“I wasn’t saying—”
“Just becauseyoudon’t care about anything doesn’t meaneveryonedoesn't.”
He stops cold, locks up. Breathes once, hard, hands braced on the counter. The silence between us is louder than shouting. Then he exhales, finishes loading the last dish, hits the start button, and walks into the living room.
I follow, arms crossed. “What was that?”
“Youinsultedme,” he says, keeping his tone flat. “I was trying to stay calm. Iamcalm.” He blows out a breath, eyes flicking toward the hallway. “I’m sorry if I have a hard job, harder than thepretty musician. Sorry I havereal responsibilities.Zosia, work, family, church. Sorry that doesn’t seeminterestingenough for you now.”
He turns off the TV and throws the remote onto the couch. “Sorry that’snothingcompared to your fancy newfriend.”
He looks like he’s about to walk out, to his bedroom or out the door, I can’t tell. “I need some air,” he mutters, starting to move.
“Dominik.” I reach for his arm. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t soften either. “I’m sorry. It felt like you insulted me first, so I snapped.”
He nods, eyes dark. “I wasn’t trying to, Kasia. I’m trying to understand this.” He sits on the arm of the couch, shoulders falling a bit, trying to let the anger settle intosomething steadier. “You’re going Friday? For how long?”
“Until Sunday. Szklane Serce will be there Saturday in some studio. He asked me to help translate the song, make new lyrics.”
“Wow.” His tone drips with disbelief. “It’s like you have some other life I don’t even know about. You lay in bed beside me and keep all these plans, huh?”
Because I did. Because I tried to hide it. I can pretend it was all for patient confidentiality reasons but I know that's not all it is. I kept it secret, Rafe, the trip, the truth and now it hangs heavy in the air.
“I don’t talk about all the people I meet at work either,” I say, defensive. “It’s just work, Dominik.”
“Work? Are you gettingpaidand I missed it?”
That question burns because the answer isno.Just time with the band, with Rafe. And that truth settles like a stone between us.
“It’s just a couple of days,” I say. “A free concert ticket, helping them, then home.”
“It’s a whole weekend away and you didn’t even think to tell me about it, to ask me?”
“Askyou? Since when are you myTata?” My arms fold again, anger threading into the guilt.
“I’m yourboyfriend,” he says, low but pointed.
“Really? Since when? You’veneversaid that, not until just now. Funny how getting jealous makes words magically appear that you didn’t know before?”
“I didn’t think I needed to.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Kurwa, I’ve talked aboutmarryingyou, kochana.”
“You’vetalkedabout a lot of things. Pillow talk is different.Askingis different.” I fold my arms across my chest, eyes cold.
“No chyba zartujesz!(You've got to be kidding me!) Acting like you’re dumb now? So you can go off with another manfor days? I’m just supposed to be fine with that?” He lets out a short, humorless laugh before meeting my eyes again. “You’reattracted to him. Admit it.”
The words cut. I stare at him, the quiet between us taut. There’s no point denying it; Piotr’s teased me about my teenage crush for years. Denying it would make me a liar twice over.
“Yes,” I say finally. “The same way you’reattractedto any actress you’ve had a crush on. It doesn’tmeananything.”
His glare hardens.
“What kind of man would I be toacceptthis?” he snaps. “Our fathers wouldlaughat even thesuggestionand you’re acting like it’s normal?”
“Acceptthis? You don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust. It’s about common sense, somethingyoudon’t have.”
The blow lands and my voice goes cold. “You don’t trust me, becauseyoudon't know how tocontrolyourself.”
