Chapter 11
Three weeks after the divorce was finalized, I moved back into the house that was now fully, legally mine.
Harper helped me repaint the nursery. We chose sage green this time — calming, fresh, new.
I discarded everything Ryan had left behind. Suits in the closet. His coffee mug. The framed photo of us at our wedding that had hung in the hallway for three years.
All of it went into boxes. The boxes went to the curb.
Leo was growing fast — two months old now, with bright eyes that tracked everything and a grip strong enough to make me gasp.
I was beginning to feel like myself again. Not the woman who'd walked on eggshells around Ryan's "complicated" relationship with his ex. Not the woman who'd smiled through dinner parties while Sienna touched Ryan's arm too long.
Just me. Lily Monroe. Mother. Survivor.
And, increasingly, a woman who thought far too often about a certain gray-eyed lawyer.
Dominic kept his distance. True to his word, he didn't push. After the case closed, he'd shifted back into his regular role — Harper's older brother, occasional dinner guest, the man who texted me once a day to ask how Leo was doing.
But the way he looked at me hadn't changed.
I noticed it at Harper's birthday dinner. The way his gaze tracked me across the room. The way he positioned himself near whatever door I was closest to. The way he held Leo so carefully, as if the baby were made of something precious and breakable.
"You're staring at my brother," Harper whispered, refilling my wine glass.
"I'm not."
"He's staring at you too, if that helps."
It did help. That was the problem.
After dinner, Dominic offered to drive me home. Leo was asleep in his car seat, and the night was quiet.
At my door, I fumbled with my keys, and Dominic waited patiently on the step behind me.
"Thank you," I said. "For tonight. For... everything."
"You don't have to keep thanking me."
I turned around. He was close — closer than usual. The porch light caught the angles of his face.
"I want to," I said. "But I also want to ask you something."
He waited.
"That night. Before my wedding to Ryan. What were you really going to say?"
His jaw tightened. "I told you. I saw how he looked at Sienna—"
"That's what you said to convince me. What were you going to say first? Before you changed your mind?"
The silence stretched.
Then: "I was going to tell you that I'd been in love with you since Harper's college graduation. That watching you marry someone else was going to be the worst day of my life. And that if you gave me one reason — one single reason — I would've asked you not to do it."
My breath caught.
"But you were happy," he continued. "Or you looked happy. And I decided that telling you would be selfish."
"It might have saved me three years of hell," I whispered.
His eyes searched mine. "And now?"
"Now..." I held Leo's car seat in one hand and reached out with the other, catching Dominic's fingers. "Now I think I've waited long enough for something real."
He looked down at our joined hands. Then back up at me.
"Are you sure?"
"Dominic." I stepped closer. "I've never been more sure of anything."
He kissed me on the porch, soft and careful, like I was something he'd been afraid to break. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt chosen.
Not as a backup. Not as a means to an end.
Just chosen.
Harper helped me repaint the nursery. We chose sage green this time — calming, fresh, new.
I discarded everything Ryan had left behind. Suits in the closet. His coffee mug. The framed photo of us at our wedding that had hung in the hallway for three years.
All of it went into boxes. The boxes went to the curb.
Leo was growing fast — two months old now, with bright eyes that tracked everything and a grip strong enough to make me gasp.
I was beginning to feel like myself again. Not the woman who'd walked on eggshells around Ryan's "complicated" relationship with his ex. Not the woman who'd smiled through dinner parties while Sienna touched Ryan's arm too long.
Just me. Lily Monroe. Mother. Survivor.
And, increasingly, a woman who thought far too often about a certain gray-eyed lawyer.
Dominic kept his distance. True to his word, he didn't push. After the case closed, he'd shifted back into his regular role — Harper's older brother, occasional dinner guest, the man who texted me once a day to ask how Leo was doing.
But the way he looked at me hadn't changed.
I noticed it at Harper's birthday dinner. The way his gaze tracked me across the room. The way he positioned himself near whatever door I was closest to. The way he held Leo so carefully, as if the baby were made of something precious and breakable.
"You're staring at my brother," Harper whispered, refilling my wine glass.
"I'm not."
"He's staring at you too, if that helps."
It did help. That was the problem.
After dinner, Dominic offered to drive me home. Leo was asleep in his car seat, and the night was quiet.
At my door, I fumbled with my keys, and Dominic waited patiently on the step behind me.
"Thank you," I said. "For tonight. For... everything."
"You don't have to keep thanking me."
I turned around. He was close — closer than usual. The porch light caught the angles of his face.
"I want to," I said. "But I also want to ask you something."
He waited.
"That night. Before my wedding to Ryan. What were you really going to say?"
His jaw tightened. "I told you. I saw how he looked at Sienna—"
"That's what you said to convince me. What were you going to say first? Before you changed your mind?"
The silence stretched.
Then: "I was going to tell you that I'd been in love with you since Harper's college graduation. That watching you marry someone else was going to be the worst day of my life. And that if you gave me one reason — one single reason — I would've asked you not to do it."
My breath caught.
"But you were happy," he continued. "Or you looked happy. And I decided that telling you would be selfish."
"It might have saved me three years of hell," I whispered.
His eyes searched mine. "And now?"
"Now..." I held Leo's car seat in one hand and reached out with the other, catching Dominic's fingers. "Now I think I've waited long enough for something real."
He looked down at our joined hands. Then back up at me.
"Are you sure?"
"Dominic." I stepped closer. "I've never been more sure of anything."
He kissed me on the porch, soft and careful, like I was something he'd been afraid to break. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt chosen.
Not as a backup. Not as a means to an end.
Just chosen.