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He shrugs. “Still counts.”
“Ironically, they were discussing how you’re the last Mancini to settle down.” I lean back, sipping my coffee with milk and sugar.
“Save the best for last.”
There’s that grin again. My stomach flutters like hummingbird wings. I cross my legs before I focus on the ache between my thighs.
He places his coffee down and leans over to read the papers. “So we sign and then it’s done?”
“Yes, my lawyer will file them and that’s it. He doesn’t anticipate any issues, given the situation.”
“You’ll no longer be Valentina Daniella Mancini.”
I shouldn’t look for a sign that he wants me to remain his wife, but I am. I’m dissecting everything about this entire conversation. Still, I give him the sass he expects. “You know I wouldn’t take your name.”
He laughs, his eyes on the paper. Then he meets my gaze, and the papers drop from his hand. “If you were mine, you wouldn’t be a Sommerland, I can tell you that much.”
I kept my ex-husband’s name because by the time we divorced, I’d already made my name in my business as Valentina Sommerland—my dance studios, my reputation as a dancer—plus Ryder was a Sommerland and I wasn’t interested in explaining my marital status at every PTA meeting or sporting event. It’s obviously still a sore spot with Dom.
“I guess that’s one fight we get to avoid then.” I eye the paper.
He picks it back up. “Did you tell Ryder?”
I sit back in the chair, crossing my legs. My knee aches from an old dance injury, and I rub it. “There’s no reason for him to know.”
He nods, his smile dying. “Gonna rain today?” He nods toward my hand rubbing my knee.
“I think it’s going to be a wicked storm.” My lips spread into a smile as he slides his chair toward me. He taps his lap with his hands. “Dom…”
“My last husband duty,” he says, patting his legs again.
I’d usually say no way, but if it’s the last time Dom’s hands will be on me, I don’t have it in me to refuse. So I set my leg on his lap, and his large hands wrap around my knee. My head falls back until I hear a gasp. I circle around to find the two women staring at us with their mouths open. I turn my attention back to Dom, who’s staring right at me.
“If you’re looking for a quickie before Sunday dinner, I think a threesome might be an option.” I nod in the women’s direction.
He smiles but says nothing, his fingers digging in where I need them the most. I’ve missed this over the months of separation and I’m going to miss this again.
“How’s Ryder doing?” He distracts me from thinking about how maybe we should give ourselves a fifteenth chance.
“He’s good. With Max.”
“I figured.”
“He turns sixteen in the fall. Can you believe it? I feel so old.” I pick up my coffee and take a sip.
“Is he playing in the fall?”
I’m slightly miffed that he doesn’t refute me about my age, but that’s Dom. He doesn’t like it when I say anything negative about myself, so he ignores it instead of saying, “You’re not old,” or “You’re beautiful, stop saying you’re not.”
“Running back.”
“That’s great. If he ever wants any help running drills, let me know. I’m sure Enzo and Carm would help too.”
“Thanks.” His words are a reminder that under his hard exterior is a really good man.
He winks and pats my knee. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
