Chapter 2
Chapter Two
FIONA
W hat a day to oversleep! I stride as fast as I can toward the bistro, feeling hungover despite having not touched a drop last night and hoping that my friend Vivian hasn’t given up on me. I’m almost twenty-five minutes late for our lunch date. I practice my apology in my head as I turn the corner and navigate toward the patio. Her latest text says she’s already chosen a table outside in the sun.
Vivian’s smile cuts through the crowd. She raises a massive glass of red wine and waves me over to an annoyingly wobbly table for two. I leave my jacket on as I take the seat across from her. It’s sunny but on the cool side. Typical weather for the south of France at the end of March.
“Sorry, Viv. I set my alarm but slept right through it.”
“C’est la vie.” She waves a perfectly manicured hand through the air, her sleek black hair falling over one shoulder. “You’re in the south of France. Kick back, relax.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s not cross. “Thanks for understanding. Even the French Riviera isn’t enough of an excuse for how late I am.”
“Honestly, if the worst thing I have to do today is sip wine at this bistro for a half hour waiting for a friend, it will be a good day.” She demonstrates the wine sipping, and I’m convinced she wasn’t put out by my tardiness.
“That’s what I love about you, Viv, always looking on the bright side.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. “So… are you sure you’re late because the alarm didn’t go off? Or did that new billionaire fiancé of yours require your attention this morning?”
I give a theatrical gasp at her probing question and clutch invisible pearls around my neck. “Vivian! I don’t kiss and tell.”
“What good is it being best friends with a romance author if you can’t discuss the steamy parts?” Her eyes fixate on my left hand. “Oh my God, is that the ring?”
I hold the new edition to my left hand out and wiggle my fingers so that the diamond catches the light. She gives a long, low whistle. The thing’s an iceberg. “Honestly the largest diamond I’ve ever seen in my life. The American man at the neighboring table looked twice at it like he thought it might be ice for his flat water.”
“It’s enormous!”
“Roman had it specially designed.”
“Right after he hired a bulldozer to carry it to the jeweler. Fuck, your hand must get tired.” Viv snorts .
I bite my lip to keep from following that train of thought. Any woman would be proud to have a ring like this, and I refuse to let on that I’m anything but grateful. But no way would I have ever picked this ring for myself. It catches on everything, and I’ve cut myself on it twice. As soon as I’m married and enough time has passed, I plan to store it permanently in my jewelry box. I change the subject so I’m not tempted to complain. “Thanks for agreeing to be my maid of honor on such short notice.””
“Your relationship has moved fast! From first date to engagement in a month. I’ve had car repairs that took longer.”
Our server arrives, and I point to the wine I want to order, then to a dish with canard in the name because I know it means duck. Vivian fills in for me in fluent French.
“When are you going to learn French, woman?” she asks. “Once you’re married to a jet-setter, it would help to speak a second language.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
She plants her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her threaded fingers. “Now, about this morning and why you were late…” She bobs her eyebrows.
I roll my eyes. Vivian and I share a publisher, which is how we met. I’ve made my career in thrillers, specifically the Alex Rogue series about a retired military police officer who is now a private investigator specializing in crimes committed by fringe religious orders and secret societies. Vivian writes steamy contemporary romance.
I know that look in her eye. She wants all the details.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but Roman did not keep me in bed this morning.” I laugh. “Actually…” I hesitate to tell her this part because she won’t approve. “We’ve decided to sleep in separate bedrooms until the wedding night.”
She narrows her eyes as if she can’t quite get her head around what I’m saying. “Wait… is this a recent thing, or are you saying you two haven’t, um…” She hooks her fingers together.
“Nope,” I admit, toying with my crucifix necklace absently. “He’s old-fashioned. Wanted to be married first.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “That’s… weird.”
I shrug. “Is it? Old money and old-fashioned?” I laugh. “Maybe I’m more open to it having been raised Catholic. His family seems really conservative. I think it goes with the territory.”
She takes a long sip of wine. “But, I mean, he’s not like a virgin or anything?”
