His voice was deep and resonant, that edge of authority she knew so well. Her fingers clamped down on her glass involuntarily. She turned slowly, her breath catching. Dominic Vance stood several feet away, a champagne flute held idly in his hand, piercing green eyes latched on hers.
In an instant, the years dissolved, and she was twenty-two again, standing in his penthouse, surrounded by opulence. She could almost hear the laughter, feel the brush of warmth, the whisper of promises in her hair.
He was here now, more commanding than ever, his tailored black suit accentuating the breadth of his shoulders, the sharp lines of his jaw, but it was his eyes-severe, as they had once made her heart race-that stared back at her.
"Dominic," she whispered, her voice lost in the hum of the gallery.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said, stepping closer. His presence was magnetic, drawing her in despite every instinct screaming for her to run.
"I didn't expect to see you either," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt.
He glanced at the paintings behind her, his brow lifting in recognition. "These are yours?"
"Yes."
"They're beautiful," he said, the praise low but sincere.
"
Thank you." She stepped back, her skin prickling under his regard. "If you'll excuse me-"
"Elena," he interrupted, his voice softer now. "It's been eight years."
"It has," she returned, making herself look at him.
"Why did you leave?" His voice fell, barely above a whisper.
The gallery blurred around her as the memories whirred back to that night. She stood in their apartment doorway, clutching the letter in her hand, her stomach twisting in knots.
Dominic was dealing with another business matter, a cell phone pressed against his ear, focused entirely somewhere else. She had waited for him to notice, to ask what was wrong, but he hadn't.
"Elena, is this about the gallery?" he'd asked distractedly, waving her off. "I'll meet you there later. I just need to wrap this up".
But it wasn't about the gallery, it was about this life that she had within her-the life they created together. She must have waited until he was out of earshot before she herself walked out the door into the morning, away from the life they had built together.
"I can't do this right now," Elena said, her voice shaking as the memory faded.
When, then?" Dominic pressed, his eyes searching hers.
"Goodbye, Dominic." Her words were a whisper, but they felt final. She turned on her heel and walked away, her hands trembling.
She barely made it to the corner of the room before her composure cracked. Ducking into the restroom, she locked the door and leaned against it, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
Precisely what she had been afraid of. It was as if she was reopening a wound that had taken years to heal.
A knock on the door made her jump. "Elena? Are you okay?"
It was Mia's voice, familiar and grounding.
"Give me a minute," Elena called back, splashing cold water on her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, forcing herself to will the memories away.
Dominic didn't know. He couldn't know. And she would do everything in her power to keep it that way.
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