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❝ one of those faces ❞ ━ FARRAH ━
Embarrassing myself wasn't on my to-do list today. You might be wondering - what was on your to-do list today, Farrah?
Your second question might be how I embarrassed myself.
Okay, so you remember when this gorgeous white man entered the room like he owned it and extended his tattooed hand toward me with a knee-wobbling smile and spoke?
Yeah, well I apparently forgot how to stand properly because I ended up slamming my hip into the corner of the dinner table, pain I didn't even know was possible shooting up my body as a result.
He sends me a concerned look with a raised brow but I suck it up and try to put on a brave front despite the immense pain.
I shake his hand with pursed lips, "Farrah. I don't think we've met before." At least not the normal way that people meet. I can't just tell my sister that I got into a staring contest with him while on a date with someone else.
Or I could. But then what do I keep for myself?
"Really?" Domenico arches a knowing brow, "You look so familiar."
Okay. That's enough of that.
"Yeah, I just have one of those faces." I try to avert the topic. That obviously doesn't work when he tilts his head in amusement.
"No. You don't."
Our staredown lasts just seconds more before my sister picks up on my telepathy and clears her throat. I look at her but I can still feel Domenico's eyes on me.
"Hope you're staying for dinner, Nico." Faith places the drink glasses on the table, "Already set out a plate for you so you have no choice."
The man in question chuckles and nods, "Of course." His accent is thick.
Dinner wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I'd avoided Domenico's gaze as best I could despite feeling his stare for the majority of the time we sat down.
Faith took conversation by the reins and when she wasn't speaking, Domenico and Scott spoke about investments and whatnot.
I, on the other hand, couldn't care less about anything happening. I was more focused on Domenico's tattoos that inch up his skin and peek out from under his slightly unbuttoned shirt.
My eyes remain on his veiny hands, his fingers well manicured and his knuckles - wait.
The ring on his fourth finger on his left hand glares at me and I find myself twisting my lips. While I don't mean to assume considering he has oh so many rings that span his two hands, it can only mean one thing.
