Page 94 of Between Love and Loathing

“Dominic, it’s not really your concern, and I have it—”

“How long?” he asked, punching a fist into his thigh.

“I was diagnosed on the same day as the will hearing.”

He winced like I’d hit him with a ton of bricks. “And you didn’t tell me?” The lines on his face deepened as he frowned at me and pulled at the collar of his shirt before he unbuttoned the top of it. “I would have—”

“You would have what, Dominic? We hated each other then.”

“Still, I was hard on you and—”

“You’re hard on everyone because you know it produces the best results. A diamond without pressure is just a rock, and you made my damn bakery a diamond with me.”

He shook his head like he was tormented by something, and instead of him consoling me about having lupus, I grabbed his hand and pried open his fist. “What’s really wrong?”

Suddenly, that pain he hid so well was back in his eyes. “Nothing, Clara.”

“You’re a terrible liar, too, Dominic.” I patted his thigh. “Let’s talk over a cupcake when we get home.”

And maybe that night my disease was what we needed. It cracked his fortress enough for him to be vulnerable. First, he made me shower. When I said no, he pulled me in there with him and took it upon himself to wash every part of me. He tsked at some of the rashes he saw on my arms that had popped up today.

“They’re minor,” I told him, and he just shook his head as he toweled me off before he bundled me in a massive robe and told me I needed to see a doctor very soon. Then he carried me to his bed where he laid me out on top of him and started the story of him and Natya.

How he loved her. How he thought she was everything. How he believed they had it all, but then the story curdled into the lies she told, how he couldn’t be enough for her, how he tried to protect her from the fame she kept seeking, how she tried to yank him into it, and ultimately, how she lied about being pregnant to keep him around.

He’d failed her though, he told me. He hadn’t been able to save her from her own ego. And now he wasn’t even doing a good job of being a good fake boyfriend and saving me from working too hard with my disease.

I started to see how Dominic Hardy took every burden from everyone he cared about and made them his own. If he didn’t fix their problems, he felt unworthy.

He was a good man, a man I shouldn’t want but did.

* * *

The next morning,he said he’d send a driver to pick me up late in the afternoon but that I would only be able to walk around the resort, not work.

He told me to book a doctor’s appointment.

I ignored that but appreciated the extra time to get ready for work. Under the stress of the reopening, I could feel my body needing more time for everything. Even so, I took my meds and did my best to make it to work.

When I got there, Dominic was in my bakery, hands covered in pink and red and white. The ombré had been accented further, and the corner lines were immaculate. “What’s this?” I whispered.

He stood and hesitated. “We needed more pink and some red, right? Bold and beautiful like you.” He shrugged and then turned me toward the door. “It’s drying. No breathing the paint. Go console your friend and tell her to check the papers today about her store.”

I checked the headlines myself on the way and found most news articles raving positively about the sentiment behind Paloma’s name. When I showed her in her store, she started crying and I cried with her. “You realize he didn’t do this for me, right? He did it for you.”

I shook my head. “No way.”

“Yes way. You balance him and he loves it.”

I shook my head at her and at my heart that was galloping away with her words. “It doesn’t matter. Your store and you deserve this.”

Paloma nodded and looked around. “You know all the reds and greens he helped me pick out? He walked in here the other day and said they’d match your hair and eyes. That’s not coincidental, Clara. You’re on his mind all the time. He wants you for real.”

I told her there wasn’t any way he wanted that. I told myself the same thing all the way home because I felt myself starting to hope for it, to want it more than I had ever wanted a relationship before.

And wanting what I couldn't have was dangerous.

That night, I asked him about Paloma, accusing him of stuffing the headlines for the good of her store because I couldn’t get it off my mind. “You did that for her. Why?”