| 3 | Not The Bad Guy

[ S E R A P H I N E ]

About 15 minutes later, I'm inside the cabin where Dominico told me I should "hide" if I want to avoid his father for the next couple of hours.

I'm double-checking Dominico's injuries, making sure his nose isn't broken. I don't really need to ask whether it was his father's doing.

My gut tells me I already know the answer. It's the WHY that's still bugging my sleep-deprived brain. Only, it's obvious what happened between him and his father is the last thing my companion wants to chat about.

So far I'm 90% sure Dominico will live and won't need emergency rhinoplasty. The bleeding already stopped, and his septum doesn't look deviated, but the bridge of his nose does look swollen. My dad has taught me more than basic first aid over the years, and Dominico seems to believe me.

We're still alone, still in the same clothes, exchanging awkward glances while I sit next to him on the left side of the bed. It's not too small for two people, but rather uncomfortable if he thinks we'll be sharing this bed. No way.

It's a modestly sized room, though, complete with a tiny closet and a bathroom. A few windows. A loveseat. There's even a small dining table with two chairs in the corner.

Now I'm tending to his cracked, bloodstained lip and pinkish nose with a gel ice pack. I can't look him in the eye. My heartbeat won't stop running sprints, making it difficult for me to prolong a straight face. Much less maintain eye contact with him.

I feel his warm breaths on my cheek and lips, and his days-old stubble keeps scratching the side of my palm. But I have to pretend it's nothing. As if his nearness doesn't affect me in any way.

The truth is:

1) I'm just trying not to look so shook and traumatized.

2) I don't know why he wants me to stay here, and

3) My brain's already memorized his scent and voice, too busy timing his steely gazes to be thinking about anything else.

"D'you realize what you just got yourself into?"

I pull back, almost dropping the ice pack on his thigh.

Dominico eyes me with a squint, like he's waiting for me to reply to his question with a detailed answer.

I glance at my bag on the floor before placing the ice pack back on his bruising nose. "I only came here to work as a server, and tend the bar." There's no way I'm telling him about my family's debt to his father.

Anyway, Dominico doesn't need to know. It's none of his business. "You can't be serious," he mutters with a smirk, his voice quite nasal.

I pull a face and stare into his eyes. "What?"

"Piece of advice, Seraphine: don't be so trusting. Being nice all the time won't do you any good."

My jaw nearly drops. I feel like I'm choking.

"Be wary of everyone from now on. Yeah?"

Gee. The irony...

Wait. Is he saying I'm too stupid and naïve for being here? That what almost happened between me and his dad is my fault? Like I intentionally trapped myself into that type of situation?

Dominico grabs my wrist before I can get up and walk out. It's not a painful grip, but firm enough to make me stay on the covers, right next to him. "How long you been workin' at the club?" he asks, his tone genuinely curious.

"Why do you care?" I can practically smell the silent judgement just by looking him in the eye. I jerk my forearm out of his grip, breaking up our staring contest. My heart won't stop hammering against my ribs. It's getting annoying, really.

So he knows I work for his family. Is that why he knows my name? Or because he just heard it from his father?

"A year?" he mutters.

"Two years, almost." I glance away and try not to frown. "Why does it matter?"

Dominico glances at the locked door. "You should know by now my father's not the type who respects boundaries."

Is he trying to scare me? I mean, okay... I get where he's coming from, and I should appreciate the concern. I'm a total stranger.

Yet he didn't hesitate to help me. But maybe, his dad's just too intoxicated to realize what he was doing to me? Maybe Ignazio drank too much hard liquor with his guests.

"Stay away from him," Dominico warns with a straight face, his calloused fingers touching mine, the lights casting shadows over his thoughtful eyes. "For your own good."

My insides coil into bigger knots. My throat and chest tighten, and my mouth won't open. I sit hunched over on the bed when he gets up and grabs the blue ice pack from my hand.

Dominico tosses it on the empty dining table and itches his dark stubble, the look on his face more disappointed than upset. "Once we dock, go straight home."

"Why?"

"You don't wanna end up on his long list of forgotten whores."

•

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•

List of whores? Did he just call me a whore?

This guy thinks I'm working odd jobs on my rest days because I want to be one of his father's paid mistresses?

Wow. Okay...

I want to slap this jerk so hard, kick him where the sun don't shine, and punch him square in the face till his nose starts bleeding again. I clench my fists and stay put instead. Luckily for him, sleeping in a cold and filthy jail cell with a bunch of strangers isn't on my to-do list.

Dominico stands by the foot of the bed and won't let go of his phone.

My upbringing keeps reminding me to thank him for rescuing me from that unbearably humiliating encounter with his father, but after everything I just heard, instinct tells me I'm better off not having this guy as a friend.

