King of Greed: Chapter 19

“He looks lonely.”

“That’s none of our business.” I stared at my drink and forced myself not to look next door. “He chose to go on a solo vacation.” Marcelo and I were having homemade caipirinhas on the rooftop deck while the feijoada cooked. I shouldn’t ingest any more alcohol after our boozy beach day, but I needed to take the edge off after my run-in with Dominic.

“True,” Marcelo said. “Still, it’s kind of sad.”

Curiosity played tug of war with my better instincts. The former won, and I glanced to my right, where Dominic was sitting by his pool. Six-foot hedges separated our villas, but my high vantage point gave me a direct view of his backyard.

He was scrolling on his phone and eating the saddest-looking sandwich I’d ever seen. Lantern lights swayed in the trees, casting a soft glow over his features.

The cynical part of me wondered if he was eating by the pool because he’d heard us on the rooftop and wanted to gain our sympathy. The empathetic part of me couldn’t help but feel a pang in my chest.

Marcelo was right. He did look lonely.

My brother followed my gaze. “The town feels a whole lot smaller, doesn’t it?”

“It’s big enough. He does his thing, we do ours.” I kept my voice low, but Dominic looked up at that exact moment like he’d heard me. Our eyes locked, and a shiver of electricity ran beneath my skin.

I tore my gaze away before it intensified into anything more dangerous.

“You feel bad for him, don’t you?” I said when Marcelo frowned.

“What happened to always having my back?” I was only half joking.

My brother owed a lot to Dominic, who’d gotten him his first job as a junior chef in one of the Laurents’ restaurants before he graduated to his current role as executive sous chef. I didn’t expect him to shun him just because we were divorced, but his obvious soft spot for Dominic made me uneasy simply because I could see myself sliding toward the same feelings.

I was too susceptible to others’ opinions. I didn’t want to be, but I couldn’t help it.

“It’s still true, but I also feel bad for him,” Marcelo said. “We both know why he’s here, and it’s not for vacation.” He nodded at the man in question. “When was the last time Dominic willingly took time off work?”

Never. Even when we were married, I had to force him to stay in Brazil for longer than a few days between Christmas and New Year’s.

It suddenly struck me how massive a deal his appearance was. This wasn’t a night off or a rescheduled meeting; he’d left the office, flown to another continent, and, judging by how comfortable he was making himself at Villa Luz, he intended to stay awhile.

My stomach twisted into knots. Don’t let him fool you. Dominic would do anything to win, but the prize only mattered before he obtained it.

“Come on,” I said, sidestepping Marcelo’s question. “The food is going to be ready soon, and I need to take a shower.”

“You showered an hour ago.”

“I need to shower again,” I lied. “The humidity’s a killer.”

Marcelo slid a knowing glance at me but didn’t argue. While he checked on the feijoada, I halfheartedly rinsed off, letting the hot water wash away my lingering sympathy for Dominic.

By the time I toweled off and entered the dining room, Marcelo was already setting the table.

“Here. I’ll help.” I grabbed the plates from him. “Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t take that long this time.”

He always teased me about my long showers, but I’d been in there for thirty minutes, tops.

“I know.” He scratched the back of his neck, his expression equal parts scared and apprehensive. “So, uh, here’s the thing. While you were—”

Someone came up behind him and interrupted him. “Where did you put your cocktail glasses? I don’t see—” Dominic stopped abruptly when he noticed me. He’d changed into a linen shirt and pants, and he held a bottle of cachaça in one hand and his phone in the other.

Heat suffused my skin, erasing the shower’s aftereffects. There was only one reason why he would be in our house, holding that bottle, and looking for our cocktail glasses.

Marcelo had invited him over for dinner.

Forget sibling vacations. Tomorrow, I’d be an only child because I was going to murder my brother.

My soon-to-be-dead brother cleared his throat. “Dominic came over and asked if he could borrow some sugar. Turns out Luz didn’t stock the house with condiments and the store in town is closed, so I asked if he’d like to join us instead. I made too much food anyway.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, I can leave,” Dominic said when I remained silent. “I’m not that hungry anyway. I had a sandwich.”

“It’s fine.” I forced a smile. I refused to let him see how he affected me.

Another awkward beat passed before Marcelo cleared his throat again.

“The glasses are in the lower cabinet, second from the left. Easy to miss if you’re not looking for it.”

Dominic nodded and disappeared into the kitchen again. The instant he was out of eyeshot, I glared at Marcelo, who backed away with his hands in the air.

“What were you thinking? ” I whisper-shouted. “Borrowing sugar?

Seriously? You fell for that?”

“I panicked, okay?” he hissed back. “What was I supposed to do? Turn the poor guy away?”

“Yes.” I flapped a hand in the general direction of the kitchen. “You invited my ex-husband to dinner! We divorced two months ago, and he followed me to Brazil!”

“You know I don’t deal well with interpersonal pressure! He smelled the feijoada and…fuck, he’s coming.”

We clammed up again when Dominic returned with the cocktail glasses.

He raised an eyebrow when I grabbed one and made myself another, hasty caipirinha before we sat down, but he wisely refrained from saying anything.

Dinner was, as expected, quiet and stilted. Marcelo carried the conversation while Dominic and I ate in silence. I felt like I was living out an absurdist film about marriage and divorce. Everything, from the location to Dominic’s presence to the music Marcelo put on for “atmosphere enhancement,” seemed surreal.

This couldn’t be my life right now.

“How’s your shop going?” Marcelo asked after he finished rambling about Brazil’s latest soccer game, or football as it was called everywhere except the U.S. “Everything on track for the grand opening in the new year?”

