Chapter 116

Dominic gazed up at Evelyn’s face, his voice rough with emotion. "Thank you."

The sweater was softer than he’d imagined, wrapping him in unexpected warmth.

Evelyn couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Was it the craftsmanship of the knit, or was it simply him? She reached for the paper bag and pulled out another gift.

"Just in case you didn’t like the sweater," she said, offering the small box.

Dominic studied it, silent.

"It’s a lighter," she explained. "I wasn’t sure what else to get you, but this seemed practical. Though you really shouldn’t smoke so much. It’s terrible for you."

She pressed the box into his hands.

He flicked it open, drew out the silver lighter, and sparked a flame.

"I don’t smoke often," he murmured, his voice low. "Only when I’m stressed."

Evelyn arched a brow. "You smoked constantly when I lived with you."

"That’s because you were constantly driving me insane," he countered.

She had no retort for that.

"Let’s get some air," Dominic suggested.

The restaurant’s heat was stifling, beads of sweat forming at his temples.

"Of course. Let me help." She moved behind his wheelchair.

"It’s electric," he said, pressing a button to glide forward effortlessly.

Evelyn kept pace beside him. "You always had your bodyguards push you before."

"No reason to when they were there to do it."

"I could help too—"

"It’s fine."

"I want to," she insisted, gripping the handles and steering him outside.

The cold night air rushed over them.

"How are your legs? What did the doctors say?"

"Right one’s bruised. Left one’s broken."

Her chest tightened.

"Did it hurt badly?"

"Manageable."

She wheeled him to the sidewalk, then draped her coat over his legs.

"Why didn’t you reply to my message?" she finally asked, the words spilling out.

She’d lost sleep over his silence.

Their faces were close, breaths mingling in the frosty air.

Dominic didn’t want to admit he’d spiraled into a relapse, that antidepressants had only recently stabilized him.

When Lucas mentioned Evelyn was knitting him a sweater, he hadn’t wanted to disturb her.

"Never mind," she said quickly. "It was just an impulsive text—first snow of the year and all."

She stood abruptly, repositioning herself behind the wheelchair to push him down the street.

"Why didn’t you visit me?" Dominic asked suddenly.

"Adrian said you were too proud. I thought you wouldn’t want me seeing you until your face healed."

"You only texted once."

"You didn’t answer. I assumed you didn’t want to hear from me."

"I did," he rasped.

Evelyn’s pulse jumped. "What? Dominic, what did you—"

He cut her off, pointing ahead. "There’s a bakery. I want cake."

The diversion worked.

"Oh! Let’s get some," she agreed, then hesitated. "But you hate sweets."

"It’s my birthday. Exceptions are allowed."

"True. Birthdays should be special."

Inside, the shop assistant greeted them warmly. Dominic glanced at Evelyn. "You choose."

"How about mousse? Buttercream might be too heavy."

Dominic turned to the assistant. "Mousse, please."

"Of course, sir. What size?"

He looked back at Evelyn. "How many people are coming to the party?"