Dominik (Arizona Vengeance 6)

Unfortunately, there’s a bit of hesitation this time, but only so I can pause and reflect on this man I’ve come to know. He’s generous, kind, and genuine. Seeing him with those Miller House boys, and knowing how fucked up he could have been from his background, only solidified for me that he’s a product of his own making and not one of his upbringing. He’s taken his adversity and turned it into a strength.

The proof is in how he treats me. With care.

Gentle force.

Respect.

And that includes respect of my career. It’s a bone with him, for sure, but he’s backed off because he knows being accepted for who and what I am is important to me. My profession and my determination say a lot about me.

I smile. “Yeah… I trust you not to hurt me.”

I really do.

He takes one of my hands from his shoulder, then brings it to his mouth so he can feather a kiss over the back of it.

The doorbell rings, alerting us that my family has arrived.

“Fucking gross,” Dominik mutters, dropping my hand like it’s a hot potato. The mere ringing of the doorbell caused it to immediately dampen with nerves again.

I giggle and hastily wipe my palms off on my jeans as Dominik rises from the stool. He grins, brushing one more kiss against my forehead before hurrying to let my family into his home.

?

After hugs and greetings, Dominik, my dad, and Dax disappear into the man cave downstairs while my mom and Regan join me in the kitchen while I finish up dinner. I’m making a beef prime rib with garlic rosemary potatoes and fresh sautéed spinach. I love to cook, but I rarely have the opportunity to make such an extravagant meal. It’s the downside to not owning an actual home.

Cooking here at Dominik’s and at his house in California is a pleasure because he has it stocked with every appliance, cookware, and apparatus I could possibly want. I may have gone a little heavy on the garlic because his fancy press was simply too much fun.

Checking the digital thermometer in the prime rib to make sure it has reached the sufficient temperature, I pull it out and let it set while I put the finishing touches on the salad. I sprinkle freshly grated parmesan on the potatoes, then flip the broiler on for a few moments to brown them.

While I work, Mom and Regan settle in to chitchat regarding Regan’s house-hunting—or lack thereof. I mention the fact they should be talking about a wedding for Regan since Dax wants her to have one, but she thinks it’s silly.

“Oh, Regan honey,” my mom gushes over her new daughter-in-law, even though she’s known Regan her whole life so she’s more like just a daughter-daughter. “You must have a wedding. You’d make such a beautiful bride, and I would love to see my boy dressed up.”

I smile as my mom goes straight into planning mode and Regan looks a bit wide-eyed, but she also has a dreamy smile on her face, too. I want her to have a wedding. She lives day in and day out with a life-threatening disease, so she should have the wedding of her dreams.

And so what if I brought up the subject of the wedding just to make sure my mom’s focus stays on Regan and Dax and comes nowhere near me and my new love life, which I know she’s probably dying to know more about?

With everything finished and ready to go, I call the men up from the basement and we eat in the kitchen at the breakfast nook that overlooks the backyard. It comfortably seats the six of us, and I’d set it with Dominik’s pretty new plates and cutlery. The noise we make is one of fellowship, and it’s a good sound. Low chatter, forks clinking against plates, and the sound of wine being poured into glasses.

The immediate talk is focused on the playoffs, every one of us feeling incredibly excited over the possibilities this team has. It’s mostly my dad, Dominik, and Dax dominating the conversation. It’s not that they think us “womenfolk” can’t hold a conversation regarding a sport—it’s just they are far more opinionated than we are, and we’re content to listen to them.

Again, this is also fine with me since no one is focused on Dominik and me as a couple. There won’t be any embarrassing or probing questions from my parents to put me in the spotlight.

Somewhere, though, between my dad asking Dominik if he’d ever want to own another sports team and Dax refilling my mom’s wineglass, the attention turns starkly on me.

My dad shifts in his seat, resting his gaze right on me. “Willow… got any jobs lined up?”

It’s the first direct mention of my work since we had our “talk” after I returned from the Congo.