But Penelope? On her first day as his personal aide, she was already getting chauffeured by the Don of the Sloane family. The black armored sedan. The soldier holding the door. The whole performance of protection that I had never once been offered.
I pressed my thumb against the inside of my ring finger again. The bare skin. The absence.
"No need," I said. "I'll manage."
As I sat there turning over the difference between how Dominic treated his aide and the woman who had shared his bed for seven years, my fork slipped from my fingers and clattered against the tile floor. My hands were trembling when I bent to retrieve it.
By the time I straightened up, Dominic was already standing at the entrance of the kitchen, jacket on, keys in hand. He didn't look back.
"Something came up at the club. I'll give you a ride next time," he said, and the front door closed behind him before the sentence had fully settled in the room.