her way around the table and pulls Dom into the same embrace she just gave Charlie.
“Dominic…” Her voice is somehow both soft and sticky.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond.
Then I smell it. The sharp, sour sting of alcohol on her breath.
If possible, Dom becomes even more rigid. Krista doesn’t seem bothered by the cold reception. She settles into the empty seat at the end of the table, caddy-corner to him, and reaches across as if expecting him to take her hands. But his hands stay glued to his lap.
