Page 35 of Best In Class (Savannah's Best #7)

Luna

W e’re not living together, exactly , but as Miss Abigail noted, “ He’s here a lot .”

Dom is at my house most of the time because his place is at Lev’s, and I really don’t want to have sex with my boyfriend while my brother is just a few feet away, albeit in a separate house.

“How long are you planning on staying at Lev’s?” I ask him as he drives us to dinner.

“Until you’re ready to marry me.”

I close my mouth because it stays open for a while after I hear his response.

“What?” I manage to choke out, though it takes an effort.

“Moonbeam, if I buy a place in Savannah, I want to do it with you. And I know you love your house and won’t want to move.”

I clear my throat to get rid of the panicked frog sitting there, jumping up and down. “You want to move in with me?”

He glances at me as he changes lanes. “Mama will kill me if I officially live with you without us being married. She’s already not happy about me staying over as often as I do.”

I fold my arms. I don’t know what to say. It’s just been a few months since we became official .

“Lev told me you bought a place on Tybee Island?” I ask to change the topic.

“As subtle as a chainsaw, Moonbeam,” he remarks, amused.

Dom told me that he bought a summer house on the island when he first came back to Savannah. He’s just finished renovating it. I’ve not been there yet. We just haven’t had the time to get away for a whole weekend, considering how busy it’s gotten with the Minton project.

“It’s not big, not meant for full time habitation.” He expertly merges onto the freeway. “It used to be a summer cottage. Originally built in the 1940s, raised on pilings, salt-stained cedar siding, sea glass door handles, wraparound porch with a swing that creaks when the wind shifts.”

I smile. It’s just the kind of home that would appeal to Dom and to me. “Sounds charming.”

“I wasn’t going to buy anything, but then I saw it and,” he pauses and then releases a long breath, “I bought it because I thought you’d like it.”

“That was a year ago,” I whisper.

“Yeah. ”

The way he talks, it’s obvious that he came to Savannah with one goal: me .

It makes my stomach do happy somersaults.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “I hope we can go there soon.”

“You’ll love it. The previous owners did a great job renovating it without compromising its character. They kept the original hardwood floors, painted the walls bright to keep the light bouncing. Big new windows, all open to the ocean breeze. It’s got that barefoot-living feel.”

“Let me guess,” I say, half-smiling. “You put in a chef’s kitchen and a wine fridge.”

Dom grins. “Guilty. I also added an outdoor shower. And a fire pit. The backyard’s got an old live oak with limbs so wide you can hang a dozen lanterns from them. Mama calls it the fairy tree.”

I can’t help but smile. “How close is it to the beach?”

“On it! It’s almost like a private cove. You can hear the waves, see the water, no matter which room you’re in.”

“Sounds magical,” I murmur.

“Yeah. It will be when you’re there.”

If I could fall any more in love with Dom, I would. “You getting maudlin on me, Calder?”

“I’m a man in love, Moonbeam, we’re a maudlin bunch.”

He hands over the keys of the Taycan to the valet outside the Kimpton Brice Hotel.

It’s a Savanah establishment with a classic brick facade, and is a perfect blend of historic preservation and urban sophistication.

Inside, it’s lush and modern—cozy meets edgy. All whitewashed walls, velvet banquettes, brass fixtures, and bold geometric art. It’s not trying too hard, because it doesn’t need to.

Dom walks beside me, his hand on the small of my back. Subtle but proprietary.

He’s in a navy jacket, no tie, white shirt open at the collar, and that lazy confidence that makes me ache in inconvenient places.

Since we were going somewhere fancy, I exchanged my jeans and T-shirt for a soft gray, raw silk dress. It hugs my body without being constricting, and feels lush against my skin.

We go to the hostess desk at Pacci, the restaurant tucked inside the hotel. It serves Tuscan cuisine and has a very good wine list, according to Dom.

This is a far cry from drinking sweet iced tea, and eating Miss Abigail’s fried chicken. Dom has come a long way, and I’m very proud of him. What he has achieved takes the kind of grit not everyone has.

We wait behind another couple who are talking to the hostess.

“This is fancy! Very first date kind of place,” I remark.

