“Mom and Dad are as okay as they’ll ever be with it,” I say as I wiggle into the soft cushions with a contented sigh. “Dax is still giving me the stink eye.”
“Your brother is a button pusher,” Dominik replies with a chuckle. “He’s uncomfortable with what you do, so, in turn, he’s going to make you uncomfortable about it.”
I grin. “Which is why I greatly appreciate you letting me stay with you for the past week… and for inviting me to California.”
Dominik snorts. “Who are you kidding? There’s no ‘letting’ you stay with me. You wouldn’t even be here—nor would you have stayed with me in Phoenix—had I not ordered you to do so. You’d have never come willingly.”
I stare at him a moment, my mouth hanging open in surprise. “That’s not true.”
“It’s so true,” Dominik maintains with a pointed glare. “You have stubborn independence down to a tee. But whatever… I don’t mind giving you commands and watching you obey. Turns me on, actually.”
I swing my hand to smack him in the chest. He laughs but then sobers, eyes pinned on me hard. “You’re lucky to have a family that loves you so much.”
His words punch into me deeply, but they’re not a revelation. “I know that. I realize how incredibly lucky I am.”
Dominik smiles, then lets his gaze drift over the ocean. He takes a sip of wine, seemingly content in the silence.
“What about your family?” I ask. “Are they crazy protective of you like mine are of me? Or are they more hands-off?”
Dominik never loses his smile, but sadness fills his eyes. “I don’t have a family.”
“What?” I exclaim, sitting up a little straighter. How did I not know this? I’ve been deeply intimate with this man… known him for a few months… yet I hadn’t known that about him. “How can you not have a family?”
Twisting his neck to bring his attention back to me, he gives a tiny shrug. “Lots of people don’t have family, Willow. In my instance, it was shitty luck, I guess. My parents died in a car accident when I was nine. I went to live with my grandpa—my mom’s father—but he died when I was eleven. There weren’t any other family members besides an estranged uncle on my dad’s side who wasn’t interested in raising a kid. So I went into the foster system. Bounced around from house to house for a while. Saw both the good and bad side of the system, but let’s face it… I was unadoptable. No one wants to bring an older kid into their home on a permanent basis.”
I don’t know what to say, but I manage to stutter, “That’s… that’s… awful.”
“It wasn’t an easy existence,” he says. He’s so matter of fact about it that my heart actually hurts for him.
“How so?” I force myself to ask, even though I think I’d rather go back to not knowing this sad bit of information about him.
“There’s no protection in the foster system,” he explains, shifting slightly to place his arm over the back of the couch so he can face me. “In foster homes, there are usually multiple kids so you have to fight for anything you want. The best hand-me-down clothes, food, attention. It’s worse in the group homes. I went into one when I was fourteen, and I didn’t come out until I was released from state care at eighteen. I had to fight for everything I had there, had to protect my stuff from being stolen, and had to sleep with one eye open every night.”
I have no clue what expression is on my face, but Dominik must see something that makes him start to backpedal. “Not that it was all bad,” he rushes to assure me. “I had some good experiences there. Honestly… I think the way I was raised is what made me the man I am today. Allowed me to learn how to claw my way to success.”
Shaking my head, I pull my legs from his lap and cross them Indian-style, leaning more toward him. This conversation had left relaxed mode and moved straight into intense. “You’re sort of blowing up all my horrible stereotypes here.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just… you’re so put together and successful. Kind and generous. As a society, I think we believe anyone who comes from anything other than a functioning family unit has little-to-no chance at success.”
“That’s probably true,” he says with a thoughtful nod.
“But you…” I poke the center of his chest with my forefinger. “You’re a multimillionaire—”
“Billionaire,” he corrects with a sly grin.
I know this, of course, but I enjoy downplaying his wealth. “Whatever. The point is… you thrived. Flourished. It’s frankly… amazing. I mean, think about it. You’re so confident. Where did you get that? What role models provided it to you, because I’m guessing it wasn’t anyone in the foster system, right?”