Page 113 of The Obsession
Thankfully, the grilling stops as we start to eat, but the quiet doesn’t last long.
“You know what we need?” Lucia says, raising the oyster shell to her lips and tossing it back like it’s a shot of alcohol.
Arabella makes a face. “Give the poor girl a break.”
Lucia swallows and smiles like the cat that got the canary. “Operation Takedown.”
“Operation Takedown?” I ask, frowning. “Who are we taking down?”
“Dominic.”
“What?” My eyes widen. “I may be upset about what happened last night, but I don’t want him hurt because of it.”
Lucia laughs. “Relax. I don’t want to take him down. I want to take down his heart, like I did with Romeo.” She leans forward and lowers her voice, “Sometimes these men of ours need to be reminded they’re not the ones in control.”
Arabella narrows her eyes. “I don’t like where this is going.”
Lucia ignores her, looking straight at me. “You’re too nice to him. That’s your problem.”
“I’m not,” I say, even though it comes out weaker than I’d like.
She raises a brow. “Emily.”
I look down at my plate, pushing my food around. I hate that she might be right.
Lucia softens just a fraction. “I’m not saying be cruel, just make him work for you. Show him what he’s missing.”
Arabella crosses her arms. “Or here is a wild idea, we could all just act like normal people.”
Lucia snorts. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Chapter 37
Dominic
Much to her displeasure, I bend and scoop Lil’ Peach up as she crawls back through the flap in the laundry door. She’s been thoroughly entertained for the past twenty minutes as she mimics that obese feline, even throwing in a cute little “Meow” here and there.
Why I even bothered installing this thing, I’ll never fucking know. I told myself it was so the cat would have somewhere dry when it rained, so it wouldn’t sit at my window and annoy the fuck out of me, but that’s a lie. Deep down, I know I did it for Emily.
My opinion of Baboo-whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is hasn’t changed. I don’t want that fat bastard in my house, but seeing her grinning in the laundry with him this morning as he curled up on her lap while she pet him—despite being royally pissed at me—was enough to make me relent.
I typically don’t give a fuck what people think about me, but Emily isn’t just anyone. I care about her more than I’m willing to admit.
I hate that I let my own bullshit get in the way. I hate that my pride and my mistakes hurt her. I’m the guy peoplefear, the one who doesn’t flinch when things get messy. But with her, things are different, and I don’t know how to fix it.
I glance at the clock on the wall as I head into the kitchen with my squirming niece slung over my shoulder. It’s almost 5 pm. How fucking long is this luncheon going to last?
Opening the fridge, I peer inside. The platter of sandwiches Emily made us is long gone. There’s a ton of other food, but I can’t cook to save my life.
“How about pizza for dinner?” I ask Peach as I manoeuvre her onto the countertop and pull open the drawer where I keep all the fast-food flyers.
“Pee-zza,” she squeals in return.
I’m not even sure if Emily will be home for dinner, but I make sure to order enough for all of us just in case.
The pizza boxes are laid out and open on the dining table as I take a seat and hand a piece to Peach before grabbing one for myself.
I’m not even hungry—which is a first for me—but I still bite into the hot, cheesy triangle and chew slowly. My gut is in fucking knots, and I’m pretty sure I’m one tub of ice cream away from turning into a chick who stress-eats her feelings, and I despise feeling like this.
