Page 21 of Loss and Damages
“Dominic. What do you want?”
“Come to the benefit with me Friday night.”
“Why?”
“Miss Ferrell. Jemma. Can I tell you the truth?”
I can’t tear my gaze away from his, and I don’t dare blink. “What?”
“You’re all I have left of my brother. I don’t want to let you go.”
“What’s in it for me?”
That’s enough to break the spell. I’d turned into the woman he thought me to be. His eyes grow cold, and he drops my hand, freeing me of his hold.
“Whatever you want.”
What I want is to rush into my cottage now that he’s let me go, but I can’t. I hurt him, and I didn’t mean to. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I... Leo’s gone. Spending time with me won’t bring him back.”
He sets his wineglass next to the bowl of untouched popcorn, and he leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, and blows out a breath. “I know. I know it, but I thought, if we could, Idon’t know. Talk about him, maybe share a story or two, that it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
“You don’t need me. You need a therapist.”
He scoffs. “Yeah. Can you imagine the press getting a hold of that? Do you think a shrink wouldn’t sell me out?”
A billionaire playboy intent on evicting hundreds of families out of their homes? I’m sure for the right price any therapist would spill all of Dominic’s secrets.
“Why do you think I won’t do the same?”
“Because Leo loved you. He would never have given his heart to a woman who didn’t deserve it.”
Leo loved me? Dominic clearly has no idea what Leo’s and my relationship was like and now he’s spinning dreams and, God. Maybe we do need to have an honest conversation about what Leo meant to us and what we meant to him because he sure as hell never told me he loved me and I doubt very much he told his brother, a brother he rarely spoke to.
Reluctantly, I say, “If you want, you can come back tomorrow night. My shop closes at seven. I’ll cook dinner.”
Dominic doesn’t smile or thank me for caving in.
He stands and cups my cheek in his palm. “I see what he saw in you, Jemma.”
I tell him the truth. “And I see what he saw in you.”
He flinches.
“Goodnight, Mr. Milano.”
“Goodnight, Miss Ferrell.”
He walks stiffly down the gravel path toward the road and disappears around the corner of the gallery.
I don’t know what Dominic Milano wants from me, but he’ll be quick to find out that I don’t have much to give.
Chapter Nine
Dominic
“It would be a massive restoration project,” I say, leaning against the railing of a bridge that’s rarely used since the interstate rerouted commuter traffic around the city instead of through it.
Mayor Wilkins doesn’t want to be seen talking to me but hiding won’t keep the vultures away. I’ve already caught the glint of a camera’s lens behind a dumpster sitting next to a pizzeria, and our photo will be splashed all over the papers tomorrow.
