Reality is overrated.
We only just met. Hell, it’s barely been twenty-four hours. But I feel something when I’m with Domina. Felt, anyway, as I’m sure she’s never coming back.
Spies make shitty romantic partners. Always have, always will. When you can’t tell the truth about what you do—or who you are—it’s damn near impossible to get close to anyone.
And after Trevor pulled me out of that warehouse on the edge of Caracas, I didn’t even bother to try. Who’d want me? With my scars, my face, my eye? They drive most people away. Great when you’re a covert CIA officer who needs people to largely ignore him. One hard look, usually followed by a horrified or disgusted expression, and anyone around me turns away.
But Dominasawme. Didn’t even bolt when I jabbed myself in my prosthetic eye. And I went and fucked it all up.
Better now than later.
That single thought is my only solace. If I’d kissed her—and I wanted to—if we’d continued down this path from neighbors to…something more, and she’d found out in a month? I’m not sure either one of us would have come out the other side.
It takes me forever to get to my feet. My knee locks up, my ankle sends stabbing pains through my toes—even the three that aren’t there anymore—and I spend a solid minute wondering why I should even bother.
Until the lights come back on.
The air conditioning hums, its cool breeze wafting over me, and I stare at the couch where we passed one of the best hours of my life. No fancy dinner, no perfect words. Just two people sharing stories in candlelit ease.
Shit. Domina’s blazer is folded on the arm of the sofa. In her rush to get the hell away from me, she forgot to grab it. My limp is worse than it’s been in years as I cross the room, each step something close to agony—though maybe the pain is more than just physical.
Lifting the jacket, I catch a whiff of sweet orchid and citrus. With the material pressed to my nose, I inhale deeply. We crashed and burned before we could even begin, but I take the time to memorize everything about her I can remember. Her light, sweet scent. Her laugh. Her smile. The way her hand felt on mine. The softness of her skin. The warmth in her eyes.
“Enough. This has to be enough.”
It isn’t. Not by a thousand miles. But it’s all I’ll ever have. Carefully, I refold the jacket and slide it into a paper bag. Grabbing a notepad and a pen, I tear off a piece of paper.
Domina, you left this. I’m sorry. For everything. If you ever need me, I’m here. No strings. No expectations. Just a friend who can wield a cactus with the best of them. -Leo
The hall is quiet, and I set the bag in front of her door.
Running my fingers over the apartment number, I whisper, “Be safe, baby.” It’s all I can do. Except turn on the television and hope I’ll find some old movie to distract me from the pain.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Domina
Something crunchesunder my foot as I leave my apartment. A brown paper bag. Neatly folded. With something soft inside.
My blazer. And a note.
Tears burn my eyes.
“Just a friend who can wield a cactus with the best of them.”
A friend. Could we truly be friends? Something more than neighbors? I spent most of last night tossing and turning, panicking at every sound—despite attaching a string of bells to the chair I shoved under my door.
My phone buzzes, and I check the screen.
Rafael: Cortez called a meeting. Be here by 8:00 a.m.
Of course. The one day I sleep past six, the vice president arrives at the office early. I hope the car service is waiting downstairs. Most of the staff don’t drive themselves to and from the office. Not with the hours we work. Manuel pays for a car and driver for each of us. One more reason we are all devoted to him.
I pass by Leo’s door. Is he awake? Is he all right? The way I left him was wrong. Until his admission, I thought there was a chance we might one day be…close. I had even wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Now…I know that can never happen.
But perhaps…friendship is not impossible. Not totally out of the question. Another alert dings on my phone, and I rush to the elevator. My driver is waiting, and with morning traffic, I will be lucky to make it to the office by 8:00 a.m.
* * *
