by K Larsen
A chill rushes through me and I stop dancing and turn in a circle slowly looking for him. I can feel his eyes on me. I don’t know how but I know he's watching. After finding nothing I shake off the feeling and start dancing again. The song cuts off abruptly and Alex Clare's “Too Close” starts. Odd choice for club music but I stay on the floor and dance anyways, I love this song. People, not liking the song choice, filter off the dance floor until there's only a small crowd left. I tag two more tubes from a passing girl, down them, and hand the empty tubes back to her. The song’s ending morphs into “Seven Devils” and that chill rips through me again. As I dance in a circle I freeze, rooted to the floor, as my eyes crash into Dom's. He stands forty feet away, smirking, on the VIP stairs, looking dashing as always. I grin back and start dancing like the women who performed for us on his yacht slowly, deliberately, and seductively just for him. The rest of the club ceases to exist as I move for him. He does not approach me and I don’t move towards him. I let him watch from afar. People start crowding the floor as I move. Men are whooping at me and making lewd gestures but I ignore them all, focusing only on the face of the man I came to see. I want him to want me. I want him to choose me, forgive me, love me. As the song rolls to a close a stunning blonde, immaculately dressed, appears at Dominic's side. I stop moving and watch as his grin widens at me before he twists, grips her at the nape of the neck, and kisses her hard. My stomach drops and before their kiss ends I'm downstairs and running for the exit.
I push through the crowd, blow past the bouncer and sprint down the sidewalk, not slowing until I'm a block away. I refuse to cry. My eyes well with tears but I sniffle them all back. I'm buzzed and amped up with too much emotion so I wander around South Beach for a while until I can't walk any further. Collapsing on the beach, I watch the vast ocean before me ripple and lap the sand at my feet while I throw myself the pity party of all pity parties until well after two in the morning. Exhausted and dejected I schlep back to the Hilton, close the blinds, strip off my dress, crawl under the covers, and pass out.
Heat spreads slowly from between my legs out through my limbs, kindling a fire low in my belly. The rough hands feel so good as they rub my flushed skin. "Do you want this?"
"Yes," I murmur sleepily. Hands slide along my body fondling me. It feels incredible. My legs spread and warmth slides in and out of me. Moaning, I will myself to open my eyes and snap out of the all-too-familiar dream but I can't. My skin tingles with pleasure. He smells so good. It feels so good, so real. Gently he makes love to me until I shatter around him. Crying out my name as he comes I moan with pleasure. "I love you, Dom," I mumble in my sleep.
Sunlight rapes my eyes and makes my hangover feel twice as intense. Squinting, I slowly open my eyes. "What the shit," I grumble at the wide open blinds. "I know I closed those..." I continue talking to myself. Groaning, I roll out of bed and violently close the curtains. I crawl back in bed and yank the covers over me. Drifting back to sleep my heart leaps out of my chest. I throw the blankets off me and gasp. I'm in nothing but a men's white tee shirt. I scan the room frantically. My dress is crumpled on the floor where I shed it. My boots haphazardly strewn near the door. The underwear I know I went to bed wearing are on the floor next to the bed. Folded neatly on the desk is a sweatshirt...a Princeton sweatshirt. I gape at the scene before me realizing that Dominic was here, in my room. I didn’t dream it...it happened. Holy shit. Holy fuckity fuck.
I stumble out of bed to the sweatshirt. A note card rests next to it, reading: “Brunch. 10. Downstairs.” I twist around to the alarm clock. It's nine-thirty. I skip the shower, choosing instead to quickly wash my face, brush my teeth and hair, and tug on the sweatshirt and a jean skirt. Sliding on flip flops I grab my clutch and dart out the door at ten. I rush into the restaurant and scan the room for him. The host appears out of nowhere, startling me. "Meeting someone?"
"Uh...I...maybe...yes, Dominic Napoli." I fumble with my words, still scanning the room.
"Ms. Lord?” He smiles and I nod. “We're expecting you...this way." He ushers me to a table at the window. An empty table.
