Yes. No. Yes. Bloody hell, no.
“What if I did?”
“I’d be telling her to run,” Cynthia says, her voice dripping with venom. “I’d tell her you’re no good at settling down, and that you don’t want to. That the men in your family don’t understand the first thing about love, or respect, or loyalty. Look at your son. Poof - off he goes. Middle of the season, abandons his team, his wife, the poor thing.” She lets out a cynical grunt. “I see you’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”
“Still stalking my socials, ey?”
“You wish.” She sucks in a breath. “You were a bad husband, but you were also a great one, which makes it all hurt so much worse. You get in the way of yourself, and you’ll never be happy til you stop doing that.”
“Is that advice?” I ask with a chuckle.
“Take it however you want, I don’t care.” She inhales sharply. “Alright, I have things to do. Goodbye, Dom. Please don’t call me again.”
She hangs up, and I put down the phone on the bathroom counter with a sharp sigh. That was definitely the sobering up I needed.
I look at my face in the bathroom mirror. “You need to just stop it, mate,” I tell my reflection. “She’s not the woman for you. You can’t settle down, and the last thing she needs is being hurt again. Especially by some old fucker in this family.”
Except that talking-todoesn’t fucking last.
My car pulls up outside the gala, red carpet laid out, and cameras going off. Footballers and their partners, coaches, trainers - everyone is making their way into the enormous abstract designed hall. A few stop for photos, but only a few, before making their way inside.
I get out of the car amidst camera flashes and the press calling my name.
“Dom! Dom!” I pause in front of the backdrop emblazoned with sponsor emblems and team cests, posing for a few photos in a way that hopefully doesn’t make me look like a complete idiot.
“Dom! Dom! Are you here alone?” The question flies from the crowd, and is swiftly followed by the same question again, and again. I ignore it, because the answer is too awkward.
And then the attention of the photographers shifts to my left with the enthusiasm of a sudden tsunami.
“Mia! Mia!” They all call, the cameras going wild.
And when I turn to look, I can see exactly why.
I’m not at all prepared for the sight that meets me, and I should be. Mia lights up every room she walks into. But tonight, she’s beyond stunning.
She’s wearing a light grey fur coat, slung low around her shoulders to reveal the thin straps of her nude silk slip dress. Her dark hair hangs over her shoulder in a cascade of luscious, shiny curls. Her full lips are shiny with a plum-coloured gloss, and her thick black eyelashes make her jade-green eyes even more brilliant.
She smiles smugly at the crush of photographers as she moves to my side and takes my arm.
“To answer your question, no he’s not here alone.”
She smiles up at me, and I know a million and one photos of me ogling my daughter-in-law will be circulating on social media tomorrow. I’m too awe-struck to even care.
“Evening,” she murmurs as the cameras continue to go off in a blinding cacophony. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No, no, you’re right on time.” I cast a quick glance up and down her body. “You look incredible.”
“Why thank you.” She runs a finger along the lapel of my tuxedo jacket, and the photographers go absolutely feral. “You clean up rather nice yourself.”
We pose for a few photos before Mia pulls on my arm.
“Alright, that’s enough,” she announces. “Let’s get inside, it’s cold as balls out here. My feet are freezing.”
“Should have worn your snow boots.”
She lifts the hem of her dress to show me her shoes, intricately tied black lacing adorned with glimmering white stones, all atop a heel I cannot even conceive of balancing on.
“I chanced it for these, aren’t they amazing?” She grins at me. “Jimmy Choo for the uninitiated.”
