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The table went silent. You could have heard a pin drop.
"I'm — I've finished eating. I'll head out."
I couldn't sit there a second longer. I made my excuses and slipped away.
I was barely out the door when I saw Natasha coming up the path.
She was definitely here for Dominic.
I turned to go back inside and walked straight into him.
"Still hungry?" He stepped back, looking down at me.
I moved my eyes toward the path. "Natasha's here."
He spotted her. He took my wrist, steered me into the car, and shut the door behind me in one clean motion.
He didn't make it inside himself. Natasha was already running toward him.
I couldn't hear what they were saying through the window. But she was crying — visibly worked up — and Dominic kept stepping back, face blank, saying something in a flat, steady voice.
I cracked the door open an inch.
"You told me you wanted to learn piano," he was saying, "so you could play for me."
Natasha's voice came through in broken pieces: "That's not — whatever you heard — I don't know who told you—"
Dominic didn't shift at all. "It doesn't matter who told me. It's over now."
He moved to open the car door. Natasha lunged, grabbed the handle — and dropped to her knees in front of him.
"Please. I know I was wrong—"
I hadn't expected that. For someone that proud, getting on her knees in a parking lot — it caught me off guard.
Dominic looked down at her without expression.
"Don't embarrass yourself."
My phone buzzed. I muted it instantly.
Natasha startled at the sound and tried to look past him into the car. Dominic shifted, blocking her line of sight.
She understood. The color left her face.
He got in the car. He looked at me once, then rolled the window up without a word.
"You heard all that?"
I kept my eyes on the hills.
"You're not her father."
"I never said I was. I said 'more or less.'"
I thought about that. "How is that 'more or less'?"
Dominic pressed the ignition.
"I was her sponsor. Her sugar daddy, if you want the plain version."
I had nothing to say to that.
He swept a finger across the dashboard screen. An English song came on. We started down the mountain.
I was still trying to process the fact that my plan to complain about my husband's affair had somehow led me to the mistress's actual sponsor.
"I'm sorry," I said finally. "My husband cheated on you too, in a way."
"Perfect housewife." He said it like he was remarking on the weather.
"You have something against me, Mr. Kingsley."
"No. I've been cheated on. It comes out in the voice." He kept his eyes on the road. "I hope you'll forgive me."
He'd preempted every possible response.
I lowered my voice. "I've been cheated on too. Why should I be the understanding one?"
He took a curve with one hand on the wheel and said nothing, no sign of offense.
"Right — you save all your understanding for your husband."
"That's not—"
The car rounded a bend. The momentum tipped me back slightly, cutting me off.
Green mountain walls filled the windshield.
The song hit its chorus.
"This is my favorite stretch of road," Dominic said.
I looked out at the mountains and said nothing.
Then my phone buzzed again. And again. Elliot, cycling through.
Dominic noticed. "He calls every ten minutes."
I turned the screen face-down.
"I have no idea what's gotten into him lately."
Dominic glanced at me. "People who cheat have less security than people who don't. Because they know exactly what they were doing the last time they didn't pick up."
I almost laughed. "You think he suspects me?"
"You're clearly not planning to get even." He looked back at the road.
I didn't answer.
A moment later, the music cut off. Dominic's phone lit up on the dash. He frowned at the number, then answered.
"Hello?"
"I'm sorry to bother you — is this Mr. Kingsley's assistant?"
The call was on Bluetooth, filling the car. And I knew the voice the instant I heard it. My whole body went rigid.
Why was he calling?
Dominic had no idea yet. "I'm Dominic Kingsley. How did you get this number?"
Three seconds of silence on the other end. Then, cold and deliberate:
"I'm Vivian's husband."