| 6 | Keep In Touch

[ S E R A P H I N E ]

This bathroom is giving me claustrophobia. I sigh and press against the cool tiles, my lips getting dry and chapped. I want to jump off this yacht. Go home and be alone all week.

But I'm not supposed to get out of here unless Dominico comes back and starts knocking on the door. Unless he gets me out of this cabin himself.

Not sure why I'm trusting every single thing he says. It kinda feels like I have no choice, though.

"Ten more hours." For now I'm stuck on this boat. Stuck inside this bathroom which obviously costs more than everything I own. "You signed that contract. Now suck it up," I sigh as my hands grip my phone.

Shit. I really don't wanna show my face anywhere. I don't know if I can act like nothing happened and just get on with what I'm being paid to do here. In broad daylight, no less.

It's comforting how Dominico's reminder and reassurance earlier almost defeat my frantic thoughts. I don't have much proof that he's someone I can fully trust, but I do feel like he's a decent guy.

Not cunning. Or deceptive. Unlike someone we both know. Then again, I can't shake the feeling that behind his protective gestures, bigger secrets and darker shadows lie.

I want to know the kinds of secrets he keeps. But a small voice in the back of my head's telling me I should stay out of his life. Far, far away from him and his wealthy family.

"Seraphine?"

Finally! I get up from the floor and run towards the door. I unlock the gold knob and step back, my heart thudding in my chest.

Still shirtless, Dominico enters the bathroom with a slight frown, his keen eyes gazing into mine.

My knees feel weaker the closer he gets. But it's not fear—I'm not afraid of him at all. Just nervousness and some pent-up emotions. "Who was it?"

"Enzo."

Okay. It was just his cousin, probably knocking to check if Dominico's awake. Not his father. Thank goodness. I take a deep breath. "What did he want?" I lean against the cold and empty sink, sighing in relief because I don't have to stay locked up in here for another five minutes.

"Nothing."

"Oh. So, did you..."

"What?" Dominico stands beside me and washes his hands in the black sink, no handgun tucked under the waistband of his jeans.

Okay. So, coast clear.

Where did he put it? Does he always have a gun on him? Maybe he hid it 'cause he thinks it scares me.

"Talk to your dad?" I hold my breath, imagining his father losing his temper again. The last thing I wanna see today is Mr. Tomassini's furious face. I hope he's too busy with something to care about finding me.

The yacht sways a bit. "No." Dominico steps away from me, opening the door wider using his foot. "He's busy with something," he says monotonously.

Okay. Whew. They didn't run into each other and get into another fight because of me. I nod and press my warm hands together behind my back. "Can I go now?"

"We're about to dock. Sit down. Breakfast's on the table."

Sit down? Wait. So he was gone for half an hour because he got me breakfast? "Okay." I walk out of the bathroom, his mention of food reminding me of the quick and simple dinner I had last night.

The unmade bed, rumpled clothes, and the pillows on the couch tell me he hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the doorknob. Although we don't really know each other, I'd say he's not the type to fret over an untidy room.

On the dining table, four plates of bacon, eggs, pasta, sliced fruits, and croissants wait for me. Or us?

Is he eating breakfast with me? Probably. That's way too much food, and I'm not really a breakfast person.

Dominico, on the other hand, doesn't look like he shies away from a 2000-calorie meal. The guy's built like he plays ball for a living. Not that bulky, but muscular all over.

I can't outrun him if he insists I should hide in this cabin all day. I sit on one of the chairs, hesitating and keeping a few comments to myself while he uses the bathroom with the door ajar.

As I dig in, I keep glancing at my phone. Just in case our shift manager texts or calls me. So far no one seems to have noticed that I'm two minutes late for my shift this morning.

Dominico steps out of the bathroom seconds after I heard him gargle and spit.

"Feel any better?" I squint at his fairly swollen nose and the cut near the corner of his downturned lips. The bruises still look a little red. I try not to make a face at the pain he must be dealing with.

"Marginally." Dominico yanks the other chair and sits to my left, his voice low and somewhat hoarse. He grabs the plate with the bread and eggs without even glancing my way.

I stay still, pretending I don't mind that he's sitting too close. My knee is already touching his pants, and my sock's pressing onto his bare foot.

But he doesn't move his leg at all.

My hands rest beside my plate as I study the beautiful shape of his strong jaw and his aquiline nose. Like always, his dark and wavy hair's not disheveled, but also not too neat. I've seen more jaw-droppingly gorgeous men at work and back when I was in school, but, something about his face just tells me we'll make the cutest babies together.

Someday... In another lifetime. Or another universe.

