(Juliette's POV)
I remembered a place we used to go when we were first starting out. A small Italian place, nothing fancy, the kind with plastic menus and checkered tablecloths. We couldn't afford much. We'd split a single plate of pasta between us, and he'd always push most of it to my side. I remembered looking up at him once and seeing his eyes go red at the edges. He said he'd never let me go without again.
I blinked and looked back down at my papers.
Dominic's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it and hit decline.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Just some friends. Nothing important."
It buzzed again.
And again.
He picked it up on the fourth ring.
"Yeah." He listened. A burst of noise came through the speaker — music, laughter, someone shouting. "Tonight? I don't know, I'm with—"