“Yes.” I rapped my knuckles against the oak table so I didn’t jinx it. “I haven’t received any emergency texts from Isabella, so I assume the store hasn’t burned down.”

“You once said you’d never open a physical store.” Dominic’s quiet observation had my shoulders tensing. “You said it’d be too stressful.”

“That was in college.” I didn’t look up from my food. “A lot has changed since then.”

I’d majored in business at Thayer but focused on e-commerce. Instead of starting my own company after graduation like I’d originally planned, I’d helped Dominic build his. However, I’d stepped back after he’d hired a permanent team, and the retail landscape had shifted so much since college that creating Floria Designs was like starting from scratch. Most of what I’d learned in school was outdated, and the past two years had been a never-ending learning process.

Opening a physical store scared me to death, but I needed something solid. Something I could look at, touch, and call mine, that proved beyond a doubt that there was still some fight left in me. “What about you?” Marcelo asked when Dominic remained silent after my reply. “How’s, uh, work?”

“It’s fine. The markets change but Wall Street doesn’t.” Another long silence.

“How long are you staying in Brazil?” My brother made another valiant attempt at conversation.

“I’m not sure.” Dominic took a casual sip of his drink. “I haven’t bought a return ticket.”

I nearly choked on a mouthful of beans and pork. Across from me, Marcelo’s jaw unhinged, revealing a half-chewed piece of meat. It was deeply unflattering and something he would’ve called another person out for, but Dominic’s admission had knocked us both for a loop.

Him flying to Brazil was shocking enough. Him flying here without a return date was so unthinkable I almost reached over to check if he was suffering from a high fever or a personality transplant.

“How?” Marcelo finally found his words. “What about work?”

Dominic flicked a glance at me. I looked down and pretended my meal was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen while my breath stilled in anticipation of his answer.

“Work will always be there,” he said. “Other things won’t.” No one spoke again for the rest of the meal.

After dinner, Marcelo excused himself to do the dishes even though it was my turn to clean up. He ignored my death stare as he hastened into the kitchen with an armful of plates and cutlery, leaving me and Dominic alone in the dining room. We stared at each other, held captive by uncertainty. It was a new dynamic for us, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

Dominic was many things—ruthless, irritable, ambitious—but he’d never been uncertain. Since the day we’d met, he’d been a force of purpose, propelled by single-minded goals and ambition. Graduate. Start his own company. Become so rich and successful he silenced every person who’d ever doubted him.

Even as a broke college student, Dominic had exuded such confidence one couldn’t help but look at him and see someone destined to achieve everything he set his mind to. Success was his true north, but now he appeared lost, like he was adrift at sea without a compass.

“Ále—”

“It’s getting late. I should go to bed.” I stood, my heart rattling for reasons I didn’t want to examine, but I didn’t make it two steps before a hand closed around my wrist.

“Please.”

The rawness of that one simple word dissolved some of my willpower. I stopped and faced him, hating how his touch sent butterflies soaring in my stomach and how his voice made my heart beat just a little faster. I wished I could sign away my feelings as easily as I had our legal marriage, but our relationship on paper was worlds different from reality.

“You shouldn’t be here.” A strange mix of fatigue and adrenaline coursed through my veins. “This isn’t healthy for either of us. We just got divorced. We can’t move on if you insist on following me everywhere.”

Dominic’s eyes flickered beneath the lights. “That’s the thing,” he said softly. “There is no moving on. Not for me.”

My entire body tensed, but no amount of steeling myself could blunt the impact of his words.

“You haven’t tried.”

“Do you want me to try?”

Yes. Maybe. Eventually. I blinked away the image of Dominic attending some fancy gala with a glamorous blonde on his arm or, worse, cuddling up next to her on the couch. It was the intimate moments I yearned for, and I envied the slices of life he’d eventually share with someone else.

Don’t dwell on it. This is what you wanted. Remember?

“You signed the papers.” I pulled free from his grasp. The imprint of his touch burned, and it took all my willpower not to touch my wrist.

“I signed the papers because you asked me to, not because I wanted to.”

“And yet you’re here against my wishes.”

A small smile touched his lips while his eyes remained solemn.

“You never told me you didn’t want me here, so I’m technically not going against your wishes.”

I sighed, exhaustion outpacing adrenaline. “What do you want, Dominic?”

“I want you back.”

My pulse spiked. Thank God he was no longer holding me or he would’ve felt the exact moment his words sank in.

“You can’t have me back.” Maybe if I said it enough times, he would believe it, and I wouldn’t feel this dull ache behind my ribcage.

“I know.”

“Then what—”

“Specifically, I want a fresh start for us.” Dominic didn’t take his eyes off mine. “You said we didn’t know each other anymore, and you were right. You said I neglected you and took you for granted during our marriage, and you were right. I lost my perspective of what was most important. I can’t change what I did in the past, but I can do things differently in the future. Give me a chance to prove it to you.”

“How?” The question scraped out in a whisper. I couldn’t help it. I was too curious, too ensnared by the intimate honesty reflected on his face. It was honesty that had been missing from our relationship for years, and in that moment, he wasn’t Dominic Davenport, the king of Wall Street. He was simply Dominic, the beautiful, smart, tortured boy I’d fallen in love with so many moons go.

“By not pushing me away.” His throat flexed. “That’s all I ask. A chance for us to talk and get to know each other as we are now. I want to know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, what your dreams look like when you sleep and what keeps you up when you can’t. I’ll spend however many lifetimes I need to rediscover those parts of you, because you’re it for me. In every iteration of every life. Things may have changed since we got married, but you and me? We were always meant for forever.”