What's Left of Our Hearts

Undeniable

On the anxiety scale of one-to-ten, Clara was somewhere between a four and a six, and climbing.

Process. One thing at a time.

Why are you here? To help Sophie land new business.

Why were you nervous? Because you got stupidly jealous of some girl he may or may not have been with.

Why did you run away? Because I had been just like Natasha and I couldn't see it until now.

Clara hugged her coat around herself, letting the cool air stroke her insides as she breathed deeply. She must have stayed there longer than she'd realized, because the next thing she knew, Dominic appeared at her side, approaching her with hands in his pockets.

"Is everything alright?"

Clara didn't meet his eyes, following instead the lines of the buildings across the street, perfectly rectangular and squeezed together like a stack of unopened, oversized matchboxes. "That was your brother's ex, wasn't it? The girl he was engaged to, that last summer?"

"Yes."

"You should go back to dinner," she said with a quick glance over her shoulder.

"Are you coming in?"

"I'm going back to the hotel," she said, all of the sudden bone-weary. Why was being around him so exhausting?

Because you are constantly fighting yourself, a little voice said.

"I'll drop you off."

"No need—"

"Not a negotiation." He put his phone to his ear, all the while eyeing her apprehensively. "Cary, Clara isn't feeling well. I will drop her off on my way home. Yes. No. Alright." He placed his palm on the small of her back as it was the most natural thing to do and steered her towards his chauffeured town car. It was as if he knew that if he went back inside or took his eyes off of her for a moment, she would disappear into the night.

"Are you going to renege on the expansion with Sophie?" she asked. Using work as a shield was somewhat of a proficiency for Clara.

"Of course not," he said. "I needed to see you again."

Clara closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nostrils. Her mind flitted back to Natasha, and then to that fateful day when she overheard Dom and his father talking. She's just harmless fun. Those words haunted Clara like a phantom dinner guest at every date, every chance of romance that had crossed her path since. Only Owen had managed to stick it out through all the times she had pushed him away, and still, she secretly kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know she'd be here," Dom said in the darkness of the backseat. Her expression must have betrayed her thoughts, and some petty part of her thought, why couldn't Owen read her so well?

"No need for sorry," Clara said quietly. White-brick townhouses flashed by her window. She was acutely aware of his presence. The way his left hand drummed on the leather at his side, the deep way he breathed as if a fire rumbled in his belly the whole time, each and every glance he sent her way with that concerned crease between two strong eyebrows. The streetlights flashed against his profile, outlining the curve of his clenched jaw.

"It wasn't right, what happened between Tasha and my brother."

"You mean between them and your father."

He nodded before meeting her eyes. The unspoken truth stood between them: Tasha was a painful reminder of what had also happened to the two of them. It was the reason why Clara felt like the walls had closed in on her, and why Dominic had not given her a chance to run—he'd known the reminder of Tasha would send Clara running away.

"I should never have come."

After a long pause, Dominic said, "we are not them."

"There is no 'we.'"

His hand inched closer to Clara's on the seat. Her treacherous heart lurched.

"There will always be a 'we,' Clara."

She looked at him sharply. There was a quiet intensity in those words.

"Dom," she breathed. She wasn't sure if she was pleading, or warning. Her voice no longer felt like her own. She didn't know what was happening, but her heart confirmed the electricity in the air was not a figment of her imagination. He moved closer, coming in three waves.

First, his scent subtly announced his arrival.

A wave of heat came next, the proximity washing over her.

Third was the darkness of his normally crystalline eyes that pulled her in like an endless underground lake.

Her entire body was paralyzed with the knowledge that this was wrong, being this close to him was very wrong, but that little voice in her head that spoke uncomfortable truths invited her forward. She tried to shake her head but only made it halfway, bringing her lips closer to his.

Blessedly, the car slowed to a stop in that moment. Clara backed into her corner and sprung the door open. Their eyes met briefly, and there was so much weighing between them that all Clara could do was shut the door without another word and walk back to her room. Her hands trembled when she reached for her phone. She sent one message that night.

We need to talk when I'm back.

Did that get intense or what?

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