What's Left of Our Hearts

Epilogue

The last few weeks for Clara had been an emotional rollercoaster, if the rollercoaster had no breaks, no speed limit, straps made of scotch tape, oh and by the way, a tornado was raging at the end of the ride. She'd come back from London more confused than ever about her feelings for Dominic. She'd made it as far as the boarding gate with Owen before she'd gathered the courage to tell him she wanted to break up, and he'd begged her to reconsider, pulling out the ring he had intended to give her in the Maldives. She left the airport only to have her driver almost run over Dominic, who had somehow found his way into her heart again.

She had to be a little more careful this time around, so she'd asked Dominic to take things slow. After all, how well did they really know each other? Turned out, quite well, despite years of being apart. They'd gone from the airport to a restaurant in the city where they sat and simply talked. It was incredible. Just to be able to tell each other about their lives, their interests, their fears and hopes for the future.

Dom had promptly rented a residence at the opulent Waldorf Towers and settled into New York City until they figured out what made sense for the two of them. They told no one that he was here, not even Sophie who had been a bloodhound on Clara's heels. "I know there's something you're not telling me, and I will find out," she would wag a finger after every failed attempt to coax the secret out of Clara. That woman was a menace.

Dom had been nothing but the perfect gentleman letting Clara take as much time as she needed to move out of the place she'd shared with Owen into her own apartment. He'd tried waving his wallet at Clara's broker to get her a bigger place, but she had promptly shot him down, much to the broker's dismay. She had needed to get her ducks in order on her own before going any further with Dom.

They did dates around the city, afternoon walks in Central Park, Broadway shows and cozy nights in. The weather had turned, but Clara had never felt warmer in her life. Things felt right. It wasn't explosions and fireworks, but the calm quiet of knowing she was in the right place, at the right time, with the right person next to her. With Owen, she'd always felt like something was missing. Something small, but it wasn't quite right or quite there. In a few short weeks, Dom and Clara had fallen into a rhythm that made it hard to imagine their lives had ever been different.

It wasn't until Clara found herself in a car on their way to her father's place that she felt on edge. When they pulled into the downhill driveway framed by snow, Clara's pulse quickened. The last time she'd been here, her father had revealed that Dom had secretly helped with her school tuition. But there was so much complicated history between their families, Clara did not know what to expect.

"It will be alright, my love," Dom said, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it. He shut off the engine with a confident smile, looking like he hadn't a care in the world. How could he be so calm?

Clara, on the other hand, couldn't help dreading that Dom would say something that would set her father off, and her father would throw him out and ban him from seeing his daughter. They were past the age where the father's word was law, but still.

"I will believe it when I see it," she heaved a sigh and stepped out into the winter night.

She held her breath when her father opened the door. His slight shoulders lifted as did his crow's feet at the sight of Dom and Clara. "Dai, entra! Come inside, it's cold out there," he smiled. Clara watched the two men embrace and clap each other on the backs like old friends. She waited for the tell. There had to be some tell that this was uncomfortable for everyone. Right?

It was beyond bizarre to see the two of them talking at the dining table while Clara's father served the meal. She kept staring, forgetting to respond, pausing with her spoon halfway to her mouth when Dom would say something and her father would laugh.

By the time they got to the main course, Clara had actually loosened up enough to have a glass of wine. Or, who knew, it might have been the wine that got her to relax in the first place. Her father brought back a platter of pork with roasted vegetables that smelled divine.

"Ah, I forgot the tongs," he said, making to get up.

"Please, Uncle Jimmy, sit. I'll get it," said Dom and quickly strode to the kitchen, plucked the tongs from the utensil drawer and came back down.

Clara narrowed her eyes at him.

"What?" he asked, serving her plate.

She looked from him to her father, eyes still narrowed. Both of them looked at her apprehensively. Clara crossed her arms and glared at Dom.

"What?" he repeated, tongs held in mid-air.

"'It will be alright, love,'" she imitated his British accent. "This whole time I've been worried if you two would get along, if this would be awkward at all, or if I'd have to pry one of you off the other's neck... but you've been here before!" she pointed an accusatory finger at Dom and the tongs he knew exactly where to find without anyone telling him. He and her father both had the decency to look chastised.

"Yes," he finally admitted, blushing. Did he have to look adorable doing it? It made it really hard for Clara to stay mad.

"When were you going to tell me?"

The men exchanged a look.

"We weren't sure how you'd take it," Dom said.

"He's been visiting me whenever he traveled to the US," her father added. "But we didn't want to upset you, so we decided not to mention it."

She looked from Dom to her father, an identical look on their faces. "You two are unbelievable." She took a long swig of wine.

Her father lifted the platter up with a mischievous smile. "Asparagus?"

Clara held her breath for a moment longer, giving them one last glare, then exhaled and shook her head at them, raising her plate. "Sure. Why not?"

Under the table, she felt Dom's hand giving her knee a squeeze. She put hers on top of his and squeezed it back, while her father resumed telling yet another story of the trouble they'd gotten in when they were children. She briefly wondered what her mother would have made of this scene, and smiled to herself. Her mother would have probably coddled Dom even more than she had Clara.

She looked at him while her father talked. His aquatic blue eyes sparkled after a bit of wine and a whole lot of laughter.

She kept her hand in his, right where it had always belonged.

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