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“Me, too.” The edges of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “So did my grandmother. Which is why she told it about a thousand times.”
“Can’t blame her.” I think about our past conversations. “So that big family you have, did your grandfather’s relatives move here too?”
Dominic shakes his head. “They disowned him.”
I gasp. “What? Why?”
“They viewed it as betrayal. Abandoning his history and some other bullshit. But my grandfather stood by the fact that love is stronger than obligation. So, to make up for the lack of family on his side, they decided to have a fuck ton of kids.”
I snort at his description. “What’s afuck tonof kids?”
“Nine.”
I grimace at the thought of giving birth nine times. “Okay, yeah. That’s a lot.”
“My father was the oldest, and I was the first grandchild. But with eight sets of uncles and aunts just on that side, and with all of them having a minimum of three kids, with the exception of my parents who only had me”—he shakes his head—“there’s still a fuck ton.”
“Is your dad…?” I hate to ask, but since we’re talking about family.
“Passed away about twenty years back.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, feeling bad about asking and tempted to tell him that mine died about that long ago, too, but my family story is much more depressing, and I don’t really want to go there.
“Basically, a lifetime ago. But pretty sure he’d like your feistiness, too.”
I bite my lip, trying to picture what one of Dom’s big, happy family gatherings might look like when the server returns with our drinks.
Realizing I haven’t even looked at the menu, I quickly pick it up and skim over the items. But the second I spot pad Thai as an option, I set my menu back down.
“That mean you know what you want, Angel?” Dom is giving me that small smile, the one that means he finds something funny.
I lift a brow, daring him to laugh. “It does.”
“Ladies first.” Dom gestures for me to start.
I order my chicken pad Thai, and Dom asks for spring rolls and then a different noodle dish for himself.
Finally noticing the margarita the server set down, I pull the glass closer and am tempted to take out my phone just so I can take a photo of it. The rim is perfectly salted, and floating on top next to the paper-thin slice of lime is a trio of edible flowers. And they’re so pretty.
A tattooed hand holding a short glass filled with some sort of amber liquid lifts into my view. “A toast.”
I pick up my drink and tap it against Dom’s.
“To good women.” His voice is low.
“To leaning in,” I reply.
Those full, tempting lips quirk as he presses his glass against them.
CHAPTER10
Val
The margarita is perfect.
The spring rolls are perfect.
Conversation with Dominic is perfect.
