Page 106 of Full Throttle

“I can’t forgive you. Not even now.”

Dominic looked away. Of course he knew that; it was exactly why he’d chosen those words two years ago. He disentangled himself, and the rush of cold air felt like a slap to the face. He zipped up his trousers.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said shortly.

Juliette nodded. She didn’t look surprised. Perhaps she’d resigned herself to this, Dominic realized; perhaps she’d known that it would just be this one time, that nothing would ever change. At least not for her.

Everything had changed for him.

“Let’s go,” Juliette said.

She kicked off her pink boots, descending the wet stairs in bare feet. Dominic watched her with a lump in his throat. If only he could explain what had happened two years ago. If only she hadn’t said those things to him.

If only.

Chapter 33

Then…

Dominic knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Vance called.

Dominic stepped into the conservatory. The room smelled heavily of chlorine and bamboo; Vance was swimming laps in the pool, wearing a cap and blue goggles. Dominic glanced at his watch. Quarter past three. He was on time, so either his father had forgotten about their meeting or the swimming was designed to set him at ease.

Probably the latter.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Dominic.” Vance flipped onto his back. “Good. Have a seat.” He gestured vaguely to a folding chair. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

Dominic crossed his ankles. “My flight’s not until tomorrow.” He’d finished up his teaching role at the Taurus academy last week, and in the morning he was flying out to Zandvoort for the first race after summer break. And while he normally looked forward to a short flight…

His fingers curled around his phone.

With Juliette joining him, it didn’t feel nearly long enough. Not with the sort of plans they had for in-flight entertainment.

“And no plans today?” Vance asked.

Dominic paused. It was strange for his father to inquire after his social life. Even stranger that Vance had seemingly called Dominic here to watch him do laps in a Speedo.

“I’m meeting a friend at an art gallery,” Dominic said, which was half-true.

He could hardly classify Juliette as a friend; friends didn’t hold hands while watching the sunset from a narrow wrought-iron balcony, or shamelessly snog over coq au vin in his flat. Dominic had never had a friend who looked as outrageously good in a miniskirt (although he was certain that Liêm would challenge that claim). Technically speaking, though, they hadn’t put a label on it.

Dominic wasn’t lying, exactly. He was meeting a friend.

Just omitting some crucial details.

Vance switched to the butterfly stroke. “A gallery?”

“The Musée d’Orsay.”

“Your mother’s favorite.”

“Yes.”

She’d liked the photographs best. Colette would spend hours poring over collections of old prints, pointing out the color and aperture. Her favorite was Marthe au Tub, a black-and-white photograph from 1908.