His gaze softens, and for a moment, I think he’s about to touch me, but then he drops his hand. “I wish our first date hadn’t been a surveillance mission.”
“Date?” My voice cracks. Swallowing hard, I shake my head. “No, we had lunch…”
Leo recoils like I slapped him. “Lunch? If that’s what you want to call it, fine. This is going to take me a few minutes. Go wait in the living room.”
Stalking into the bathroom, he slams the door. The vague sounds of cabinets opening and closing carry, along with the occasional curse.
Stunned, I don’t move, though a part of me wants to leave and lock myself in my own apartment—and not let Leo in. But then I remember what he told me that first night.
“If you’re in trouble, a locked door won’t stop me.”
So, I sink down onto his bed and wait.
When he emerges, the look on his face? He’s angry in a way that should scare me—would scare me if he were any other man.
“I told you to wait in the living room.”
Straightening my shoulders, I meet his gaze. “I wanted to wait here.”
His limp is worse as he skirts the bed, then picks up three small, padded cylinders from the yoga mat.
“What are those?” I ask.
“Trigger point therapy rollers. Painful as fuck, but I need them to get moving in the morning.”
Shit. I peer into the duffel bag to see a handful of prescription bottles, a tube of arnica, and a knee brace along with the rollers. “We should stay here.”
“I’m not making you leave your home. We’re going,” he growls. “But I need another bag. I still have to pack my laptop, tablet, and a change of clothes.”
“Idiota obstinado,” I snap. “Why will you not listen to me?”
“Because all we did washave lunch.”
I flinch, and tears burn my eyes. “That is no answer.” Fishing my keys out of my briefcase, I stand. “Stay here, Leo. Put all of your things back where they belong. I do not want you in my apartment. You can either let me stay here with you, or I will go home alone.”
“Don’t push me on this.” The words are hoarse, almost guttural, and his right hand, balled into a tight fist, shakes at his side.
“You are not my keeper. I will see you in the morning. We leave for the rally at nine.”
I flee—that’s the only word for how quickly I move—and though he calls after me more than once, Leo does not chase me.
* * *
My apartment feels empty.Lonely. I don’t understand why. Three years I have lived here, and I welcomed my solitude. My own space. Not luxurious, but comfortable. Not grand, but far from the run-down tenement I grew up in.
Tears drip down my chin. When did I start crying? I swipe at my cheeks, sniffle, and blink hard. This is not me. The last time I lost control like this was when my papa died.
My phone beeps.
Leo: If you insist on staying alone, I’m going to text you every hour. Text me back if you don’t want me picking your locks.
Domina: I go to bed at ten. If you text me after that, I will block your number.
Dropping the phone on the kitchen counter, I make it all of two steps into the living room before the first sob rips from my throat. By the time I reach the couch, the pain in my heart is only matched by the fear that I will always be alone.
* * *
Leo
