If The Seas Catch Fire(81)

Great. Just what Dom always wanted. A marriage to a woman whose enthusiasm came down to being willing to go through with it. Wouldn’t they be an apathetically well-matched pair?

But what could he say that hadn’t already been said? Especially with Corrado’s warning in the back of his mind, that bachelors who showed no interest in beautiful, connected women like Brigida raised questions.

So he’d released a breath and held his uncle’s gaze. “Can I have some more time to think about it?”

“Domenico.” Corrado closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as if this conversation were giving him a migraine. “How much time do you need? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

And I’m not exactly ready to be put out to pasture either.

“Give me a week.” He felt like a f*cking hostage negotiator. “One week from today, I’ll have an answer for you.”

His uncle lowered his hands and locked eyes with him again. “One week, Domenico.”

Dom nodded. “Okay. I’ll, um, give Brigida a call. We’ll do dinner as soon as she’s available. And we’ll talk about things.”

Corrado studied him for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “All right.”

So he had a week. Seven days. Enough time to come to terms with this marriage, maybe. Perhaps the best way to spend that week would be with Brigida so they could both be damn sure they were “willing to go through with it.”

But no.

The door to Corrado’s office hadn’t even closed before he’d texted Sergei.

How are you feeling?

Moments later: Much better. Meet tonight?

Yes. Oh God, yes. Dom pounded out his response so fast, he thought his phone was going to burst into flames: Name the time & place.

They’d made plans. Dom had gone back to work, where he spent the day counting down until Sergei would be off work and checking his watch every time he finished even the tiniest task in the office. At home, he’d showered and shaved, texting Brigida about dinner while he made sure he had condoms for tonight, and—

Then Sergei bailed.

At a quarter past eleven, the message came:

Can’t make it—sorry.

Dom stared at the text. Seriously?

Well, shit.

He lounged back on his bed and unbuttoned his collar. Now what?

It was a bit late to see if Brigida wanted to meet sooner than later. On the other hand, maybe Brigida had a spontaneous side. If she was the type who’d drop everything and go out for midnight coffee, then maybe that would give them a little more in common. And maybe they could both compare notes on men they fantasized about.

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. This was going to be a f*cking nightmare. A great political move, but a marital disaster.

No, he wouldn’t bother Brigida tonight.

He did, however, text Biaggio. Could use some advice—free for lunch tomorrow?

Biaggio didn’t answer immediately. That wasn’t surprising. Dom was pretty sure the man never slept, and he was almost always busy with something.

About twenty minutes later, though, the response came: Come by the house tomorrow. 11am.

Typical Biaggio. Yes, he was free, and they’d meet up on his terms. At least they were meeting at Biaggio’s place instead of Corrado’s—Dom needed a little breathing room for once. God help him if Corrado overheard the conversation he planned on having with Biaggio.

Eventually, Dom went downstairs and flicked on the TV. It had been a long time since he’d lounged in front of some mindless television, and that sounded like exactly what he needed tonight.

Halfway through the third or fourth episode of some ridiculous sitcom, Dom’s phone vibrated on the end table.

To his surprise, it was a text from Sergei.

Change of plans. Free after all. Still on?

Dom’s heart sped up. He quickly texted back, Definitely.

Did that smack of desperation? Probably. But he was desperate at this point. In a week’s time, he’d most likely be engaged to the woman of his uncle’s organization’s dreams, so he planned to take advantage of every possible opportunity to get Sergei—men—out of his system. Once he and Brigida sealed the deal, that was it. He didn’t foresee himself being a particularly passionate husband, but he would be a faithful one. Which meant… no Sergei.

Tonight, though, he was all Sergei’s. He went upstairs, grabbed the condoms and lube, and got the hell out of there.



*



The drive from his neighborhood to the shady district with all the no-tell motels seemed to get longer every time. Anticipation made every mile drag out until Dom was climbing the walls, gripping the wheel and willing his heart to slow down.

Tonight was no exception. And thank God, Sergei already had a room—Dom was a few blocks away when Sergei texted him with a room number.

No waiting. No checkin. Just park. Walk. Knock.

And there he was.

As soon as the door was closed, they were wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“Sorry for bailing,” Sergei whispered between kisses. “Something came up, and then—”

“It’s okay.” Dom cradled his face and kissed him lightly. “You’re here now. I don’t care about anything else.”

Sergei’s whole body seemed to relax, and he melted against Dom.