Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

Chapter 37 Dominic

My stomach tightens. This is it. I didn’t think the moment of truth would come quite so soon, but I have to face it regardless. I have to stay strong and do what’s best for both of us. Even if it eats me up inside. RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

Taking a deep breath, I type back:

Agreed. You pick the place.

She replies with an address I’ve never been to, along with the time of nine p.m. tonight.

I nod. Neutral territory. Outside of work hours. Makes sense.

Now I just have to figure out what in the hell I’m going to say to her.

• • •

At Oliver’s insistence, my girls and I are having dinner at his and Jess’s apartment tonight. He thought I could use a night off from my apparent self-loathing. His words, not mine.

Jess greets us at the door with a warm hug for each of my daughters and a bright smile for me. Maybe it’s too much to hope for, but I’m not sure she’s heard the news yet. I find it doubtful that Oliver didn’t tell her—they’re as thick as thieves, these two, and have been since college.

“Sorry about all your troubles, handsome,” Jess says, still smiling at me, but with a look of sympathy in her eyes. “It’ll pass, you know?”

I guess I have my answer. I nod, grumbling, “I know.”

She smiles sadly and pats my hand.

With that, we make our way into the kitchen where homemade macaroni and cheese is being prepared, along with a big pot of spicy chili and cornbread.

“It smells great, Jess. Can I help?” I ask, surveying the countertops. There’s no sign of Oliver, but he left right after we shared a drink in my office, so I’m assuming he’s here somewhere.

She gives her head a shake. “I’ve got everything under control. Figured you guys could use some comfort food.”

“Thoughtful of you, thank you.”

She nods, then gazes down at the girls. “Uncle Ollie is in the den, setting up for a tea party I hear never got finished from the last time he was over.”

“Tea party!” Lacey and Emilia both squeal at once and scramble from the kitchen toward the adjoining den.

I watch them go, their feet clapping across the hardwood floors as quickly as their chubby legs will carry them.

When I hear Oliver’s voice from the other room, and then laughter, I smile for the first time all day and release a slow exhale.

Then Oliver strolls into the kitchen and gives my hand a shake. “I’m glad you came.”

I nod. He knows me well. I almost didn’t. Hiding out at home in the dark where I could sulk properly sounded pretty damn appealing. But then I’d just end up watching the news on repeat and feeling even more miserable and helpless than I do already.

“Everything’s just about done. Oliver, pour some drinks, would ya, babe?” Jess says, giving the chili one final stir.

After peeking in the other room to check on the girls, I lean one hip against the counter and watch as the final dinner preparations are made.

Seeing Oliver and Jess together, it’s . . . I don’t know . . . nice. Domestic. Blissful.

It surprises me how much I enjoy watching them as they move comfortably together in the kitchen— him helping her reach a high cabinet, her finishing his sentences. The tender looks they give each other. My thoughts flash to Presley, and something kicks hard inside my chest.

This could be us, a voice whispers inside my head.

Yes, but that would mean giving up my entire way of life.

But it wouldn’t feel like “giving up” when you’d be gaining so much.

Christ. I shake my head. Now I’m answering the voices inside my head? Even I know that’s not a good sign.

“Are you all right, Dom?” Oliver asks, giving me a strange look.

I swallow. “Just hungry,” I lie. “Everything smells terrific.”

Jess smiles kindly at me, pausing with oven mitts on both hands to look at me. “Maybe you need a good woman in your life. Someone who can cook for you and take care of you. You deserve it, you know? And one stupid news story doesn’t change that.”

Oliver chuckles darkly. “Oh no, didn’t you know? Dom here is going to die old and lonely. It’s his lot in life.”

Jess scoffs, throwing me a pointed look over her shoulder on the way to the oven. “I said what I said.”

As we sit down to dinner, I still haven’t been able to quiet the voices inside my head, but two things are certain: there’s a strange pinching feeling inside my chest, and I’m more eager than ever to talk with Presley in a few hours.