"Want something to drink?"

I look away. Darn it. Did he catch me staring again? I clear my throat and shake my head. "Water's fine."

"You don't like coffee in the morning?" he asks nonchalantly, his breath smelling of toothpaste. Dominico stares at me as he chomps on a croissant and an oily piece of bacon.

I almost smile at his seemingly genuine curiosity. Although watching him eat kind of makes me feel like a voyeur, it also calms me down in a way. "Makes me sleepier."

As if amused, he stops chewing and grins at me, but his brows are creased.

"You should ice your nose again." I get up and take the gel ice pack out of the compact fridge, then place it beside his plate. "It looks more swollen."

"Later. Sit down."

Fine. I'm not the only one who's starving. I resume eating beside him, pondering the things we have to talk about now. "I'm going back downstairs, after this. My shift just started."

"No," he says after glancing at me. "Eat."

I sit back and shut my mouth.

Although he looks calmer than last night, his stern tone warns me of the chaotic energy downstairs. The other guests must be up already. Is his father awake?

"Have you seen your dad?"

"No."

"He's still ignoring your calls?" I pour some water into the glasses Dominico prepared, bracing myself for his answer.

"Yep."

Shit. It's my fault. I've made Mr. Tomassini more upset.

He probably called my supervisor at the country club to have me fired first thing.

"Thank you." I stare at the rest of the food in front of us, pushing aside the unease and guilt I still feel. "Again. For, um...last night." I glance at Domino's straight face, my voice frail like the rest of my body. I feel like I could use eight more hours of uninterrupted sleep.

A faint nod is his only response.

The small space between us thickens with awkward tension, a quiet witness to the mixed emotions stealing my peace of mind.

The Italian news report playing on my phone fills the silence as I push down the feelings I've been trying to process the past few hours. I'm still grappling with justifying his father's actions. Clinging to the hope that alcohol is solely to blame.

But, no. Enough of that. I'm not letting it mess with my head all day. All week. I can't let fear consume my thoughts. Paralyze me. Swallow me whole.

It's just stress. I'm overworked—that's all. I'll be perfectly fine after a good night's sleep...and this quaint breakfast with my boss' son will be nothing more than a nice memory once we exchange goodbyes.

Wait. The money. I almost forgot. I get up and grab my bag, pulling out the folded €100 he gave me while I manned the bar.

Dominico just frowns at the bill and starts eating pasta.

"It's yours." I make a face and slide the money towards his glass.

"Keep it."

"No. It's yo—"

"I don't need it."

"No. It's too much, and it's your money." Do I really look like I need it more than he does? Ugh. I better give that corner salon another visit.

"I gave it to you, didn't I? It's yours now," Dominico replies without looking at me. There's a hint of annoyance in his nasal voice and furrowed brows, and it's clear he wants me gone so he can enjoy his breakfast in peace.

"Um... Thanks." I take the folded bill and hesitate a moment before putting it in my wallet. "I'm gonna go now. They're probably looking for me downstairs."

"Here's my card." With his forearm on the table, he shifts on his chair to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket.

I merely stare at his tan face.

"Give me your number." Dominico looks me in the eye, his voice quiet but determined, offering the business card as if it were a lifeline.

I recline and read the words on the shiny rectangular piece of paper, my heartbeat ratcheting up.

Wow. Chief Financial Officer? The small text below his full name says he's the CFO of Firenze Fiscal Solutions.

Never heard of it. Whose company is this? Is it his? And why does he want my number?

As alarming suspicions creep in, my heart beats faster, harder, almost too loudly. "Why?" My confusion doubles when he ignores me and casually drinks the rest of his water. I put the gray card beside my empty plate, my eyes going over the details again. "You're a CFO?"

"For now," he murmurs with a flicker of resignation in his voice.

What does he mean?

"Some of the guests will be leaving once we dock. Get off the boat." Dominico puts his glass down and reaches for the other croissant. "Don't bother telling your manager or supervisor."

About what happened a few hours ago? Or that I'm skipping my shift this morning? "No. I-I can't just leave. I have two shifts today," I reason. I'm scheduled to work four hours with the waiting staff, then another four hours at the bar. They're probably looking for me already, and his dad doesn't need another reason to be upset with me.

"Call in sick."

What? He wants me to lie? "You're saying I should lie to Armando?"

"Is someone picking you up?"

Someone? Like a boyfriend? "No." I take his calling card and toss it into my bag.

Dominico stares at me again and itches the tip of his nose. "You got a car?"

I wish. "No."

Chewing on his second croissant, he faces the windows and finishes the food on his plate. "I'll drive you home."

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