Chapter 51 Chapter 51
Dominic's Pov
Warmth. That was the first thing I felt when I opened my eyes to the soft gray light filtering through window blinds.
Someone was holding me. Arms that were not mine wrapped around my waist. A heavy pressure pressed down on me, unyielding but not binding. And the scent, lavender and rose wrapped up in something warm and human was somehow comforting. It lingered on the cotton of the shirt and became part of the air as if it belonged there.
This was far from the woody scent of my usual mornings, with their clean sheets and intentional loneliness, this… this was different.
I blinked away the haze of sleep, my body trailing my mind. The bed was softer here, occupied, with the sort of soft dip that told me of late-night reading, midnight snacks, and a thousand other little indulgences. None of them, however, were mine.
Why was the bed so this? Why was I in this bed? How am I not alone?
Suddenly, the memory came rushing in.
Last night, Liana? She had asked me to stay back.
Her voice had been so soft and vulnerable. A shaking concealed beneath her speech like a ripple beneath calm water. "You should stay the night?"
I remembered the way she’d looked at me when she asked. Not desperate… Just tired, worn and open. Like someone who had carried too much for too long and finally decided, just for one night, to let someone else carry a little of it.
And I’d said yes. Not because it was convenient. Not because I was taking the place of someone who had left. But because I couldn't envision myself leaving when she needed me. This wasn't about romance or timing or any of my initial motives for doing things.
This was about her healing. She had begged me and I had stayed and God have mercy on me, I'd do it all again.
Liana stayed wrapped around me, breathing normally. Her face rested in the bend of my neck like it was where it was meant to be. Her hand rested on my chest, fingers loosely bunched in my shirt as if she didn't even realize she was hanging on. A gentle ache spread in my chest looking at her like this: defensive-free, and peaceful. Her hair spilled over the pillow and across my arm in gentle waves. No shields. No sharp return shots or quick comebacks. Just her. I shifted infinitesimally, not wanting to disturb her, and began to ease myself out of bed.
But suddenly, the door slammed open. No knock. Just a jarring pressure, and the sound of metal touching the wall.
I froze.
Nerves throughout my entire body tensed into high gear, instincts screaming in all directions. And there in the doorway stood Liana's mother. Her hand still held the doorknob, the other drifting in the air as if she'd just been reaching to shout.
We just stared at each other.
Her gaze went from me to Liana tucked into my side and back to me again. Panic. Pure and unadulterated flashed in her eyes before she spun around and slammed the door shut with a soft, controlled click.
I stood there, staring at the door, heart thudding.
Shit! I turned to the woman peacefully sleeping beside me and although I hated to, I shook her shoulder gently.
"Liana,” I whispered urgently, struggling to maintain the panic from my voice. "Liana, wake up."
She made a small protest-noise, half protest, half sigh, and pressed her cheek against my chest before slowly opening her eyes, still with that sleep-mist in them.
"Hmm?" Her voice was husky, warm with sleep. It vibrated softly against me.
I swallowed hard.
"Your mom just walked in."
That cleared every iota of sleep on her eyes. She sprawled upright, blinking hard as her mind caught up. Then her eyes opened wide.
"She what?"
"She walked in on us," I told her, nodding firmly.
Her mouth dropped open in a silent "oh my God" and she groaned and slumped forward, forehead in her hands.
"She left right away," I said quickly. "Didn't say a thing. But yeah..."
She puffed hard into her hands, then sat up straighter. "It's fine. It's okay. She'll understand.".
"Liana you don't understand." I gestured toward the bed. To the blankets wound around our legs. To my shirt, askew. Her hair tousled. The intimacy of her body obvious even if nothing had ever happened. Then I slowly said, “She saw us like this, entangled in bed.”
"She trusts me," she said, her voice calm and sure. "I'll explain it to her. She knows I would never just…"
She trailed off, her eyes colliding with mine.
"She'll understand."
I wasn't as sure. But I nodded anyway.
You have to get up," I said, attempting to be soothing. "You have your meeting at ten."
Her gaze darted to the clock on the nightstand. She muttered something under her breath, then tossed the blanket aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
I stepped aside respectfully, giving her privacy as she moved over to the dresser. The room was quietly lit now, morning light stretching into the corners, making long shadows.
After her bath, she threw me a towel, a pale gray one, thick and plush, the sort that had a slightly fresh laundry scent and a quiet domestic smell.
"Use this," she said, turning over her shoulder. "There are extra toothbrushes under the sink."
I picked it up in one hand and nodded. "Thanks."
The bathroom still smelled warm from her earlier shower, steam clung to the corners of the mirror. I cranked on the water and stood there, letting the stream rush against my skin. My mind was raucous in the small room, crashing and whirling.
What are we doing? Because this morning, it felt like a change. Like something had actually started to happen. And I wasn't sure if we were prepared.
I emerged, towel draped around my waist, and she was already dressed in normal jeans and a tight blouse, hair pulled back in a low pony. Her back was to me as she fastened a small earring.
I changed quickly.
"I'm ready," I said to her immediately after I finished.
She turned and smiled weakly. "Okay. Let's go downstairs."
I hesitated. "I don't know what to say to your mom."
She smiled and chuckled softly, a softer chuckle than any I'd ever heard. "Dominic. Everything will be okay. She won't kill you. Or me."
I grumbled. "That's not reassuring." But I followed her anyway.
Liana's Pov
The smell of toast and cinnamon was the first thing I noticed. Then the gentle hiss of something cooking in the pan and the soft clinking of utensils against the plate. Morning sounds were normal and familiar.
But this morning? It just felt off. "Mom," I said as I appeared in the kitchen, alarmed to find her leaning over the stove. "You shouldn't be doing this. You're still recovering. The doctor was very specific about not stressing…"