King of Greed (Kings of Sin, 3)

“He really said he’s okay with you dating other people?” Isabella wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound like Dominic.”

“He’s obviously lying.” Sloane tapped her pen against her notebook. “I bet he thinks Alessandra will go on a few dates, not like any of them, and run back to him.”

Next to her, The Fish peered out at us from his bowl, his bulging eyes devoid of thought. For the first time in my life, I was jealous of a freaking goldfish. If only I could ditch my earthly worries and spend my life swimming and eating custom pellets instead. He has no idea how good he has it.

‘Am I the only one who feels bad for him?” Vivian drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s been months, and he’s obviously trying. Maybe he has changed.”

I wasn’t surprised she was the first of my friends to soften toward Dominic. Given her history with Dante, she knew exactly how it felt to have the person you love mess up—and to whether forgiveness was an option. In their case, it worked out. My case was still pending.

However, she wasn’t the only person who felt bad. My heart twinged every time I thought about Dominic, but that wasn’t enough for me to run back into his arms.

“Can we talk about something else?” I rubbed my temple. My friends and I had rehashed my time in Brazil and my conversation with him last night so many times I wanted to scream. “Viv, how was your meeting with Buffy Darlington?”

The four of us were curled up at Sloane’s apartment. Technically, it was a movie night, but we’d been too busy gossiping to actually watch the chosen film (except for Sloane, who managed to juggle our conversation with writing her undoubtedly vicious review of the latest rom-com).

“Terrifying, per usual.” Thankfully, Vivian accepted my subject change without argument . Buffy was one of the grande dames of New York society and notoriously picky when it came to her events. She’d hired Vivian to plan her annual holiday soiree, which Vivian had been stressing about for the past three months. “But everything’s confirmed and ready to go for tomorrow.”

“Buffy’s party tomorrow, the Valhalla Christmas gala on Tuesday.”

Isabella yawned. “There’s nothing like the holidays in New York.”

“It’s a terrible season,” Sloane said. “The Christmas music. The cheesy movies. The reindeer sweaters. God, the sweaters. They make me want to die.”

“You’ve watched every single one of those cheesy movies,” I pointed out. “You must not hate them that much.”

“Sometimes, you have to endure the awful to appreciate the mediocre, which a majority of modern films are.”

Isabella, Vivian, and I exchanged amused glances. It was a not-so-secret ongoing joke between us that Sloane single-handedly kept the romantic comedy industry alive. For someone who allegedly despised rom-coms, she was committed to watching every new release the day it came out.

“Who wants another drink?” Isabella tossed a handful of popcorn in her mouth and reached for the half-empty bottle of rum on the coffee table.

“I’m in editing hell for my second book, so I could use all the rum and Cokes I can get,” she said, her voice muffled.

I shook my head. “No, thanks.” I’d already had three. Any more and I’d do something stupid, like message someone on the dating app I’d impulsively downloaded that morning. I’d swiped through a dozen profiles before matching with one. It’d freaked me out so much I’d immediately closed out of the app and pretended it didn’t exist.

Clearly, my dating skills were rusty.

“I’ll drink after I finish this.” Sloane’s pen flew over the page as she muttered under her breath. I couldn’t catch all of it, but I thought I heard the phrases sickening cheesefest of unbearable length and so unrealistic it makes mother-daughter body swaps seem believable.

“Viv?” Isabella turned to the last member of our group. “You’ve been drinking water all night. Live a little!” She shook the rum with a dramatic flourish.

“I’d love to, but I can’t.” Vivian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Not for seven more months.”

Sloane’s head jerked up from her notebook. Isabella’s jaw unhinged, prompting a kernel of popcorn to fall out onto the floor.

I was the first to speak. “Are you…”

“I’m pregnant,” Vivian confirmed. Her smile blossomed into a full-blown grin when we erupted into screams and laughter. We tackled her in a group hug, our questions overlapping with each other in a stream of euphoria.

“Do you know the gender yet?”

“What baby names are you thinking of?”

“Can I be the godmother?”

“Holy shit, you’re pregnant!”

Vivian and Dante had been married for three years, so it was only a matter of time before they had kids. I was genuinely thrilled for her, but I couldn’t stop a wave of sadness from dampening my mood when I thought about my life compared to hers.

Dominic and I both wanted children. We’d discussed it at the start of our relationship, and we’d agreed we would wait until our finances and careers were stable before we tried for a child. Unfortunately, by the time that happened, he’d been so obsessed with work we hadn’t tried in earnest.

I was glad we hadn’t. As much as I wanted a son or daughter, I would’ve basically raised them alone, and I didn’t want any of my children to feel neglected.

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it.” I rose and walked to the door while Sloane and Isabella continued to bombard Vivian with questions.

A twenty-something guy in a white polo shirt greeted me. “Alessandra Ferreira?” He carried a small, gift-wrapped box in his hands.

“That’s me.” A line of puzzlement dug between my brows. I hadn’t ordered anything.

“Sign here, please.” He handed me a tablet.

I scribbled my signature and, too curious to wait, tore open the wrapping paper immediately after he left. The white box underneath contained no hint of what was inside, but when I opened it, my heart came to an utter standstill.

“You brought me a present on our first date? You must really like me,” I teased, taking the gift bag from Dominic’s hand.

A hint of color glazed his cheekbones. “It’s not for the date. It’s for the semester.”

“What…” My sentence trailed off when I retrieved the item. The cheerful white mug had a gold handle and a red apple stamped with the words “World’s Best Teacher” in bold black.

Emotion crested in my throat.

No tutee had ever bought me anything beyond a Starbucks gift card. It was so unlike Dominic, both in sentiment and in product, that it rendered me speechless.

He must’ve mistaken my silence for displeasure because his color deepened.

“I know it’s cheesy, and you’re a tutor, not a teacher,” Dominic said stiffly. “But you said your favorite mug broke a few weeks ago and…fuck.

Never mind.” He reached for it. “I’ll return it. You don’t—”

“No!” I clutched the mug protectively to my chest. “I love it. Don’t you dare try to take it back, Dominic Davenport, because I’m keeping it forever.”

That turned out to be untrue. The original mug broke during our move to New York. I’d been devastated, but the one in my hands was an exact replica of the one he’d gifted me on our first date, down to the apple and

“World’s Best Teacher” font.

Our first date. December 21, aka today. It was the first anniversary of ours that I’d forgotten. I’d been too distracted by the mess at the store and the complications of our current relationship.

I picked up the handwritten note tucked beneath the mug with a trembling hand.

I’ll always think of you on this day.

There was no signature, but it didn’t need one. The dark, messy scrawl was unmistakably Dominic’s.

Pressure built behind my eyes.

“What is that?” Isabella asked. My friends had fallen silent and were eyeing me with curiosity.

I placed the note back in the box and closed it.

“Nothing,” I said. I blinked past the blur in my vision and forced a smile. “It’s nothing at all.”