Chapter 2 - THE PICTURE IN HIS POCKET
Dominic pulled a folded sheet of construction paper from inside his vest.
I recognized the purple crayon before he even opened it.
“Lily’s drawing.”
“Yes.”
My face heated.
“I’m sorry. She leaves things everywhere.”
“I noticed.”
He flattened the paper on the kitchen island.
There were three figures beneath a crooked yellow sun.
The smallest had brown curls and a rabbit.
That was obviously Lily.
The woman beside her had hair almost down to her knees because my daughter had not yet mastered proportion.
Then there was a third figure.
Tall.
Completely black.
No face.
Two enormous arms.
I stared.
“Is that you?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Dominic’s mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
Then he pointed toward the corner.
A fourth figure was lying beneath what appeared to be a pink blanket.
“Your mother.”
My amusement disappeared.
“How would Lily even know to draw this?”
“She explained it.”
That sentence terrified me.
“What exactly did she explain?”
Dominic looked uncomfortable.
For a man who could make corporate boards panic with one phone call, discomfort looked strange on him.
“She said Grandma is sick.”
“I know that part.”
“She said Grandma worries because you cry when Lily is asleep.”
My throat closed.
I looked away.
“Children misunderstand things.”
“Sometimes.”
“She shouldn’t have told you.”
“No.”
Dominic’s voice softened.
“But I’m glad she did.”
I looked at him.
He pointed again.
Near the black figure, Lily had drawn something round.
“What is that?”
“She said it was a heart.”
“Why is your heart outside your body?”
Dominic’s eyes met mine.
“According to Lily, because I don’t know where to put it.”
I covered my face.
“Oh my God.”
“She’s very direct.”
“She’s three.”
“I find those qualities closely related.”
I wanted to disappear.
Instead, Dominic carefully refolded the drawing.
“You asked why I offered.”
“Yes.”
He looked down at the paper.
“My mother died when I was thirty-one.”
I knew almost nothing about Dominic’s family.
The Morettis appeared in business magazines, society pages and occasionally federal investigations nobody seemed able to explain. But his personal life was nearly nonexistent.
“I’m sorry.”
“She was sick for eleven months.”
His voice remained calm.
Too calm.
“She worried about me constantly. Not the companies. Not the money. Me.”
He leaned against the island.
“She said I had built a life where everyone needed something from me and nobody knew me.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Dominic rarely spoke more than necessary.
Now he looked as though every sentence cost him.
“The last week she was alive, she asked whether there was anyone I loved enough to call when something went wrong.”
His eyes lowered.
“I told her no.”
The kitchen became very quiet.
“She cried.”
I swallowed.
“I’ve regretted that answer for seven years.”
“Dominic…”
He looked up.
“If your mother has weeks left, I know what it means to sit beside someone who is dying while they worry about what happens to you afterward.”
That changed everything.
The offer no longer sounded absurd.
It sounded painful.
Human.
Dangerously kind.
Still, I shook my head.
“We’d be lying.”
“Yes.”
“My father will interrogate you.”
“I’ve survived congressional committees.”
“My father is worse.”
“Good.”
“He owns three shotguns.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow.
“I’m beginning to understand why you left Pennsylvania.”
A laugh escaped me.
Then I became serious.
“There have to be rules.”
“Name them.”
“No touching unless necessary.”
“Agreed.”
“No gifts to my family.”
His expression suggested I had asked him to stop breathing.
“Reasonable gifts?”
“No.”
“Sophia.”
“My father will hate you enough without discovering you paid their mortgage.”
His eyes narrowed.
“How much do they owe?”
“See? This is exactly what I mean.”
“I was asking.”
“You were calculating.”
He said nothing.
“Absolutely no fixing their finances.”
“Fine.”
“No telling people what you do for a living.”
“I own companies.”
“You own half Manhattan.”
“Less than half.”
“Dominic.”
“Fine.”
“And no promises to Lily.”
His expression changed.
“What kind?”
“Anything about staying.”
That one landed differently.
I continued.
“She gets attached easily.”
“So do adults.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I looked at him.
“This weekend ends Sunday night.”
He nodded once.
“Sunday night.”
“And Monday, I’m your housekeeper again.”
His jaw tightened very slightly.
“Yes.”
I should have noticed that hesitation.
I didn’t.
We left Friday morning.
Dominic wanted a driver.
I insisted we use my eight-year-old Honda.
He stared at it for a full ten seconds.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You look offended.”
“Does the heater work?”
“Usually.”
“Usually is not a reassuring word regarding machinery.”
Lily climbed into the back seat.
“Dominic!”
He looked at her.
“You sit by me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m too tall.”
“You’re my pretend daddy.”
Everything stopped.
I turned slowly.
“Lily.”
“What?”
I closed my eyes.
Dominic opened the passenger door.
“I thought I was the pretend boyfriend.”
Lily shrugged.
“Same team.”
He got into the car.
I wanted to drive directly into the river.
Two hours later, Manhattan disappeared behind us.
By the time we reached Pennsylvania, Lily had explained my entire childhood to Dominic using information she had collected from Grandma.
I had fallen from an apple tree at nine.
I hated peas.
I once accidentally set a dish towel on fire.
Dominic listened with alarming interest.
Then Lily fell asleep.
The road narrowed between winter fields.
Dominic looked out at the hills.
“You grew up here?”
“Outside Millbrook.”
“You miss it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why did you leave?”
The question carried no pressure.
Still, I hesitated.
“There wasn’t much here for me.”
“That isn’t the entire answer.”
“No.”
He waited.
I hated that he was good at silence.
“Lily’s father was from here.”
Dominic turned.
I kept my eyes on the road.
“His name is Ryan Keller.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where your daughter’s father is?”
“He left when I was seven months pregnant.”
Dominic’s face changed.
“He said he wasn’t ready.”
“And since?”
“One birthday card. No return address.”
His jaw tightened.
I almost smiled.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Look like you’re going to have him buried.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Possibly.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then my phone rang through the car.
Emma.
I answered on speaker.
“Sophia?”
“We’re twenty minutes away.”
A pause.
Then:
“Mom had a bad night.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“How bad?”
“The nurse almost sent her to the hospital.”
My chest went cold.
“But she refused because she wants to be home for the wedding.”
I couldn’t speak.
Dominic reached over.
His hand stopped an inch from mine.
Remembering the rule.
I looked at it.
Then placed my hand in his.
Just for a second.
His fingers closed gently around mine.
Emma asked, “Are you alone?”
I looked at Dominic.
“No.”
He watched me carefully.
“I’m bringing someone.”
Another pause.
“Someone?”
I swallowed.
“My boyfriend.”
Dominic’s thumb moved once across my knuckles.
Emma screamed so loudly Lily woke up.
And twenty minutes later, as my childhood farmhouse appeared at the end of the road, I realized the ridiculous lie had officially begun.
What I did not know was that another car had been following us since New Jersey.
A black SUV.
Always six or seven vehicles behind.
Never close enough to seem suspicious.
Dominic noticed it before we reached the farm.
He said nothing.
But when we pulled into my parents’ driveway, he looked through the rear window one last time.
And the man pretending to be my boyfriend suddenly stopped looking like a billionaire.
May you like
He looked like the man everyone in Manhattan was afraid of.
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