Chapter Thirty-Four
Dominic
The flight is long and tedious. Even though Elizabeth’s reading a news magazine, flipping each page slowly as though every word is riveting, I’m still concerned. The more calmly she behaves, the greater my worry grows.
She knows I’m scrutinizing her. I’m not exactly subtle about it. But the speed at which she turns the pages doesn’t change.
Finally, when she’s finished, she puts her seat back and closes her eyes. Although she breathes evenly, I know she’s not really asleep.
I want to talk to her, make sure she’s all right. But at the same time, I don’t know what I can do to make things better.
And I hate this sense of helplessness. I haven’t felt anything like it in the last few years, as money and connections tend to smooth most things out. When they haven’t, I’ve just gotten more determined.
But I’ve always ended up with a perfect solution. This time, however, nothing presents itself.
You want to hurt her. Why do you care?
I shouldn’t, but I do. When she was pretending to read the magazine, I could see glimpses of fatigue and pain in her eyes from time to time. And her mouth… It smiled too much. Like she was trying really hard to project how fine she was feeling.
How come I never noticed before?
Despising the conflicting feelings, I pick up a blanket and drape it over her. Her eyelids flutter, but she keeps them stubbornly closed.
Not wanting to dig too deeply into my motivations, I bury myself in work. There’s always more stuff for me to review and make decisions on than I have time for. I also send an email to Zhao with the proposal he requested.
Finally, when the cabin attendant starts serving the meal, I tap Elizabeth on the shoulder. “Come on, get up. You should eat something.”
“I’m not in the mood,” she murmurs.
I understand why she may not have any appetite. But at the same time… She only had a bit of bagel for breakfast and didn’t even get to keep that down. Maybe she’s like my mom, but even Mom didn’t forgo food for more than a day. “Nobody eats because of their mood. They eat because they need fuel.”
She just stares.
“If you neglect yourself because of that package, you’re letting the bastard win.” I cock my head. “What’s it gonna be?”
I’m hoping the stubborn part of her—the part that built ten schools in a year in Africa even though everyone told her it was an impossible goal—is still inside somewhere. That she isn’t going to starve herself over some sick punk.
“What do you have?” she says, finally sitting up.
The cabin attendant, not missing the opportunity, gives her three options—a roast beef sandwich, fettuccine in butter cream sauce or a grilled chicken breast with green salad and soup. Elizabeth selects the chicken and soup, and I choose the sandwich.
After lunch, which Elizabeth washes down with a mimosa, she promptly goes back to her fake sleep. I let her be, satisfied that she’s been fed, even if she managed to eat only half the portion.
Although I have a document opened on my laptop, I can’t focus on it. My attention is on Elizabeth. She’s changed so much more than I thought in the last ten years. I expected her to be mature, cunning and devious. But instead, she’s polished and careful. She doesn’t bubble with excitement, she doesn’t raise her voice, and she doesn’t lean on anybody, as though that’s a weakness.
Controlled.
That’s the only way to describe Elizabeth now. Self-controlled.
Except in bed. In bed, she’s still wild, still passionate.
But it bothers me. How can anybody be so locked down, so rigidly disciplined all the time? It’s as though she’s sacrificed all the ups and downs of life for some weirdly artificial perpetual calm. What the hell kind of existence is that?
I can’t imagine it. Life is supposed to be lived full-spectrum, with lots of vivid emotion and drive. People think that those who succeed are icily controlled. But people who make something of their lives tend to be the ones who feel the most—who have the most passion for what they do.
Half an hour from landing, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Antoine.
I have the area secured. To be honest, I don’t think a coward like that’s going to show his face in a crowd. They generally prefer one on one in private.
I agree, but this is Elizabeth’s safety. I’m not taking any chances. The fucker’s a total sociopath. He sent her a vacuum-sealed puppy, I text back.
Jesus. Antoine adores dogs. Says they’re better than most humans. If I get my hands on him, he’s dead.
You and me both.
Elizabeth sits up in preparation for landing and checks her phone, which beeps twice. She taps it a few times, then slips it back into her purse with a sigh.
When we deplane, Antoine’s waiting for us at the bottom of the steps. He’s six two, his body large and honed from martial arts training. He’s in a suit, no tie, his green eyes behind a pair of Aviator sunglasses. His mouth is set flat and unsmiling, and he points his unshaven chin almost imperceptibly at a black Mercedes next to mine.
Then I see… An enormous man, both tall and wide, stands by the Mercedes in a white shirt, dark gray slacks and boots that look hard and tough enough to stomp through a manhole cover. A charcoal-gray blazer drapes over his huge body, cut to conceal a weapon. A pair of sunglasses covers his eyes, but I feel his gaze like a laser.
I escort Elizabeth to the car, and he doesn’t nod or acknowledge the men placing her suitcases in the trunk. He squeezes her shoulder with a big, scarred hand, the familiar gesture annoying.
“I’ll take it from here,” he says with a slight accent, his voice managing to convey calm and menace at the same time.
