Page 61 of Filthy Dirty Dom
“Thank you. It’s just… I've always felt like I was riding Branden's coattails. This will just cement that in other people’s minds. And mine.”
The notion seemed absurd to him. He had always seen her as a strong, independent woman. He struggled to reconcile the Leslie he knew with the Leslie who doubted herself. Yet, he understood that even the strongest people had their insecurities.
"Leslie, you are immensely talented. You don't ride anyone's coattails. You've carved out your own place, your own identity."
Emotions flickered in her eyes—gratitude, relief, a hint of lingering uncertainty. It would take time for her to overcome her insecurities, but Alex wanted to be there when she did. He wanted to help her see herself the way he saw her—talented, strong, and deserving of every success that came her way.
He began to connect the dots, finding a correlation between the tension-filled, demanding life Leslie lived and her draw to BDSM. He pondered on the pressures that clung to her, a part of her everyday existence—the weight of her family name, the scrutinizing eyes always on her, the ambitions that drove her, the relentless strive for perfection in her designs. He could only imagine the weight of it all on her shoulders.
Suddenly, her desire to surrender control, to yield to someone else's commands made a lot of sense. It would be her escape, her sanctuary—a place where she could let go of all responsibilities, all decision-making. It would be her relief, her release.
He turned to face her, his hand reaching up to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He looked into her eyes, brimming with uncertainty, and took a deep breath, "Leslie, you are truly remarkable."
He let his words linger, hoping she would truly hear them, understand them, believe them.
Alex and Leslie made their way downstairs, greeted by the tantalizing aromas in the air. They bypassed the dining room this time and headed into the kitchen. It was warm and cozy, the heart of the household. Rustic wooden cabinets lined the walls, their surfaces a delightful cacophony of pots, pans, and utensils. An array of spices were lined up on open shelves, their rich colors and varied textures a testament to the flavor they brought to every dish prepared here.
Renee looked up as they entered, a thin layer of sweat glistening on her forehead.
"Buongiorno! Breakfast will be ready in a moment," she exclaimed, her voice hinting at her rushed efforts. Her hands moved quickly, stirring, chopping, and sautéing with a grace and efficiency only years of practice could afford. She made quick eye contact with Leslie.
“Bellissima!”
Leslie blushed and looked at Alex, who grinned back at her.
"Do you cook?" Renee asked Leslie, Renee’s Italian accent turning the simple question into a musical note.
"I used to help my mom's chef a bit when I was younger," Leslie responded, her eyes drifting to the pots and pans hanging above the stove, the glint of stainless steel reflecting the morning sunlight.
Renee nodded and smiled warmly. "Well, perhaps you can give me a hand here."
Leslie looked at Alex and he cocked a brow, staring at her with intensity. It was only then that she realized that her looking at him could be interpreted as her asking for his permission. Suddenly, the memory of her calling him ‘Sir’ invaded her brain.
When she blushed again, Alex smirked and said, “Go ahead. I’m going to call Luke.”
Leslie bit her lip, remembering Alex’s burner phones and him saying he would only check in with Luke when he had to. He was probably going to let Luke know they’d arrived safely and get an update.
As Alex moved away from them to the opposite side of the room, the furthest he could be from them and still keep them in sight, Leslie turned back to Renee. "I'd love to help," she said, rolling up her sleeves.
As they prepared the meal together, Leslie couldn't resist her curiosity any longer. "This house is stunning, Renee," she commented casually. "How long have you been here?"
Renee paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Long enough. I've seen the children grow up here, seen their joys and sorrows," she said quietly.
"And it's been a while since you've seen Alex, right? He told me he met you while he was in the military," Leslie said softly, feeling guilty for even asking that. She glanced at Alex, who was looking at them and speaking on the phone.
Renee gave her a careful look, her lips curling into a smile. "Yes, that's true. But I believe some stories are better left in the past."
Undeterred, Leslie pushed on, "But you must have known him well, right? His likes, dislikes, that sort of thing..."
Renee chuckled softly, stirring the sauce with renewed vigor. "That's a lot of questions about Alex, Leslie."
"I'm sorry," Leslie said quickly.
Renee waved off her apology. "No, no. It's okay. We all have a past. Mine hasn’t always been pleasant, and I hope my granddaughter never have to experience what I have in my lifetime,”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Renee. How many kids to you have?”
A shadow crossed her face. I have—had—two daughter and three sons. You met one of my boys, Nico. He was always the sweetest of the five."