Chapter 23
Chapter 23:
I feel something warm caressing my cheeks, and when I flutter my eyes open, it’s the rays of the morning sun shining into the room and across my face. I groan and roll over to my left side, only to find Dominic’s space on the bed empty.
Just then, the sound of running water from the bathroom reaches my ears, and I figure he must be in there taking a shower.
I yawn, covering my mouth with the back of my hand as I sit up. Resting my head against the headboard, Dominic’s marriage proposal from yesterday crashes back into my mind like a tsunami.
Something about it doesn’t make sense. We’ve only known each other for, what… three weeks? We’ve kissed only twice, and both times felt forced and empty on my part. And honestly, this relationship isn’t deep enough for me to even consider marrying him.
Marriage is… big. Even if I felt some romantic love for him, I’d still need more time to decide if I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with him.
But I don’t love him. At least not the way he loves me. Because my heart still belongs to someone else. Because I still haven’t moved on.
I can’t marry Dominic. At least not now. Yesterday, when we came back to the room from the pool, he told me to take my time to think about the proposal. But judging from what I’ve learned about him in these past few weeks, I’m sure he won’t wait long for my answer. Dominic can be impatient—especially when he’s trying to get something he believes is his.
The day I added that trait to my mental list was during our second date. He nearly lashed out at a waitress who was taking too long with our order. I don’t know if he was in a bad mood then, but it was frightening to see him act like that. He mumbled an apology and flashed me a smile afterward, but it didn’t erase the memory. Not even now.
I still think about it sometimes—when I stand in his kitchen watching him cook shirtless, when we take evening walks in the park, when we cuddle up on his sofa watching Netflix.
Dominic is sweet. Funny. Thoughtful. But something about him confuses me. Something about the way he complains whenever I touch his phone without permission. Something about the way he never talks about his family or friends.
Like hell, I don’t even know if he has any family or friends, because he has never once talked about them.
And I’ve never tried to bring up the topic either, because I’m smart enough to know when someone doesn’t want to share something with me—especially something personal.
But marriage is personal too. To me. And I can’t share more than half my life with someone who won’t even let me answer his phone while he’s in the shower, or at least tell me about the part of his life that brought him into this world.
I can’t marry Dominic Davidson. Not when Asher still has my heart and clouds my senses every single time.
brings fresh updates
Sooner or later, I’ll have to give him my answer. I’ll have to tell Dominic that I don’t love him enough to marry him.
Because I’m in love with someone else.
I could hear the bathroom door open and lift my head. Dominic steps out with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping wet. He closes the door and saunters into the room. When he reaches my side of the bed, he bends and presses a light kiss to my forehead.
“Good morning,” he whispers.
“Good morning,” I whisper back, forcing a small smile.
His lips brush my ear as he bends closer. “I wonder how you manage to look this beautiful in the morning p>
I know he’s flirting, like always, but as always, I search for a quick excuse so I won’t get cornered into something I’m certain I don’t want.
“I know, Dom, but this baby girl needs her water therapy now. Besides, Sandra, Ethan, and Asher will be waiting for us downstairs soon p>
“Why?” he coos, his breath still fanning over my ear.
“Because the hangout is over. And we always have this special ‘hug moment’ with one another before everyone goes home p>
To avoid more questions—questions I know from experience are part of his strategy to linger—I give him a quick peck on the cheek before jumping out of bed. He groans and tries to pull me back, but I point to the clock hanging on the wall.
“Time is ticking,” I say, nearly groaning myself.
He lingers briefly before finally letting me go.
“Alright.” I watch his shoulders slump. When he turns to the wardrobe, I head toward the door and slip out of the room, closing it behind me.
I rest my back against the door and draw in a sharp breath.
Water therapy? Such a dumb excuse, Isla.
To complete my ridiculous lie, I head downstairs to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. I’ll have to take a huge gulp and return with the bottle half-full.
God, I can’t live like this.