His brows knitted together before taking the bag. When he looked inside and saw the lace bra, a look of surprise flashed in his eyes. He opened his mouth like he was about to explain something, but when he saw my calm, indifferent face, he only said, "I'll tell her to stop being so careless."
"Yeah," I replied with a quiet tone.
The lighter was in his hand now. I hadn't seen him pick it up, but there it was, rolling between his thumb and forefinger in that slow, absent rhythm. Penny's lighter. The dead sister's keepsake, turning and turning while he stood in our kitchen holding another woman's underwear and deciding how little he needed to say.
Sensing my low mood, Dominic offered, "I can give you a ride to work today."
Seven years together, and not once had he driven me to work, no matter how bad the weather was. He always kept Family business and personal life separate. Those were his words. His rule. The line he drew so cleanly that I spent years believing it was principle instead of what it actually was: a way to keep me at a distance he could manage.