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No, but I have to.
“I’m sure.” I smile, hoping it’s more convincing than it feels.
“Right. It’ll be fine.” He nods as we reach her room, knocking as a formality as he pushes the door open. “Mom?”
“Who’s there?” I hear a suspicious voice yell from inside the room. “Are you part of the coven?”
The what?
Dominic just sighs, opening the door wider and stepping deeper into the darkened room. I follow him, making sure to hover near the threshold. “No, Mom. I told you last time. The coven can’t get into your room. Not after the, uh…” He rubs his forehead, and squints at the ceiling. “The sageing,” he says, finally.
“Do I look like a moron to you, son? They’re witches, not demons.” A frail hand shoos him away as a surprisingly young face peers around the corner. “And who is this?” Dark blue eyes narrow. “Are you a witch?”
Dominic closes his eyes and tips his head back, a pink tinge dusting above the heavy stubble on his cheeks.
He’s blushing.
Dominic McCallum is blushing.
Suddenly, I don’t see the ruthless man. I see the sad little boy. The one who supported himself and his mother on the dangerous streets of West Hollywood. The one who grew up way too fast, jaded and angry, a lifetime of responsibility on his shoulders.
And I want to take care of both versions.
“Nah.” I shrug. “Never was one for covens. I like to do my own thing. I have been called a bitch, though. Too close, or can I still come in?”
She stares at me a few moments before her lips split into a wide grin. Turning toward Dominic, she hitches her thumb at me. “I like her.”
“Thank you,” he mouths, and I just smile. Clearing his throat, he motions me to come in. “Mom, this is Ang—” Quickly catching himself, he starts again. “Alexandra Romanov. Alexandra, meet my mother, Brenda McCallum.”
Brenda stares at me from her bed. I see where Dominic gets his looks. His mother has the same nose, same full lips, and same thick, dark hair. The only difference is her eyes. They’re a deep, ocean blue, not the piercing pale blue that could stop a heart.
“Alexandra,” she says, looking me up and down. I’ve spent the last three months under the relentless eye of the entire world, yet nothing feels as invasive as Brenda McCallum’s stare. I breathe a sigh of relief when she shifts it to her son. “Alexandra and Dominic. Dominic and Alexandra.”
What the hell is going on? Has she forgotten who we are already?
“Love looks good on you both. Don’t let the damn witches mess it up.”
Now I’m blushing. I feel the heat burning my cheeks. I see Dominic scrub his hand down his face out of the corner of my eye. “Mom, we’re not—”
She cuts him off, her eyes flashing with fear. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
Dominic doesn’t flinch, taking her hand as if this is all perfectly normal. “Mom, it’s me, Dominic, remember?”
“That’s what all the imposters say!”
“Mom, please don’t do this. Not now.”
I can’t take my eyes off her. The way she flipped on a dime, going from normal to incoherent digs into a dark place I refuse to acknowledge.
Brenda’s eyes catch mine, our gazes locking moments before she turns back to Dominic and hisses, “If you’re really my son, then seek the cure. Only the real Dominic knows where it’s hidden.”
“Fine,” he concedes through clenched teeth. Turning his back to her, he watches my reaction as he asks, “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”
“Do I want to know?”
He groans. “No.”
“Then yeah, I’ll be fine.”