My hold tightens a notch, and he glances at my hand at her elbow, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“You aren’t following her home, are you?” he says, stepping closer and invading my personal space. “Like I said, I got it.”
She squeezes his forearm. “Tolyan.”
Tolyan?
I blink once. Isn’t he supposed to be Elizabeth’s assistant? How in the world did this guy manage to fool people into thinking that he’s some admin flunky? Nothing about him says he’s capable of sitting behind a desk. And her foundation doesn’t do the kind of work that requires a man like this on its payroll.
Elizabeth turns to me. “Thank you for the flight, Dominic.”
He takes her to the passenger side, his big body shielding her. As he walks around the front of the car to the driver’s seat, he looks back, a small sneer twisting his mouth.
The sight makes my hackles rise. It isn’t something he’s tossing out because he’s an asshole or wants to rile me. It’s a sneer that says, “You’re a fucking idiot who doesn’t know shit about anything and never will.”
The car pulls away.
Antoine stands next to me. “That’s Tolyan?”
I nod. “Someone lied when they told you he was an assistant.”
“Yeah, no shit. And he looks nothing like his employee photo.”
“Fake?”
“No. Just the vibe. Totally different.”
I think fast. “I want you to look into something…”
* * *
Elizabeth
“Bum-fucking animal. Filthy, shit-eating asshat.”
I roll my eyes a little at Tolyan’s endless name-calling. He’s already gone through the usual list involving f-words, genital size and questioning parentage. Now he’s becoming more creative. When he runs out of things to say in English, he’ll switch to Russian.
The streets of L.A. pass slowly as he drives. Traffic’s always horrendous in the city.
“You should’ve let me take out that particular piece of trash when we had the chance. It would’ve been self-defense at the worst.”
“Tolyan.”
“You don’t think it’s somebody other than Andy, do you?”
“No. Not really.” Andy was too smug and smirky at the party. There are men who talk a lot because they think it’ll make them look impressive. But Andy isn’t one.
Just when I think he’s about to switch to his mother tongue, Tolyan says, “And Dominic isn’t any better. That idiot.”
“Don’t be so hard on him. He isn’t the enemy.”
“Did you forget his vow to take what matters to you the most? That sounds like a declaration of war to me. If I were you, I would’ve slipped a stiletto between his ribs. Or blowfish toxin into his drink.” He gets a faraway look, considering the possibilities.
I shake my head. Tolyan doesn’t understand everything. He hasn’t experienced Dominic’s tenderness.
“Lizochka, please. Please don’t tell me you spent a night with him and now he’s the good guy. Good bedroom technique just means he’s had good teachers or a lot of experience.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue.
“I don’t know what he told you or what he did to make you think that he’s a friend. He’s anything but. He tricked you.”
“I know you don’t like him—”
“He visited Julian. Then afterword he started digging into your father’s past. Unfortunately for him, he’s been looking into the wrong areas. Only Julian’s business dealings.”
“Maybe he wants to make sure what kind of man Dad is. For all we know, they could be business partners,” I say, even though I know that’s a lie.
And Tolyan knows I know. He snorts. “Some business. Dominic apparently wanted to buy some portraits Julian owns. Your daddy told him to go fuck himself—typical—and now Dominic’s digging for dirt. I guarantee you he isn’t doing this to get into business with Julian. I had to throw up some roadblocks to slow down his hound.”
Bitter disappointment pours over me, and I don’t know why. Dominic’s been clear about his intentions. Did I somehow believe that maybe he’d changed based on the kindness he’s shown me in the last two days?
Yes. Yes, I did.
How foolish.
Tolyan continues, oblivious. But even if he knew how I’m feeling right now, he wouldn’t stop. He’s a firm believer in tough love. “Dominic’s going to blackmail Julian and take those paintings. And then what? Ryder and Elliot will have married for nothing.”
“Not nothing. They love their wives.”
“They didn’t marry for love. Plus, if Dominic’s as devious as I think he is—and I’m usually right about these things—he’s going to wait until all of you are married, then take the paintings.”
I breathe deeply. Tolyan wouldn’t be saying this if it weren’t the most likely scenario. The last thing I want to see is disappointment on my brothers’ faces because of my history with Dominic.
The portraits have far more sentimental value than Dominic can imagine.
“Can you focus on Julian’s dealings with women?” I say. “He’s aboveboard in business, but not with women because he doesn’t respect them. It shouldn’t take that long.”
“Fine. I’ll let you know. By the way, I have a lot of dirt on Dorothy Brown and her darling husband. There are several possibilities if you want to take them out.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll consider it.”
One of the reasons Andy’s been able to do what he has—and get away with it—is because of his parents. They’ve been using their influence to protect him. I regret making the deal five years ago, but back then, I didn’t have the power to bring them all down.
And the old deal is still holding me back.
“I can compile a dossier on Dominic, too,” Tolyan says conversationally.
“That won’t be necessary. I do owe him one, after all.”
“You’ve paid it back a million times over.”
“Have I? Can you put a price on a broken heart?”
The annoyed rumble deep in his throat is more eloquent than a cuss word. “Everything has a price, Lizochka…even love.”