This yacht's still hours away from docking. There's one registered nurse on board as far as I know, but the girl's probably asleep or too intoxicated to properly treat this tactless asshat's injuries.

Fine. I still owe him one. As a thank-you, I'll do most of the work myself. "Appreciate the heads-up," I mutter, faking a straight face.

Dominico ignores me while he reads some messages on his phone.

I'm not close enough to be able to read the texts, but I think it's his cousin's first name on the top of the screen. Lorenzio. "You should get your nose checked by a doctor this morning, just in case."

"I'm good. Thanks," he says flatly.

I get up from the bed and follow his tentative steps as he approaches the dining table. My feet itch for the door, his phone keeping him preoccupied, but I'd rather sleep on this floor than run into his father out there. "Can you breathe properly?"

"I'll live."

I almost roll my eyes. "Use an ice pack five to eight times a day. 15 minutes at least. Take painkillers if the swelling worsens. Elevate your head before you sleep."

"You're a nurse, too?" Dominico finally looks up from his phone, squinting at me as if he finds my free medical advice amusing. A half-grin narrows his nice eyes.

Well, "nice" doesn't really cut it. They're the most attractive and interesting green eyes I've seen in person. But he doesn't need to know that. "No. Just raised by a perfectionist."

"Right." The guy tilts his stubbled chin and smirks. "Your dad's a dentist."

"Oral surgeon."

"And your mom?"

"She's the nurse."

"Ah..." Dominico sits on one of the dining chairs without taking his eyes off me. "Makes sense."

Whatever. “If there’s some significant damage and it heals up before a medical professional realigns your nose, it could end up permanently deformed. It can cause breathing issues, sinus problems, among other things.” If my advice doesn't count as a solid ‘Thank you for helping me’ to him, then I'm outta here.

“Appreciate the heads-up,” he quips without as much as a glance at me. Like he thinks I’m being overdramatic because of a minor nosebleed.

“Get some rest.”

“Where you going?”

I almost gasp when he grabs my forearm before I reach the doorway. This cabin suddenly feels too warm and small. Cramped. “I’m not sleeping in here with you.”

Dominico studies my face, his brows creasing. “I’ll take the couch.” He averts his gaze. “Use the bathroom if you have to.”

The couch? Is he serious? He’s above six feet, and I’m sure a rich kid like him has never had to sleep on the floor.

Another frown etches small curves between his brows. “Trust me. You don’t wanna be alone out there.”

“I won’t be. The other staff are in the lower deck.” Already dreaming, I imagine.

Pouting as if my reply sounded weird, Dominico keeps his warm hand near mine, then responds with a quick sigh.

Why does he keep touching me? I'm growing sick of his bossy tone, but he probably doesn't care. I look away and take a deep breath. For a moment I just focus on the beige curtains, trying to dissociate.

It doesn’t feel lascivious, though…the way he touches me. Actually it feels more like a big brother being overprotective of his sister.

Odd.

“I meant what I said.” Dominico finally lets go of my wrist.

“Which part?”

“My father doesn't give a fuck about boundaries,” he says matter-of-factly. “Gets worse when he’s intoxicated.”

Alright. Fine. But that doesn’t mean he’s supposed to act like my bodyguard now just because his father’s had one too many drinks. “Too bad he's still my employer.” I grab my handbag and head for the door. “Thanks for earlier. I gotta g—”

“You seen this guy around?” Dominico blocks the doorway with his intimidating physique. He stands in front of me, our shoes already touching. When I don't say anything, he shoves his phone in my face.

On the screen is a candid photo of a lean, suit-clad guy with long blond hair, black arm tattoos, and a brown goatee. “Did you see this guy with any of the guests? Or at the country club?”

I shake my head and memorize the mystery man’s features. “Who’s that?”

“No one you should meet.”

I make a face at his cryptic reply, more intrigued than confused.

When I don't say anything else, Dominico presses his lips together and tosses his phone on the dining table. He sits back down on the chair.

I sit across from him, my fingertips touching the ice pack. Part of me wants to keep icing his nose to make the swelling go down faster, but the other part no longer gives a shit about his comfort. I'm dying for a good nap. “Why’re you asking if I’ve seen him around?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

I scoff.

Maybe he’s just testing me? Does he think I’ve heard too many things I shouldn’t have?

“Is he the guy you were… The one your dad wants to hurt?” I mean, 'kill' is the more accurate verb, but I have a feeling an outright denial is all I’ll get for an answer.

Dominico clears his throat and drops his gaze. “Same answer.”

I glare at him. “Know what? This is startin' to feel like a one-sided conversation. Why are we still talking, then?”

“Because my father just committed multiple crimes and I'm pretty sure you know some of 'em.”

•

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•

Crimes?

Oh shit. I'm screwed.

So he knows I've heard that much. Too much. He probably thinks I was shamelessly eavesdropping on his private conversation with his father to get some real tea.

