Page 29 of Loss and Damages
To soothe my nerves, I sip at the last of the red wine he left behind, and the alcohol helps me relax.
The gallery’s still open, and hiding, I walk around the back and down the road, just a little. I don’t know what kind of car Dominic’s sending for me, but I don’t want it parking in front of my shop. With the view of the lake and the wine, I’m almost calm when a limo glides down the two-lane road looking completely out of place.
Not any more than me, I suppose, dressed to go to a black-tie fundraiser, standing on the side of the road like a lost high-end escort.
The car stops near me, and the back door opens.
“Why are you standing in the road?” Dominic asks, stepping out of the car.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in response, completely taken aback that he rode out here. I assumed I’d have the car to myself.
“I wasn’t going to let you ride forty-five minutes alone, and I didn’t think you’d be thrilled with the idea of walking into the hotel by yourself. Despite what you might have heard, I do know how to treat a woman.”
“Many of them,” I mutter, walking past him and brushing the crisp white shirt of his tux. He looks delectable, just the right amount of scruff along his jaw, his hair loose and framing his face. Leo liked wearing his hair longer and loose too, but while it looked cute and maybe even playful on him, on Dominic it looks threatening.
I try to slip into the limo, but he grabs my upper arm and squeezes. He stares at me, his eyes black and smoking like smoldering coal.
“Is it a crime to seek solace, Miss Ferrell?” he asks, so lowly that the cries of the seagulls flying over the lake almost drown him out. “Isn’t that what Leo was doing with you? And you with him? Looking for peace? Did you find it?”
“Peace provided by someone else is fleeting, Mr. Milano. No one can give it to you. You have to find it within yourself.”
“Have you?”
I stare up at him, pain etched into his face. “No.”
“You had it with Leo.”
“And now it’s gone.” I jerk away from him and slide onto the soft leather bench. I wish I wouldn’t have said I’d do this. I’m already regretting it and the evening hasn’t even begun.
He settles on the bench next to me and slams the door closed. The limo glides past my gallery and the customers inside.
“You look beautiful,” he says and gestures to an ice bucket holding a bottle of champagne. “Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, please.”
The windows are tinted but I can still watch the countryside streak by as the limo’s driver picks up speed on the highway into the city. I sip on the flute of champagne, pacing myself. I’ve never been to a fundraiser, but I’m assuming something like this will supply plenty of alcohol and I don’t want to meet Dominic’s mother tipsy. It isn’t important to me that I impress her since I’llnever see her again, but for my own reputation it would be nice if I didn’t do anything stupid simply because I gave in to my fears.
“You’re quiet,” he says, shifting toward me.
“I don’t have much to say. Where’s the fundraiser?”
“It’s being held at one of our hotels. We waived the rental fee and donated the catering. Philanthropy was one of Leo’s passions, but he rarely made public appearances. I think your friend Gloria was correct. Leo had something special planned for you, Jemma.”
I look away. “I think you’re wrong,” I whisper.
He doesn’t reply.
We sit in silence until the driver reaches the city, and it’s another twenty minutes as he navigates the evening crush. He, or I suppose the driver could be a woman, stops in front of the Rosewood Hotel, the most expensive hotel in St. Charlotte. I’ve never been inside, and I hold my breath whenever I walk past hoping that just being near the damned thing doesn’t suck all the money out of my wallet.
The driver parks and opens the door. It is a man. Tall, short black hair, and a bored expression.
“Thank you.”
“Miss Ferrell.” He tips his head at me as Dominic slides out of the limo.
The hotel is set off the sidewalk by wide, concrete stairs, and the staff has laid out a glamorous red carpet for the fundraiser’s attendees. Dominic holds his arm out, and I have no choice but to accept the offer, wrapping my hand around his muscular bicep. I can’t snub him in front of the press, especially since we arrived together. We step toward the glass doors, and photographers take our pictures. I try to ignore them. I hadn’t planned on showing up in the news or society pages. I don’t want the attention, but as a businesswoman, I can possibly use it to generate new customers.
“You handled that well,” Dominic says as the doorman opens one of the glass doors and we step through.
