Chapter 2 - THE BREAKFAST TABLE SHIFT
The next morning, Bea sensed a shift before she even reached the dining room. Dominic Russo was home—a man who was never home for breakfast.
She walked in wearing her usual armor: a beige cardigan over a loose navy dress, hair pinned neatly back, makeup-free. But when she entered, Dominic sat at the head of the table, his black shirt open at the collar, dark hair damp from the shower, and bruised knuckles marking one hand.
Little Leo brightened instantly, crying out, “Daddy!” and running straight into Dominic’s open arm. For a fleeting second, the ice on Dominic’s face cracked. Then his gaze shifted, locking directly onto Bea. Not past her. At her.
“Good morning, Mr. Russo,” she murmured, keeping her distance.
“Beatrice,” he replied, the sound of her full name making her stomach tighten.
When she muttered that she would prepare breakfast in the kitchen, Dominic shook his head. “No. You’ll eat here.”
Bea blinked in shock. “I usually don't eat with the family.”
“I know what you usually do,” Dominic said calmly, leaving zero room for argument. “Today, you’ll sit.”
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The head housekeeper, Mrs. Bell, paused near the sideboard with raised eyebrows. Warmth crept up Bea’s neck, but Leo tugged on her sleeve, piping up, “Sit by me, Bea.” That settled it. As she sat, trying to make herself invisible, Dominic murmured, “You don't have to make yourself invisible just to eat breakfast.”
Throughout the meal, Dominic watched her—watched how she buttered Leo’s toast and wiped his chin with infinite tenderness. Something old and wounded tightened inside Dominic’s chest. From that day on, the pattern changed; Dominic started coming home early, appearing wherever she happened to be.
