Page 81 of The Butcher's Wife
A strange fluttering starts in my belly, spreading quickly to my chest. The past couple of weeks of spending time with Dom, chatting in the mornings with Valeria, working out, and practicing my shooting have all propped me up in little ways, like extra poles for a drooping tent.
That feeling of happiness sours to nausea. How can I be girlish and carefree when it’s my fault Serafina never got to feel anything like this?
Dom takes my shoulders, his fingers spreading long over my shoulder blades. “Stay with me, Annetta.”
My name sounds as soft and sensual as cashmere when he says it.
I smile, gazing up at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
In the parking deck,he tosses me his car keys—which by some miracle, I manage to catch.
I give him a dumbfounded look. “What are these for?”
My voice echoes against the concrete walls.
He tucks one big hand into his pocket. “Generally, to drive.”
“I’m not driving that.” I glance at his massive SUV, and my chest constricts like it’s caught in one of those medieval screw torture devices.
He rocks back on his heels. “You should.”
“I can’t.” I toss the keys back, and he easily catches them.
“You said you wanted training.”
“Not this kind of training.”
“So the Chiarellis will see that you don’t like driving and let you be? If you won’t commit to this fully, then why are you wasting your time?”
I stand there for a few moments, flicking my gaze between him and his giant SUV. “What if I scratch it?”
“Then I’ll have someone fix it.”
I chew on my bottom lip for a few seconds and, slowly, stick my hand out.
Dom slaps the keys into my palm and kisses my temple. “You’ll do great.”
“I haven’t driven more than a couple times in the past three years,” I say as we make our way to the driver’s side.
Dom opens the door for me. “You used to drive for babysitting and the soup kitchen, right?”
I glance at him in surprise. “How’d you know?”
“Your dad asked me to trail you a few times.”
“I never knew that.”
He leans in. “That’s why you need training. And, for what it’s worth, you were a good driver.”
I swallow and lift my head high, hopping into the driver’s seat. I drag the seat all the way forward so I can reach the wheel.
Next to me, he keys my parents’ address into the GPS, adjusts his seat, and closes his eyes, resting his hands on his belly.
Okay, I have to do this.
I think of Serafina, and I’m suddenly glad I never went to her burial.
Then I think of Mikey.