“We’re not on a first date, Moonbeam.”

“What are we on?” I challenge.

“A second-chance renaissance.”

Because it’s the perfect answer, I kiss him .

The hostess seats us at a corner table on the garden patio, beneath a canopy of old oak, and strings of lights that twinkle like fireflies.

The air smells like rosemary and grilled peaches.

The hush of the fountain nearby softens the world into something private.

Dom browses the wine list. “Old country or domestic?” he asks.

“Old country.”

He nods as he flips the pages. “French or Italian?”

“This is a Tuscan restaurant, so…Italian?”

I watch him as he reads through, suddenly feeling incredibly safe about our future.

This is how it’ll be. Spending time together. Making decisions, small and big, as a team.

“Tuscany or Piedmont? Or something else?” He looks up at me.

I frown. “Tuscan. I think that would be most appropriate.”

“Brunello or Chianti.”

“Brunello.”

“You know your wine,” he murmurs.

“I told you, I go raid Lev’s cellar once in a while, and he insists on teaching me what is what and why I can’t walk out with a bottle of 2016 Masseto for an evening with friends.”

“He has a 2016 Masseto?” Dom is very interested.

I laugh. “You want me to steal it for us.”

“Absolutely,” he says, grinning widely. “That’ll burn Lev’s ass! But who gives a shit. It’s a beautiful wine. And better be for the price tag.”

“Which is?” I ask, curious.

“About fifteen hundred dollars, give or take.”

I tilt my head. “Dom, are you drinking fifteen-hundred-dollar wine?”

He looks quizzically at me. “Not every day, but once in a while it’s nice to drink something that fantastic. Why?”

I put my hand on his. “I was thinking how you’ve come a very long way.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not about the money, you understand.”

He nods. He understands.

“You don’t flaunt it.”

“Neither do you,” he points out. “And you have a lot more than I do, or ever will.”

“And you’re okay with that.” It’s a statement. I know he is.

“Yep.”

“What happens if we’re together and you lose all your money?” I challenge.

He smiles. “Nothing, because you have enough for both of us, and a hundred others.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah.”

I blow him a kiss. “You know, Lev and I have always been conscious about how fortunate and privileged we are. It’s because Miss Abigail raised us.”

“I wanted to be like y’all,” he confesses, setting down the wine list. “I wanted that kind of money. But then I realized it’s not the money I was chasing, I wanted freedom to take care of Mama and live my life the way I want. To be able to tell Tommy Minton to take his money and fuck himself.”

“I have money, but I didn’t have freedom,” I confide. “I was stuck in a bubble until I let go of my parents. Now, Lev is stuck there. Freedom has nothing to do with your bank account.”

He picks up my hand and kisses it. “How do you feel about a 2018 Il Marroneto Brunello di Montalcino?” he asks.

I shrug. I don’t know the wine or the vintage. “Good?”

He smirks. “Better than good. Il Marroneto is one of the oldest estates in Montalcino. I went there a few years back—tiny vineyard, old stone walls, and an aging room that smells like heaven and history. Alessandro Mori runs the place like it’s a cathedral.”

I arch a brow. “So, it’s not just wine. It’s a religious experience?”

“Exactly,” he says and then adds with a wink, “but with tannins.”

He orders the snapper puttanesca while I get the veal osso bucco .

We skip the appetizer and opt for a salad with our meal instead. Got to save room for the cannoli cheesecake Pacci is famous for!

It is enormously easy to be with Dom. It’s also inspiring and stimulating .

We don’t talk about family. We don’t talk about the Minton project. We don’t talk about the past.

“Frank Lloyd Wright is not overrated,” Dom counters when I say he is.

I touch my napkin to the corner of my mouth, and set it back on my lap. “Of course, he is. He built monuments to his own ego.”

“He redefined organic architecture.” Dom refills my wine glass.

I cut into a delicate piece of braised veal. “He redefined how to trap heat in a house with no ventilation. Falling water is gorgeous until the roof leaks.”

Dom laughs. “Maybe! But come on—did you see the textile blocks in the Ennis House? That geometric facade?”