"Mr. Napoli said to order whatever suits you." He drops a menu in front of me and walks away.
"What are you up to Dom?" I grumble to myself before slamming my forehead on the table in frustration. I order brunch hoping that Dom will arrive at some point. I force myself to eat slowly giving him more time to arrive but by the time I’m done it’s nearing eleven-thirty and he’s nowhere to be found. Giving up, I flag the waiter down and ask for the check.
“Mr. Napoli’s taken care of it,” she says with a smile. I give her a weak one back and leave. Deciding I can’t stand to just sit in my room, I figure maybe I should check out South Beach during daylight hours. The sidewalks are bustling with people of all walks of life. Restaurants are full and music spills out into the streets but it does nothing to take my mind off last night. How did he get into my room and why did he bother after purposely making a fool out of me. I prepared for every imaginable scenario but the one that happened. Overheating in his sweatshirt I pop into a boutique and pick out the hottest little bikini I think I can pull off. I change into it in the dressing room, leave his sweatshirt on the dressing room bench, and bring the tags to the register to pay. It’s sunny and almost eighty degrees out, and I feel much cooler in the bikini and jean skirt as I walk further down the strip. I eventually settle on the beach, unable to ignore the lure of the ocean any longer. I shimmy out of my skirt, lay it flat and pile my clutch and flip flops on top of it before lying down on my back in the warm sand and letting myself enjoy the sunshine. Hell, maybe I’ll even get a little tan.
I arrive back to my room at four with a healthy glow from the sun I soaked up on the beach. I drop my stuff on the floor and scoot to the bathroom to relieve myself. As I'm headed to the bed I notice there’s a large white box on the dresser. I slide the card out from under the ribbon and read, “Up for round two? Lobby. Eight. Enclosed is everything you’ll need.”
I tear the ribbon from the box and pull the lid off to reveal an elegant navy blue floor-length gown, lingerie, strappy heels to match, and a clutch. What the hell is he up to? I slump down the bed next to the box and wonder if I really am up for round two, given that round one seriously caught me off guard. What will two bring? I shove the box to the floor and click on the TV. I don’t want to play games.
I order a light dinner at six and have it delivered to my room. While eating it I kick the box as if that will make me feel better but it doesn't. I don't understand what he’s doing but it’s irritating me. At seven, curiosity gets the better of me and I stand at the bathroom mirror and start applying a coat of flawless make-up. I dress at seven forty-five, skipping the heels and instead donning my cowboy boots. The gown barely grazes the floor and accentuates my curves in the best way possible. Tucking my hair behind my ears I give myself a once-over and silently repeat my rules. No touching Dominic tonight. If he wants to play then he will at least have to play by my rules.
I tuck what I need into the clutch and head to the lobby at five past eight, not caring that I’ve missed his deadline. I feel ridiculous this dressed-up, standing alone, looking like a chump amid the hustle and bustle of the Hilton lobby, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now that I’m here. A man in a black suit approaches me.
“Ms. Lord?” he asks with a little smile.
“Yes.”
“I’m Dean, your driver tonight.” He extends an arm to me and I willingly take it and follow him to the car waiting outside. He ushers me into the car, closes my door for me, and hops into the front seat.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Miami Art Museum Ball,” he answers.
Drunk & Disorderly
Upon arrival, guests are greeted by the MAM Director. He shakes my hand lightly and wishes me a good evening. Cocktails and hors d'oeuvres make their way around the room while people bid on “Priceless Experiences” like an exclusive South Beach Wine and Food Fe
stival package, a private Lebanese dinner at the Wahab home prepared by Susie Wahab, or a night for 24 at Magnum Lounge. I wander aimlessly looking for Dominic. I’ve all but given up when a hand comes to the small of my back and a deep voice says, “I’m pleased you could make it, Clara.” Taking a step away I turn to a tuxedo-clad Dominic.
“I don’t know why,” I retort dryly.
