The corners of Dominic’s mouth turned down. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
“Crystal healing and—” She cut herself off. “What?”
“You heard me. Schedule the damn therapist.” He leaned down, bringing their faces an inch apart. Whatever he saw there caused him to rear back a little. “You really thought I wouldn’t take any chance—any chance—to get you back, didn’t you?” His voice roughened. “Fuck, Rosie. You can’t be serious.”
He ran his gaze over her face one final time before turning and leaving her standing in the empty hallway. But not before she saw his determination.
This was real. It was happening.
The Vega marriage, round two.
Chapter Seven
Dominic leaned up against the side of his truck, pulling from a Newport cigarette and scanning the parking lot for Rosie’s Honda. When he didn’t see the familiar vehicle, he reluctantly faced the building again, which happened to be painted a bright robin’s-egg blue, with a handcrafted sign atop the roof. It read ARMIE TAGART, RELATIONSHIP HEALING GURU.
“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. “She followed through.”
Was he annoyed as hell about having to parade his shortcomings in front of some hippie asshole? Of course. Was he also pretty turned on by his wife putting her money where her mouth was? Yeah. Enough to seriously dampen his irritation.
Dominic drummed his fingers on the roof of his truck, Rosie’s show of defiance taking him back to their middle-school years. God, she’d been fierce. Brave. He could remember the first time he’d asked her out in seventh grade. It was lunchtime at school and boys were at one table, girls at the other. For a long time, Dominic had found that separation ridiculous, considering the guys wouldn’t shut up about the girls and vice versa. For most of that year, Dominic sat at the end of the guys’ table and bided his time, watching Rosie from afar. Every once in a while, she’d catch him staring, flip her hair, and grace him with an expression that said, What are you looking at?
Back then, she’d always been surrounded by friends. Girls he knew from his classes, but didn’t know personally, since he’d moved to Port Jefferson from the Bronx the summer after sixth grade. For years, his mother had been complaining about the New York City congestion, the crime, the sounds of traffic. One day, Dominic’s father had come home with the keys to a new home. She’d asked and he’d provided. That’s what a man did. That’s what kept a family intact. Maybe his father hadn’t been an emotional man. Hell, Dominic could count on one hand the father-son talks they’d shared. His father hadn’t been able to give them everything, so he’d given them the most important things. Security. A home.
Dominic’s mind drifted to a very different kind of home than his childhood one. A house overlooking the water, with a sloping backyard and a dock extending into the water. With discomfort riding along the ridges of his shoulders, Dominic shook off the image and went back to thinking about the day he’d tossed the crusts of his ham sandwich into the cafeteria trash can and bridged the divide between the boys and girls of Port Jefferson Middle School. His ears recalled the hush that had fallen over the students, the whispered speculation behind hands.
Rosie had seen him coming a mile away and he’d liked that. Liked knowing she’d been aware the whole time that he liked her, even though no words had been exchanged. She’d turned around on the bench to watch him approach and taken a deliberate bite out of her apple, chewing in that ladylike way of hers, giving him a once-over. All her friends had leaned in, chins glued to hands, eyes wide. He’d thanked God in that moment for the hours he’d spent listening to his older cousins talk about girls at family gatherings growing up, because while he’d been nervous, he also knew rejection happened to every guy and it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
“That dance next Friday,” he’d said, trying to keep his demeanor casual even though she was even prettier up close. “You coming with me?”
Gasps and giggles from every corner.
She’d tried to look bored, but Dominic could see the burnished rose on her cheeks and was already counting the days until he could kiss the spots where that color bloomed.
“Are all city kids this brave?” Rosie had asked, studying her apple.
“This one is.”
“You’ve been looking at me a lot.”
“Yeah.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she laughed. “I’ll think about it.”
Dominic had shrugged. “Better than a yes from someone else.”
He’d started to turn and walk away.
She’d shot to her feet. “Yes.”
They’d gone to the dance together the following Friday. He’d worn jeans and a black button-down. She’d rocked a yellow strapless dress and white sandals—and when she’d come down the stairs of her parents’ house, fingertips trailing on the railing, his palms had started to sweat, his pulse jackhammering, and he’d known there would never be anyone else. Never.
The sound of a car pulling into the lot broke into Dominic’s thoughts. He experienced that same rollicking anticipation, just like all those years ago before the dance. His pulse still went crazy, his heart echoing in his ears, although the anticipation had a much more mature element now. The kind that made his dick grow heavy in his jeans just watching her climb out of the car, her tits shaking around in the neckline of her shirt. Fuck, there really was no one hotter than his wife.
Sunday morning in the gym, he’d thought, This is it, she’s giving in. There hadn’t been a doubt in his mind that he was going to fuck her up against the bathroom tile, one hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. They’d been at what he considered the point of no return, also known as that ass had been backed up in his lap, rubbing all over the wood he was sporting.
Yet she’d been able to put on the brakes. Last time, too.
Whenever he’d been worried about their marriage, their sex life had reassured him that Rosie still felt something for him. Without that reassurance . . . he was scared. Scared enough to talk about his emotions in front of some quack—and that was really saying something, because he barely acknowledged them himself. Keeping a stiff upper lip was a trait he’d always admired in his father. Whether he’d had a bad day at work or money was tight, Dominic’s father kept his head down and grinded. No complaining, no showing signs of worry or stress. He simply got the job done and his family never wanted for anything. If there were cracks in his façade, he certainly never showed them. Wouldn’t it have made everyone around him less confident in his abilities as a provider?
“Hi,” Rosie said, drawing even with him. “You saw the sign and you’re still here, huh?”
“That’s right.”
She shrugged her purse higher on her shoulder and started toward the building, leaving Dominic to follow behind her. “How was work today?”
“Fine. You?”
“Fine.”
How many times had they asked the same question and given the same answers? Thousands? In a setting outside of their kitchen or living room, it really hit home how hollow the words sounded. An exercise in going through the motions. They rarely elaborated and the closer they got to the entrance of the shrink’s office, the more Dominic’s skin started to prickle. He didn’t want to find out this therapist really was a last resort. And not just Rosie’s way of making him suffer to get her back.