So Dorothea took a chance. “Do you want a large family?” she asked.
Dominic had just taken a sip of wine and nearly choked. He coughed into his napkin, then looked at her with raised brows. “Pardon?”
“I don’t believe the question could have been any simpler.”
Setting his glass down carefully, he wiped his mouth before replying. “No,” he said, a touch too quickly. “I don’t want children.”
His admission stunned her. “At all?”
He leaned back in his chair, arms resting loosely on the armrests. “My father was a cruel man,” he shared. “He belittled, berated, and broke everything he touched. Including me. I wouldn’t even know where to begin raising a child without becoming what he was.”
“You are not your father,” she said firmly.
Dominic looked away. “It’s not that simple.”
“But maybe it is,” Dorothea countered. “I see how you are with Tristan. Kind. Protective. And in return, that boy adores you.”
His gaze returned to hers, something raw flickering there—part disbelief, part longing. But he said nothing.
Dorothea reached for her glass, her fingers brushing the stem. “You may not want children now. But I think, in time, you might surprise yourself.”
Dominic didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away either.
And for now, that was enough.
The following morning, the soft murmur of a new day had already begun to stir the household when Dominic descended the main staircase. Sunlight filtered through the windows of the entry hall, casting golden streaks across the black-and-white marble floor. At the far end, he spotted a small figure standing as still as a statue, forehead nearly pressed to the glass.
Tristan.
Dominic came to a stop beside the boy. “What are you doing?”
Tristan barely spared him a glance, his eyes trained on the road just beyond the gates. “My mum should be arriving soon,” he said, his voice bubbling with anticipation.
“Ah, yes,” Dominic murmured. “This is the day.”
Before he could say more, a soft rustle on the staircase caught his attention. He turned his head and saw Dorothea descending. She wore a pale yellow morning gown that clung to her slender frame before flowing gently to the floor. The color made her hair seem more golden than red, and the faint smile playing at her lips gave her the air of quiet contentment.
There was something radiant about her that morning. She was truly a beautiful young woman, on the inside and out. And the more time he spent with her, the more Dominic started to question if he wanted an annulment.
“Dominic,” she said, her eyes meeting his as she reached the final step.
He moved to greet her. “Dorothea,” he said with a small bow.
She gave him a look edged in teasing. “You’re being rather formal this morning. Should I be concerned?”
“Not at all. I trust you slept well?”
“I did. And you?”
“For once, yes,” he admitted. “It was... unusual, but welcome.”
Her gaze shifted towards Tristan. “He looks as though he’s been standing there for hours.”
“He might’ve been,” Dominic replied.
Just then, Tristan gave a cry of delight. “She’s here!” he shouted and, without a second’s hesitation, flung the front door open and darted outside.
Dorothea watched him with a smile. “It’s good to see him so happy.”