“No. I-I was just passing by. It... I wasn't listening in.”

Dominico grins lopsidedly and stares at his phone again. “Anyone ever tell you you're a terrible liar?”

Crap. At this point, I'm just digging myself a bigger hole.

Does he mean...from now on, I gotta lie better if I want to stay on his family's good side?

I swiftly fix my hair into a loose ponytail, trying not to scowl at his question, my chest feeling constricted like my throat. My stomach feels weird, but I don't need to go number two.

It's not just the nerves because he wants me to sleep here alone with him. I might lose my job next week, and me spending the night alone with this guy on his father's multimillion-dollar yacht isn't really the solution my problem needs.

“Not saying you should lie to the cops, but, just so you know...” Dominico leaves me at the table and plops himself down on the loveseat. It's closer to the left side of the bed, and it doesn't look big enough for a man his size. “If you're gonna keep working for my family, loyalty will cost you a lotta sleepless nights. Just lying to yourself over and over.”

What? Is he deliberately trying to terrify me?

My breath hitches at his warning. The scary implications behind his words only darken my imagination, and I don't think he's just being extra. I know in my gut he's not the type. “I-I only heard what he, um, said about that guy. Ottavio. Then I, uh, heard your dad cussing you out.”

“Right...” Dominico squints at me as he crosses his arms below his chest. “That’s it?”

“Yes.” No. Of course that's not it. But I don't wanna keep talking about the things I heard his father say.

Whenever Ignazio's loud, husky voice pops up in the back of my head, I get goosebumps all over. And for my employment's sake, I know I'm supposed to keep all of it a secret.

“Right,” Dominico sighs as he tries a better sleeping position, now reclining in the two-seater. “Run a bath if you want one. Door's locked. I'm gonna try to get some sleep.”

I glance at the door which he immediately locked using metal bolts the second we stepped inside this cabin. I don't wanna see or talk to his father anytime soon, and a bath sounds relaxing, so I grab my bag and head towards the white door in the corner. “The bed's yours.” I pause on the threshold when he doesn't move or respond. “Dominico.”

“Hmm?”

“I don't mind sleeping on the couch,” I say a bit louder.

“Nah. I'm good.”

I sigh.

Obviously he's just pretending to fall asleep.

The loveseat looks brand new. Like everything else on this boat. It's probably way more comfortable than the single bed I have in my old, tiny apartment.

Dominico keeps his eyes closed and doesn't even budge. He could be feeling dizzy as well, even though he doesn't smell or look drunk.

I can hear the exhaustion in his raspy voice, though. If he asks me more specific questions and I try to bend the truth again, he'll just bluntly point it out and further insult my bullshitting abilities. I stop staring at him and enter the bathroom.

He probably wants some privacy. A moment of peace and quiet.

I mean, I understand why.

His own father just tried to beat him up.

As much as I feel sorry for him, I'm pretty sure Dominico is not in the mood for that conversation. I'll be floored if he brings it up and goes into detail about what he and Ignazio were fighting about.

I feel disgusting and I don't wanna keep arguing with him about staying in this room, so I lock the bathroom door, turn on the faucet on the bathtub, and start stripping.

I stare at the gushing water and get rid of my sweaty clothes. I'm stressed out, hungry, and I've been working for six days straight. I deserve some peace and quiet, too.

Our goodbyes can wait.

•

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•

I almost cry my eyeballs out mid-bath. But, quietly, of course. I don't think he heard me.

This tub's not huge or small. Just the right size for someone my height. The water's not too cold, either, but cool enough to desensitize some parts of me.

Not my head, though. The dull throbs underneath my skull won't go away, not doing much to haul my brain out of overdrive.

I've been trying to stay as quiet as possible in this small bathroom for the past 15 minutes or so. It's a challenge, to say the least.

I'm trying to feel numb, and silence my own thoughts. But the anxiety and shame keep throttling me. Every time my mind wanders back to those tense and paralyzing couple of seconds, I feel sensitive all over.

Raw. Wound tight enough to snap. I feel dirty. Cheap. And a little guilty. I feel like I need to scrub that perv's intoxicating scent off my skin.

I'll probably get fired next week because of that stupid incident with him. The big boss. And I won't be able to do anything about it, except sulk at home by myself and feel like utter shit all month long.

"You're done," I sigh to myself, scrubbing my skin raw until I'm wincing in pain. I'm starting to really hate this weekend.

I can't lose my job. My only real job. Not right now. Not when my parents need my help the most.

Crap. I don't wanna tell them what happened, either. The last thing I want is to make them worry about me, too.

For the next few days—or weeks, depending on Ignazio's conscience—I'm gonna have to figure things out by myself. If I get sacked, I might have to ask Dominico for help. To get back on his father's good graces.

"Ugh." I really don't want to, but I don't think I would have a choice.

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