“Having a date makes these things more bearable.”
“Ah. So I’m to be arm candy tonight?” I whip back at him.
“If you don't mind.”
“And if I do?” I question, raising an eyebrow at him.
“You won't.” His arrogance makes me bristle.
“How is it you’re invited to an event for the arts?” I snap.
“MAM works closely with the community to develop and carry out the largest arts education program outside of the Miami-Dade County Public Schools system. I’m on the board of trustees,” he informs me. We’re interrupted by some guests wanting to speak with Dom. He introduces me politely and answers their questions before escorting me to the upper level.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks as he pulls my chair out for me.
“The cocktails were great, if that counts,” I snort. He smirks and scoots me in to the table. Dinner is served in the upper-level gallery, which was transformed into a scene created by New Work Miami artist Emmett Moore, apparently known for his innovative experimentation between the fields of art and design, at least that’s what I’m told. Just before dinner is served Dom excuses himself from the table. Taking his place at the podium, he begins his speech. “Tonight we gather to honor and celebrate our significant shared history during this special year, our last at the Cultural Center,” Dominic addresses the attendees. His voice is smooth and confident and he looks powerful. “On behalf of the board of trustees, I would like to thank all of you, the museum’s long-time supporters and friends, who are here with us tonight. Let this year see another $700,000 raised for the museum’s public programming. Now please, enjoy dinner.” Applause rings out as Dominic leaves the podium and filters through the crowd back to my side. He leans in often, and I lean away. His hand brushes mine and I remove it from his reach. As people finish eating, many stop to chat with him and, always the gentleman, he introduces me, each time giving him an excuse to touch me which I’m forced to tolerate until his acquaintances leave.
“You’re awfully frigid tonight,” he says in a low voice.
“I don’t know what you mean, Dom.”
He takes my elbow and leads us to a quiet corner.
“It’s Dominic and you know exactly what I mean,” he growls. I tug my arm free from his grip and take a step back from him. If stress was a drug I would be high as a kite right now.
“You’re Dom to me. I don’t know what game you’re playing but if you want me to play along you’ll have to follow my rules,” I snip.
“What are these rules, Clara?” he plays along.
“There’s only one. I didn't want to overwhelm you...no touching,” I state firmly. He barks with laughter. “I’m sorry if you think that’s funny but I assure you it’s not a joke,” I hiss at him. His eyes grow dark and his jaw ticks.
“It’s in both our best interests, don't you think? We wouldn't want anyone doing unwanted things to me in my hotel room would we?” I say sweetly.
“Unwanted? Clara, you said yes,” he snaps at me.
“I was asleep alone in my locked hotel room!” I cry. His eyes dart around the room looking to see if anyone heard me. Grabbing me by the waist he moves us further away from the guests.
“Keep your voice down. I asked. You consented,” he snips.
“You broke in. I thought I was dreaming,” I exasperate and push out of his hold.
“You dream about me?” he smirks, looking satisfied.
“Often, and that’s exactly why there is no touching,” I admit. “I show up after eight months and you don't even extend me the courtesy of a conversation,” I seethe and put more distance between us.
“Courtesy? You think you deserve that? I think you deserve exactly what you got last night.” He prowls towards me slowly. He looks pissed. Scratch that, he looks flipping mad as hell. “I finally get you...bring you to a family function where you embarrass me and refuse to tell me why....I fly you home and sleep on your couch, endure the wrath of Sawyer and overhear you pick him after sleeping with me twenty-four hours earlier. I hardly think you deserve my courtesy.” He looks even angrier and continues towards me as I continue backing up.
“Well, when you put it like that...” I waiver.
“Tell me, Clara, why are you here?” he pushes.
“I...I’m miser....I needed to see you,” I finally manage as my back hits the wall. Dominic stops just shy of touching me and places both hands on the wall at either side of me. I feel trapped. “I was happy to find you but then you...kissed her...” I breathe.
“And then what happened?” he growls deep and low.
