Page 42 of Say My Name

The direct question erases whatever answer I was about to give. “You knew he wasn’t bothering me.”

“Yes.”

“Then you weren’t rescuing me.”

“I didn’t think you needed help.”

“Why did you interrupt?”

A woman carrying a wide tray comes through the narrow space behind us. Dominic puts his hand against my back and guides me closer to the table.

His palm settles low, a firm, possessive weight that defies every clause in our eleven-page agreement. It stays there after the woman moves on.

I can feel the exact, deliberate placement of his fingers through my dress.

“Dominic.”

“Yes?”

“You can move your hand.”

“I can.”

He’s warmer and more openly amused than usual, but his speech is clear and his balance is perfect. The drinks may have loosened his restraint. They don’t explain why he wanted his hand on me.

I glance across the yard. Cliff is arguing with my dad over the grill, and Rachel is helping Sophie tape two drawings together. No one is watching us.

“Did you come over because you wanted Marcus gone?” I ask.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“You could’ve joined us without running him off.”

“I could have.”

I wait for the denial. It doesn’t come.

His thumb moves once against the base of my spine. The simple, possessive gesture feels more binding than the contract in my filing cabinet. Heat drops through my stomach.

“You’re possessive for someone who negotiated an agreement that specifically denies either of us control over the other’s romantic life.”

“Marcus asking you to have a drink doesn’t qualify as a romantic life.”

“He complimented my dress.”

“I heard him.”

“And?”

Dominic looks at me fully. “He was right.”

My face warms. He has praised my work, my judgment, and the quarterly report I rebuilt from scratch the night before a board presentation. He has never looked at me in the middle of my parents’ backyard and said anything that sounds this personal.

“You’ve had a few drinks,” I say.

“I’m aware.”

“Maybe drink the water.”