But for weeks, Dominic had hardly made time for me. He came and went from the apartment at hours that served his schedule, not mine, and the few evenings he spent under the same roof he spent looking through me as if I were another piece of furniture the Family had placed for appearance. When I got home that night, he was engrossed in his video game, laughing with his gaming partner through the headset, completely oblivious to my presence. The glow of the screen painted his face in shifting blues and whites, and the signet ring on his hand caught the light every time he moved the controller.
"Dominic, you let me lose all day! I sent you the link for the lingerie. We had a deal—loser pays!" his friend chimed in, the voice tinny through the speakers.
He switched to a shopping app on his phone, magnifying the image with his thumb. "This lingerie looks nice. I wonder how it would look on you. Kinda want to…" He didn't finish the thought, abruptly shutting off his phone and looking at me with annoyance. "Geez, can you not sneak around? You scared the life out of me!"
I turned away, retreating to my room. The hallway was narrow, lined with framed photographs from events I barely recognized, Bellandi fundraisers and charity galas where I had stood at the edge of every frame. After a long shower, I emerged, steam swirling around me. To my surprise, Dominic was sitting on the edge of the bed with a hairdryer in hand, as though this single gesture could settle the accounts between us.
"Did your parents leave?" Dominic asked, his voice slow. "I rushed home as soon as I finished work. Can't believe I still missed them," he said, attempting to sound apologetic, but I didn't buy a word.
I had told him my parents' bus left at two, hoping he would come to see them off. My father had asked about him three times that morning, refolding his handkerchief into tighter and tighter squares, and each time I had made an excuse that tasted like ash. Dominic claimed he was busy with Family business, but his gaming account had been online since noon. He had left me hanging for weeks, only showing up after my parents were gone. When I didn't respond, his frustration mounted.
"Bianca, I've been busy!" He yelled. "I have piles of work waiting for me every day. I play games to unwind! Can't I do that?" He shot me a glare, and in that moment he looked like every man I had ever seen in the Bellandi inner circle, indignant at being questioned, certain that volume alone constituted an answer. "Besides, it's just seeing your parents off. It's not like your life depends on it. Stop making such a big deal out of everything!" His words cut deep, sharp and unyielding, piercing through the heart of my resolve. I had meant to tell him about my father's illness, but now the thought seemed too heavy to lift. The diagnosis sat in my chest like a stone, and I could not hand it to someone who would only set it down.
I turned my head slightly, feigning ignorance. "Huh? What was that? I can't hear with the noise."
Dominic's frustration faded into a palpable sense of defeat, as if he was the one who had been hit. The hairdryer hummed between us, filling the silence with a sound that meant nothing. Just then, his phone buzzed on the vanity, lighting up with a series of messages.
I caught a glimpse of the name: Serena.