“I went back to my room,” I answer. He leans in closer to my face.
“And then...” he whispers.
“You came to me,” I breathe back.
“I came...to you,” he parrots.
“But you didn't wake me. You didn't stay. I don't understand why you’re doing this...I just wanted to talk to you, to figure things out,” I ramble, trying to avoid his eyes.
Tilting his head left, he brings his lips to my ear. “You hurt me.” His voice is so quiet I almost think I misheard but I didn't. His lips graze my ear in the process, making my body tingle and tremble simultaneously.
“I know,” I answer. Dom straightens suddenly and holds his elbow out to me.
“We need to network,” he says out of nowhere. His face is smooth and masked. I ignore his elbow, choosing to walk next to him unescorted instead. Before I look away I notice his hands ball into fists at my blatant disregard to social graces.
Following dinner we’re joined by Crash the Ball attendees, and are treated to a sea of desserts created by James Beard, and some nominated pastry chef Hedy Goldsmith. Guests dance under the stars to The Steve Chase Society, followed by DJ sets while the band breaks. I allow Dom to dance with me twice and if I’m honest I missed the feel of his arms swaying us so gracefully. A few men come to chat with him during the Crash the Ball portion of the evening and two of them ask if I’d like to dance. It’s impolite to not consult your date before answering but I don’t hesitate, saying yes to any of them, and I can see Dom’s black eyes shooting daggers at me while I’m led around the dance floor by other men, and I know he hates it. You can almost see the steam billowing from his ears.
“Who’s playing games now?” he grinds out when I’m escorted back to him.
“I came here to talk to you. Honestly. You’ve upset me, avoided me, and taken advantage of me in the span of two days. I’m not playing games now, I’m just trying to make the most of this heinously boring evening,” I answer flippantly. It’s well after midnight, my feet hurt and I’m tired. All I want to do is go home and sleep. Maybe tomorrow I’ll fly to New Orleans and finish my week out there. Clearly Dominic Napoli is a burned bridge. A bridge that I set fire to. Tears prick the back of my eyes and my heart feels like it’s cracking at the epiphany.
“I’d like to leave,” I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking. Dom stares at the dancing couples on the dance floor and says nothing. Sighing, I stand to leave, tucking my clutch under my arm. I lean down and place a chaste kiss on Dom’s cheek. “Goodnight,” I say softly. He makes no move to stand, escort me out, or even meet my eyes, so I turn and leave, alone.
Outside I wave the driver off and start walking the three miles back to the hotel. About a mile and a half into my walk it starts raining. Just great. The bleak weather seems fitting for my mindset and as the raindrops stream down my face I let silent tears accompany them. What was I thinking coming here? Of course Dominic would be mean and completely over me. Thoughts of Sawyer sitting at home with Allie as
sault me. I knew that our relationship would fizzle out just the same as it had before but I thought that being friends would be enough for me in the end. It’s not, and now I don't know what the hell to do. And Dominic...ugh. That relationship fizzled out before it even had a chance to start, really. I’ve made such a mess of everything and there’s no way to fix it now. I arrive in my room drenched. The gown is ruined and my face is streaked with make-up.
My eyes are red-rimmed and puffy from crying and basically I look as good as I feel. I let the gown drop to the bathroom floor, toe off my boots and crawl into bed wearing the ridiculous lingerie Dom provided me. I drift off wondering if Allie would like Santa Fe because I know when I get home Sawyer and I are done. We haven't lived there yet and it’s warm and sunny most of the time. I’d probably really like it there.
A pounding at the door startles me awake. Silence. Maybe I dreamed it. I close my eyes and the pounding starts again. I jump out of bed and look through the peephole before answering. Dominic sways in the hallway on the other side of the door. I twist around to the clock: three-thirty a.m. I suck in a deep breath, slide the chain lock open, and open the door just as Dom goes to pound on it again. His fist crashes into my forehead sending me tumbling backwards onto my ass as he stumbles through the doorway.