I chew on my meat for a moment and tilt my head thoughtfully. “Fine, but if that’s what gets your motor going, I think you want Zaha Hadid. Her work is chaos and grace. Liquid geometry. Concrete that looks like silk.”

“Zaha was pure genius,” he agrees. “Her Heydar Aliyev Center is an architectural masterpiece. I had a tear in my eye when I saw it.”

“You did?” I laugh.

“Yeah.” He shakes his head as if in self-recrimination. “The building is a marvel, challenging notions of geometry and gravity, with not one right angle in sight. It’s got such gravitas and somberness.”

I swirl the wine in my glass. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Talking about buildings like they’re people?”

He looks at me, serious now. “Well, I have always believed that buildings have more than character, they have…moods. They can breathe.”

“ Exactly! ” I drink some wine. “I can feel a building’s karma when I walk into it.”

Over dessert and coffee, we talk about climate-responsive facades, the stubborn beauty of brutalism, and the poetry of good lighting.

We talk about the line between vanity and vision in design, and how hard it is to walk.

This— this is what I always wanted. A man I could love with my mind and my body. A man who sees architecture the way I do, not just as structure, but as a story.

Dom is halfway through an impassioned ode to adaptive reuse in Europe when a syrupy voice interrupts us.

“Well, if it isn’t the golden couple.”

Camy stands next to our table, close to Dom, like she’s posing for a magazine shoot. Hair blown out, lashes long, heels so high they should require a scaffolding permit. Her dress is designer and clingy, and her smile is all sharp angles.

“Camy,” Dom greets her flatly.

“Dom,” she purrs. “How are you?”

“I’m well. And you?”

“Missing you, baby.”

I roll my eyes. Dom looks amused.

Camy’s eyes flick to me, and her lips curve in a smirk. “Luna. You look…radiant. Must be the company you’re keeping.”

I sip my wine, not even bothering to fake civility. “Nah, this place has excellent lighting. ”

She chuckles, now uncomfortable.

“Well,” she says, tapping a red-nailed finger on the edge of our table. “I’ll let you get back to your romantic evening. Just don’t wear him out too much. You know how he gets after a long night….”

With that, she saunters off, the sway in her hips exaggerated like she’s on a runway.

“Like you’d know anything about him after a long night,” I mutter after her.

Dom reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Well, that was interesting.”

“No, it was petty.”

“So…,” he searches my face, “you don’t feel threatened?”

I scoff. “By her? Puhlease! ”

He lifts my hand and brushes a kiss across my knuckles. “Moonbeam, how did I live all these years without you?”

“Poorly,” I whisper, my heart in my throat.

He nods, eyes not leaving mine. “That’s the truth. Because with you, life feels full—rich in a way I didn’t even know was possible. Before you, it was gray walls and cold light…like I was serving time without realizing it.”

My heart soars and stays in the clouds, which is why when Camy corners me in the restroom, thankfully, after I have peed, I’m too satisfied to even kick her proverbial ass.

“You think this will last?” Camy wants to know.

“ This? What?” I wash my hands, ignoring her as she peers at me in the mirror.

“You and Dom. He likes women… not tomboys.”

I straighten, wipe my hands on a hand towel .

“Camy, darlin’, we’re too old for the mean girl high school shit.”

Her eyes widen. “He always comes back to me,” she snaps. “Actually, we were having sex until just weeks ago.”

I throw the towel I used in the basket under the sink. “Camy, you’re confusing Dom with your daddy’s checkbook.”

“What?” she asks, taken aback.

“Dom is not a Gucci dress…nice one you are wearing, by the way.” I smile at her, feeling sorry for her. “Stop clinging to men who don’t want you. It’s a waste of time, and it’s only going to make you feel bad.”

She gasps, stunned.

I walk out without looking back.

When I return to the table, Dom stands when I approach.

“Ready to go home?” he asks.

“I am,” I say, and then lean closer. “Just FYI. You’re so getting lucky tonight because Camy bumped into me in the restroom and made me all hot and bothered by talking about how you did her.”

Dom laughs, not worried at all that I believed that witch.

He wraps his arm around me. “You’re precious, Moonbeam.”

“Don’t I know it!”