Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

“Well, you’re fully allowed to be pissed off,” Maggie says, “and let’s be honest. By your own words, you didn’t have a problem with the guards. You knew who” —she raises a brow pointedly— “and what he is, and that his job would mean some additional precautions.”

“I know,” I admit. “I’m still shocked you’re not shitting kittens over it.”

Maggie shrugs. “I did at first, but I’ve learned nothing is black or white, good or bad. There are evil people on the right side of the law and good people on the wrong side. I’d like to think Dom’s one of those. But without a doubt, it is a different life. If you can’t handle that, definitely get out now because he can’t change that part of his world. My opinion, though . . . what’s got your tutu in a twist are the secrets, which I totally understand. I’d be pissed too.”

“I am pissed,” I agree. “But—”

She cuts me off, shaking her head. “I’m not done. Buckle up, because things are about to get bumpy. What about sad?” Maggie asks. “The million-dollar question. Do you miss him?”

I think about it, not saying anything as the foot bath finishes and the techs come to start messing with our toenails. Finally, I nod. “I do. But then I feel stupid for missing him. I shouldn’t want him, not after this.”

“Should, would, could,” Maggie sing-songs dismissively. “Doesn’t mean a thing. Just labels people put on expectations. Don’t box yourself in based on what someone else would do or thinks you should do. If you love him, make your peace with who he is and who you have to be to stay with him. It’ll require some give and take from both of you, but it’s doable. If you don’t love him, let him go and move on. It’ll hurt, but you’ll both be okay eventually.”

The casual way she says it is like a sharp knife in my gut, forcing me to picture my future without Dominick at my side, and more painfully, to picture his without me there.

Maggie’s comments make me think . . . would Dom ever open up to another person, let down his façade and be real, play chess with them and talk to them? I’m not sure I want it to be me by his side, but I sure as fuck don’t want anyone else there either. Still, the thought of him alone breaks my heart.

At the same time, I try to picture myself with the happy husband and two kids behind a white picket fence, like TJ keeps talking about, both for him and for me. The all-American dream, I guess. And while it is what I’ve always wanted, the picture blurs and the only face I can see beside me is Dominick’s. It’s ridiculous because he’s definitely not that guy, but a tiny voice in my head whispers . . . maybe he could be?

And that’s just it. There’s so much I know about him but so much I don’t. And I can’t go through the rest of my life only getting a portion of him while he demands all of me. I need to know both sides of his life, personal and professional, to see if I can handle it, to see if I can accept it.

The manicurist holds up a book of swatches, asking me what color I want. I don’t even think. I just point to the bloodiest red I see. It matches my feeling. I’m just bleeding out from the inside.

Maybe the lacquer will be a reminder, a visible shield to protect me tonight. Protect me from him.

* * *

This is impossible. I’m a strong badass bitch, but I can’t do this. Okay, I’m not really a badass bitch, but I am strong. I have fought my way through auditions where I was rejected on sight for my hair color, I have worked my body to its limits to master leaps and spins, and I have battled mental demons that still try to seduce me into their darkness with ugly thoughts about my worthiness.

I’ve done all that. But warming up at home, I’m not sure I can step on the stage at Petals tonight, knowing that Dominick will be in his office, watching me.

I snort at the thought. I’d always known he watched me dance, even though I couldn’t see through the blackout windows. I’d imagined him there on the other side of the glass, our connection pulsing through the din and sin of the club long before we’d actually touched.

It would fuel me, and I delighted in the show I was putting on for him, because even as the crowd watched, it was for him. But it was knowingly and willingly.

After talking to Maggie today, I had hoped to feel some clarity on the situation, but I’m still waffling. Option one, smack him stupid for doing that without telling me, getting a promise of honesty henceforth, and then forgiving him in a blaze of makeup sex glory. Option two, just walk away, however painful that may be.