Page 33 of Loss and Damages
“Sat at the bar and drank.”
“I’m sorry.”
He laughs, but there’s no joy in the sound. “Don’t be. I was perfectly content.”
I don’t believe him.
The limo’s waiting when we step out of the hotel. I didn’t realize how late it was, but the sun has disappeared and a light breeze caresses my skin. It’s a beautiful evening and I miss my cottage. I’d be sitting on the porch now, sipping wine, maybe reading a book, or in my workshop painting and listening to the crickets sing, or missing Leo so much I wouldn’t be able to do anything at all.
Dominic helps me down the stairs, his hand encircling my arm. It’s instinct to want to pull away, but it’s probably best he helps me. I’m not used to heels, and the champagne I drank has worn off leaving me tired and woozy.
The chauffeur opens the door and I whisper a, “Thank you,” before sliding into the car.
Dominic sits on the same bench but keeps as much space between us as possible.
I twist in my seat and rest my cheek against the soft leather. We glide into traffic and the stop-and-go as we navigate out of the city soothes me and my eyelids droop. All my emotional energy is gone and I feel drained. Talking to Leo when he was carried away by conviction and passion exhausted me, and I have a similar feeling now after speaking to his mother for the better part of three hours.
My head slips farther down the seat, but rather than dropping into nothing, my cheek meets the material of Dominic’s tux jacket. I relax, letting my head rest against his shoulder. “Dominic,” I murmur, my heart breaking, picturing a little boy needing his mother and not understanding why she didn’t love him.
He wraps his arm around me. “Go to sleep, Jemma. I’ll wake you when we reach your cottage.”
Trusting him, I let myself slip under and don’t wake until morning, lying on top of my bed, dressed in my gown, the sun streaming through the window announcing a new day.
Chapter Eleven
Dominic
No one has fallen asleep on me before. Not unless you count the old lady’s dog who lived on the fifth floor of our building while I was growing up. I’d visit her constantly, never thinking I was bothering her, but she never said I was. I’d sit in her living room and pet her Bichon Frise until she’d fall asleep in my lap. It struck me then, I guess when I was about eleven, maybe twelve, that it requires an enormous amount of trust to fall asleep around someone, to offer yourself in your most vulnerable state.
Jemma sleeping against my chest stopped my heart cold.
She doesn’t know me, doesn’t know what I’m capable of...or what I’m not. As she slept so soundly even Duncan hitting a deep pothole didn’t wake her, I could have caressed her breast, skimmed my fingers up her thigh, maybe touched her. I could have masturbated to the scent of her skin or began to sexually assault her and by the time she woke up it would have been too late to stop me.
Jemma trusted me not to hurt her and the sheer incredulousness of it brought tears to my eyes.
I didn’t wake her like I told her I would. Duncan parked in front of her gallery and I gently lifted her out of the car and carried her to her cottage. She snuggled into my chest, tipping her head as if asking me to kiss her. Which I did not.
She left her cottage door unlocked, and I didn’t need any amount of effort to hold her, turn the doorknob, and push the door open at the same time. She weighed almost nothing in my arms.
I laid her down on her bed, the comforter smoothed, the pillows plumped, and giving in, I dropped to my haunches and brushed a stray piece of hair away from her face. I’d planned for some sort of goodbye. She’d followed through on her promise to attend the fundraiser and speak to my mother, and this was to be the end. She’d been Leo’s friend, not mine, and she’d made her dislike of me obvious from the start.
“I wish we could have met under different circumstances,” I whispered, but that wouldn’t have made any difference. There were no other circumstances where we could have been more. Had I passed her on the sidewalk, she would have been nothing but a faceless body in the crowd. I’ve lived to do one thing and one thing only: gain my father’s approval no matter the cost. With the purchase of the 1100 block, it’s finally within my reach.
She didn’t stir, and I pressed a kiss to her forehead. I lingered, hoping she’d rouse herself awake enough to say goodbye, or to ask me to stay like she always did Leo, but the pressure of my lips only made her inhale a jagged breath and she rolled onto her side.
Jemma trusted me to get her home safely, and I had.
I needed to go.
On the way into the city, I checked email and planned to lean on the mayor. Our meeting on the bridge made front page news and it wouldn’t be long before he gave me his endorsement in the guise of city betterment. There’s truth to that, as well, andonce construction is underway, the censure the city’s residents will give him will fade. He’ll have lost the next election in that time, but no one has ever been able to have their cake and eat it too.
Not even me.
I didn’t sleep well last night, and now I stand in my office and look with blurry eyes over the city that belongs to me. No one is here. No one comes in on a Saturday but me as I have nothing else to do. How does Jemma spend her Saturday mornings? Sleeping in? Leisurely coffee and danish on her porch as the sun comes up? Weekends are busy in retail. I bet she spends all her time at the gallery helping customers who vacation at their lake homes or drive out to Hollow Lake to escape the city’s heat. What would she do if I drove out there and stopped by?
She wouldn’t be glad to see me.
Sitting at my desk, I rub my face. I miss Leo. He would have spent the weekend at her cottage and been welcome there.
