His honesty nearly undid me.
I leaned one hip against the table and crossed my arms, partly for posture and partly to hold myself together. “Let me say something else unpleasantly direct.”
“Please.”
“I’m frightened.”
He nodded once, as though I had handed him a correctly labeled folder.
“Yes. So am I.”
His willingness to openly admit being scared startled me.
“I don’t enjoy saying that either, but one should not become ridiculous in old age merely to appear consistent.”
I laughed and rubbed a hand over my face. He stepped closer, not enough to crowd me, just enough to signal increased intimacy.
“The fear is not the important element,” he said. “What’s useful are the changes it brings about.”
“And what has it changed for you?”
“Nothing essential.”
“But something?”
He looked past me toward the French doors. Thiago and Eamon had reappeared after sweeping the perimeter of the house.
When Dominic spoke again, his tone was more casual. “Mr. Reyes is a serious man,” he said.
“That’s one way to describe him.”
“It will suffice for now.” Dominic looked at me again. “He is also steadier than he believes and lonelier than he admits.”
“That last part sounds speculative.”
“Most things are.”
I folded my arms more tightly. “Are we having a conversation about my emotional state or yours?”
“Both. Efficiently.”
The corner of his mouth turned up slightly, and his eyes glistened.
“Oh, no,” I said. “You are not using your potential assassination to workshop my romantic future.”
“I refuse the term ‘workshop.’”
“Dominic.”
“You may not have unlimited time to hesitate,” he said. “That’s true whether or not anyone takes a shot.”
That was the opinion. Clean, irritating, and accurate.
I glanced toward the courtyard again. Thiago had stopped near the gate. His stance was loose enough to appear natural and precise enough to show he’d already thoroughly mapped his surroundings.
“I’m not hesitating,” I said.
Dominic’s expression did not change.
