Page 71 of Loss and Damages
I can’t picture him holding a paintbrush in his hand or standing in front of an easel, yet he did, and took pride in his work, selling his paintings and sharing his talent. He never told me he painted, likely never told our mother, either, keeping that side of himself tucked away.
Leo and Jemma were a perfect match, but he didn’t sleep with her, didn’t ask her to be his wife. Jemma herself has noanswers, only grateful for the time and the gift of friendship he gave her.
From what I could tell, he was an extraordinary artist, much like Jemma.
He could have had it all, yet he didn’t take it.
I’m angry Leo wanted me to be different. How easy it would have been for him to assume I could change when he already had everything I wanted, never having to do anything to earn it. Our mother’s love, a woman like Jemma who didn’t care about the fortune behind his name. How easy it was for him to think so little of me when all I’ve done is work to try to fill in the hole left from what I’ve had to go without.
My cheeks are wet and I blame the mist in the air.
Using the tree’s trunk for support, I heave to my feet and dust the dirt and grass off my pants.
Leo’s dead and I’ll never have to put up with his judgment again.
After Jemma sends them to me, I’ll give my mother Leo’s paintings and tell her goodbye. There’s no sense in begging for love that is never going to come. I’ve hoped for thirty-nine years that one day she would love me and I need to finally accept the fact she never will.
Jemma is out of my life. I have more in common with a whore standing on a corner in Oakdale Square than I do with the small-town artist who feeds French fries to crows.
The only things I can count on are work and the conditions of my father’s love and approval. Rather than disappointing me, those constants should anchor me. I know what to expect and how to succeed.
I drive into the city and sleep in my penthouse. There will be no more using Leo’s apartment as a hideaway. I’ll enter Milano Management and Development through the front doors. No one can hurt me.
No one can hurt a man who doesn’t have a heart and soul. That’s what everyone thinks I am.
So that’s what I’ll be.
Chapter Eighteen
Jemma
“He’s on a rampage.”
“Hmmm?” I look up from the coffeemaker, the slow drip of the black liquid mesmerizing me.
I haven’t been sleeping well.
“Dominic Milano. He’s on a rampage,” Gloria says, letting the screen door slam shut behind her. She steps into my cottage holding a copy of the Hollow Lake newspaper.
It’s been a week since Dominic kissed my forehead in this very room and took off on a thin excuse. No, not an excuse. A lie.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s still buying property in Oakdale Square. The business owners can’t sign on the dotted line fast enough. They’ll never get a deal like the one he’s offering them for their land. Do you know what he’s going to do with it all?” She drops the newspaper onto the breakfast bar, the headline screaming BILLIONAIRE BASTARD SET ON OAKDALE SQUARE.
The article was circulated by the Associated Press and lists the properties Milano Management and Development has purchased in the last two weeks. Liquor stores, a dry cleaningservice that was rumored to launder more than just shirts and pants, a DVD rental store that lent out more porn than anything else, a strip club called the Scarlet Wing. The questionable nursing home along the river. Even a rundown daycare center that had a history of child abuse the state couldn’t prove and couldn’t shut down. The article speculates the trailer park is next, and being that the mobile homes are rentals, Dominic can buy the entire property and evict every tenant.
“I don’t. I haven’t spoken with him in a while. Not since the night those two ass—” I cut off. I don’t want to swear in front of her. “Idiots broke into the gallery.”
She tilts her head. “You’re not seeing him anymore?”
I look at her sharply, but compassion crinkles the skin around her eyes and she’s frowning in sympathy. The day she barged into my kitchen, she saw more than just me kissing him.
“Nope. It’s okay. He wasn’t Leo.”
No, he wasn’t Leo. I can’t say he was a better person than Dominic is, but Dominic... Leo grew up happy, secure in his mother’s love. He was like a cat, lying in the sun, his belly full, content. Dominic didn’t have that luxury, fighting for any amount of love his mother would toss his way. It turned him into a starving lion, abused, wary, and untrusting, and I felt it, every time he looked at me.
He’ll never be happy, with me or with anyone. Not even with his father, or what he had would already be enough. It’s not, and I’m not.
