The thought of him taking abuse for money makes me physically ill. “Dom, if it’s about money, I—”
“Don’t.” His eyes back up his insistence, the combination chilling me. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“What you were just about to do. I’ll take care of myself.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
The wall between us is back up. I can feel the gate locking in place. Reaching out, I touch his arm. Tracing the tattoo of the cross for Joey, I try not to lose the easiness between us, but it’s already gone.
My phone rings in my pocket and I fall on my back and pull it out. “Hey, G,” I say, looking at the ceiling.
“Where are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, actually, it doesn’t. What matters is that I’m going to arrive at your house in about thirty minutes and I need you to be there. Can you do that?”
I look at Dom. His eyes are closed, his breathing even. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“See you then.”
The line clicks dead. Putting it back in my pocket, I roll over and press a kiss to Dom’s cheek.
“Where are you going?” he asks sleepily.
“I need to go home and take care of a few things. Do you need anything?”
“A kiss.”
I lower the few inches to his sweet lips and let my own pucker against them. He moves his mouth against mine—slow, steady, and sinful. When I pull back, breathless, his eyes are open. He doesn’t smile. “Call me later, Cam?”
“Will you answer?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes close again as I climb off the bed. I get to the door but stop and look at him. “Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“I miss you.”
“You’re with me.”
“You know what I mean.”
He looks at me and nods. “I miss you too.”
Camilla
I DON’T EVEN LOVE WINE, but I take a gulp anyway. It’s strong and bitter, and I realize I should’ve checked to see if wine expires before taking as large of a drink as I did. This bottle has been in my refrigerator since Sienna came back home for Barrett’s campaign. That’s been . . . a long time.
“Ugh,” I grimace but take another sip anyway. I don’t know what’s up with Graham, but after everything else, I need a little fortification.
On cue, the doorbell rings. Wine glass in hand, another drink tumbling down my throat, I spy G on the other side and pull it open.
His look is lethal. I almost drop the glass.
“What’s wrong?” I stutter, watching him charge by. “Graham?”
Sitting my wine glass on the entry table, I latch the door and turn on my heel. He’s glowering at me from the other end of the foyer.
I’ve never seen my brother, any of them, so angry. Ever. His eyes are narrowed, wickedly so, as he heaves air in and out of his body. “Just saw Ford,” he says, his words measured. “He said he had lunch with you and Lincoln yesterday.”
“Yes,” I say, equally measured. It’s suddenly all clear why he’s so angry. Ford told him he met Dom. Thinking fast, I decide to go on the defensive. “And with Dominic.”
He smiles, but there’s no kindness to it. No amusement. “And Dominic. So, tell me, Camilla, what do you know about Dominic?”
“All I need to.” When his eyes narrow even more, I see where this is going. Storming by him, I don’t even look his way. “You can see yourself out.”
“I’m not done here yet,” he barks after me.
“I am.”
My steps smack off the tile as I enter the kitchen and position myself as far away from my brother as I can. Knowing this is about Dominic changes everything.
I generally listen to G. I value his opinion, but I won’t stand in my own house and listen to him take his opinions on a man he’s never met and twist them all around and throw them at me.
My blood boils, my own eyes narrowing as he stands across the room. “What do you want, Graham?”
“Let’s start with this: I had breakfast with our mother this morning.”
“Good for you.”
“She said Paulina called her last night.”
“Fuck Paulina,” I say with more emphasis than I even intended.
He lifts a brow.
“Yeah, Graham. Fuck Paulina,” I hiss, watching him absorb a very un-Camilla-like display. “Oh, wait, you already did.”
His eyes darken, making him look more like my father than I’ve ever realized. “Choose your words wisely, Camilla.”
“The same goes for you.”
“What’s gotten into you?” he growls. “Is this what he’s is doing to you? Making you some crazed lunatic?”
“This is a crazed lunatic?” I laugh. “Really? It seems to me that being accosted in my own home and standing up for yourself is a little less lunatic-y than barging into your sister’s house and making her feel like some kind of criminal for nothing.”
His lips twist together, dismissing me. “I want you to take a good look at yourself in the mirror, little sister, and see if you like what you see.”
Imagining what Graham is seeing causes me to smile. It’s something he’s never seen before. It’s something I’ve never felt before. Determination.
I’ve fought with Lincoln before and sparred with Ford, but never Graham. He’s always been so much older than me that our conversations have always been logical, even-footed. Him the older brother and me the younger, more submissive sister. Not today.
Today it doesn’t matter if I make him mad. I don’t care if he thinks I’m an idiot or calls me foolish. I have absolutely no need to humor him or try to see things from his perspective because he is wrong. On so many levels.
“Dom has made me see things differently,” I admit. “It’s making me see people differently.”
“Is that right?”
“It’s absolutely right.”
He grabs the back of a barstool at the island and squeezes the top. “Are you aware that your . . . what is he? Your boyfriend?”
“He’s whatever I want him to be.”
“Of course he is,” he scoffs. “I’m sure he’s a modern day Romeo.”
Heaving a deep breath, I look him in the eye. “Graham, I’m trying very, very hard to remember that you’re my brother and all this probably, hopefully, comes from a good place. You’re making it extremely difficult.”
He considers this. Shifting his weight to the other leg, his eyes never leave mine. “Ford says he thinks it’s serious between the two of you.”
“Did Ford tell you that they got along? That they had a decent conversation and that he was helping him out with a few things?”
“I also talked to Lincoln.”
“Oh, yes, by all means, listen to Lincoln for the first time in your life,” I laugh, which only makes Graham’s anger return. “You should listen to him, actually. You want to know why?”
“I bet you’re going to tell me.”