“Come on, Kasia. I can see it all over you. Just say it, put me out of my misery.”
The heat rises to my cheeks before I can stop it. I turn off the tap, the sudden silence ringing between us. “You know,” I start, voice steady but low, “how I said that I couldcontrolmyself? Well,I did. Unlikeyou,I didn’tsleepwith him. Even though,trust me,the opportunity was there.”
His expression falters for half a heartbeat before he masks it with a bitter smile.
“If you hadn’t made your ridiculous comments about notacceptingme going, if you’d justtrustedme, maybe we wouldn’t have—”
He steps forward. “Wouldn’thavewhat?”
The words hang between us. I meet his eyes and exhale. “If you have to know,we kissed.It's still less than whatyoudid with Lena, andyoudon't feelguilty aboutthat, so why should I?”
Dominik’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “The punch? Was it aboutyou?”
I say nothing. My throat locks.
“Tak. Kurwa,” he mutters, the faintest edge of a laugh in his voice. “I knew it.”
Before I can answer, he calls out, “Zosia, get your things, kochanie. Time to go.”
Her little voice answers from the dining room, cheerful and unaware, as she scrambles to collect her toys. Dominik doesn’t look back at me as he leaves the kitchen, just folds the towel and sets it neatly on the counter before disappearing down the hall.
A moment later, Piotr steps in, eyebrows raised. “What was that about?”
I keep my eyes on the sink, my voice flat. “He asked the wrong question. Didn't like the answer.”
Chapter 39
Secret Place
I’ve changed my outfit at least twenty times. Jeans, jacket, another jacket, sneakers, boots, back to sneakers. Lipstick, wipe, lip tint, wipe, lip gloss, finally I give up and go with the gloss. Casual, non-threatening, and still technically effort.
Rafe texted earlier:be ready around three. something to hike in.
Obelus inviting me hiking sounds like the setup to a joke I don’t know the punchline to. I glance in the mirror one last time. Ripped jeans, old band tee, hair loose. I hold up my ancient Riven Altar shirt and grin at the thought of him showing up with me in it. Then I roll my eyes and toss it back in the drawer. He doesn’t need his ego fed, and after what Haima said, the less I lean into that idea, the better.
I’m mid–pep talk when I hear it: the low, hungry growl of an engine pulling into the driveway.
Oh,no way.
I peek through the blinds. A motorcycle?Of course. He pulls in with maddening smoothness, movements practiced and certain. Helmet black, gloves to match, but no jacket, just a fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
My eyes trace the way his forearms flex as he steadies the bike, veins rising with the motion. There’s ink there on both, a dark forest, thin lines of Greek script, lyrics of his favorite songs curling over themuscle. Things I used to die over in private, and now he’s here, showing them off at my front door.
Dignity. Remember dignity.
He kills the engine and glances up, catching me watching him. He takes his helmet off and shakes away the few errant strands of hair that escaped his half-knot. The motion catches the light, easy, careless, like he knowsexactlywhat it does to people watching. When he smiles, it’s bright enough to knock the air out of my lungs. By the time I open the door, I’ve forgotten how to be a functioning human being, much less a retinal surgeon.
“Not what you were expecting?” he asks, grin tilting, voice threaded with amusement.
“Not exactly.” I manage to find my voice. “I was picturing a five-star restaurant and one of those cars that screamsmidlife crisis,but in Italian.”
“Oh, so you expected me to bea walking cliche? You wound me.” He adds a faux British accent toyou wound meand it’s perfectly executed. He laughs, low and unbothered, the sound warm against the daylight. Swinging off the bike, he sets his helmet on the seat, then unhooks his backpack and pulls out a smaller helmet and a pair of gloves. He steps close enough that I can see the faint crease of a dimple when he smiles again.
“These should fit,” he says, holding it out, fingers brushing mine as I take it. “If not, we can go swap at the shop on the way.”
I take them, pretending I’m not aware this probably costs more than my life is worth. “Flowers? You shouldn’t have.” I pause, teasing. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
I pull the gloves on easily enough but when I try to put on the helmet I fail spectacularly. He laughs, a chest-deep sound that sends a shiver down my spine.
