𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒

𝟐𝟕 || 𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄

"I never said I was."

He kept one hand firmly on the wheel, the other allowing itself to tap the back of my hand gently. "Your hands are in fists."

I looked down to find that, yes, they were subconsciously in fists, gripping myself so tight that my own knuckles were white. My fingers had dug into the palm of my hands without me even noticing, an attempt to stay focused and push back my anxiousness.

I was nervous, very, but I still pushed, curious as to how Dominic knew in the first place. "And that displays nervousness?"

"For you it does." Dominic's eyes swept over mine, speaking without hesitation. "In minor occasions, you play with your ring. You spin it, or slide it up and down your finger, but when you're really anxious, you clutch your hands in fists."

I blinked.

"You were doing it while signing the contract, you did it while in the car to the auction," he continued, eyes avoiding me and planted on the road. "And you're doing it now."

I watched him diligently as he spoke, and I realized how calm he was now. Whenever he talked, he spoke evenly, sometimes even softly. When we'd get into arguments he never even raised his voice, his tone was always the same.

My eyes fluttered away, not saying a thing, not even acknowledging Dominic's observations. Though I had no idea he had paid such close attention to me from day one.

"You have nothing to worry about tonight, we'll be okay. Celeste is very welcoming, you'll like her," he eased. "And Antonio won't lay a finger on you."

He turned his gaze toward me, eyes filled with a deep and genuine concern that was impossible to ignore. It was as if his entire focus had shifted to me, leaving no doubt that he actually cared about my well-being. His brow furrowed slightly, "We can still turn back."

My lips pursed into a thin line. "It's okay."

I watched as his chest fell heavily, his eyes drifting from my face, down to my hands. He delicately unraveled my tensed up fist, his thumb smoothing over the palm of my hand where nail marks had dug into. They were slow, reassuring motions, before he closed his hand over mine, lacing our fingers together.

He was holding my hand.

His hand was drastically bigger than mine, a lot tougher too; I could feel it in his palms. They were so firm that if he were to squeeze too hard, they'd probably shatter.

There was something comforting about the small gesture though. Even though his hands had untraceable blood stains and stories of pain and violence, they were still filled with the ability to melt the coldest ice.

Neither of us said a word for the next several minutes.

"Oh," I whispered softly, my fingers reluctantly releasing their grasp on Dominic's. "I almost forgot."

As I reached into the pocket of my jacket to retrieve a small box, my heart skipped a beat when I caught a glimpse of Dominic's hand. His fingers and the muscles of his hands had subtly outstretched, tensed, and then relaxed again before tightly gripping his knee.

He had just flexed his hand.

"What—" I began, then stopped, suddenly aware that some things were better left unsaid. "Never mind." I turned my attention back to the black box hidden away in my leather jacket.