I laugh. “No.” And neither am I, but then she knows that. I don’t share that Roman’s been so busy with work that I haven’t even seen him in two days. “Honestly, I just overslept. I’m exhausted. Planning this wedding, the dress, the flowers, the cake, it’s taken a lot out of me even with the hired help.”
Vivian’s face falls. “Do you think it’s your fibro?”
“Don’t say its name out loud. I don’t want to tempt the universe with the wedding tomorrow.”
Her eyes fill with pity. I hate that. I can take anything but pity. “I don’t want to jinx you, but after what happened before… ”
She means the first time I had a full-blown fibro attack, after Marion was killed and my central nervous system seemed to go haywire with my grief. I’d pushed myself too hard and ended up in bed for weeks. I flatten my napkin on the table with my palm. “It’s possible. This whirlwind relationship, the travel, the wedding planning, it’s all stressful. Not to mention I haven’t been able to write in months.”
Her eyes widen. “Still?”
“Not a word.”
She lowers her voice as if there’s an editor spying on us from a neighboring table. “Wasn’t your latest Alex Rogue manuscript due, like, months ago?”
I’m relieved when my wine arrives, and I take a fortifying sip before answering. “Try a year. They gave me an extension following the accident, but my writer’s block isn’t getting better. First I thought it was because I was grieving Marion, but now I just feel like I can’t hear Alex anymore. It’s like she’s chained up inside my head and refusing to have any further adventures. I haven’t been able to write anything more creative than a grocery list in a year. I’ve tried over and over to start The Milkmaid . The story is just gone .”
Her brows sink. “Oh, Fiona. I’m so sorry.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Grief is a powerful emotion. Losing a sister like you did...” she shakes her head. “It makes sense that it might take up all the room in your head. I’m sure your writing voice will return once you have some peace and quiet in your life, room to heal.”
I nod. “After the wedding. I’m sure of it. ”
“But it does beg the question.” She leans back in her chair and studies me.
“What question?”
“Everything’s happened so fast with you and Roman. The travel, the gifts, the overwhelming publicity of dating a billionaire. Are you sure about this marriage?”
I almost blow a sip of water across the table. “I better be sure. The wedding’s tomorrow.”
“But… Please don’t take this the wrong way. You and Roman moved very quickly.” She pins me with a knowing look.
“Four weeks from the time he bumped into me at a bookstore to the night he proposed in a hot-air balloon over Paris. Now here we are, wedding in the south of France. Am I sure I want to marry a handsome billionaire who swept me off my feet and proposed with a diamond ring the size of Plymouth Rock? Yes, Vivian, I am.”
My attempt at humor doesn’t earn her smile.
“Do you love him, Fiona?”
I glance away, wishing the server would interrupt us. “Why else would I be marrying him?”
She squints at me. Sees through me. Damn it. Vivian knows me too well.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and decide I owe her an honest answer. “Look, I get that the romance writer in you wants a big love story with instant chemistry and explosive feelings. You want Roman to be my Henrik Angel.” I purposefully use Alex Rogue’s on-again, off-again love interest to drive home the point that this is full-blown magical thinking. “But love like you read about doesn’t exist. Roman is a solid option. I’m confident my feelings for him will grow with time.”
She gapes at me. “No. No. No. Fiona, that’s not why you should marry someone.”
“Hmmm.” I rub my chin as if I’m seriously contemplating her warning. “Well, it’s enough for me.” When she huffs in response, I lean toward her. “Let me tell you what I love about Roman. He can support me, which I need because my sales are officially in the toilet. I’ll have health insurance when my fibro makes it impossible for me to get out of bed, and I’ll be able to afford the best doctors, nutritionists, and physical therapists once I’m married to him. Oh, and I’ll be able to pay off that property Marion loved so much, literally the last piece of her I have in my life. As it is now, I’m barely keeping my head above water. This engagement is a lifeline.”
Now she scowls like she smells something bad. “Oh Fiona… you know what I think?”
I’m afraid to ask. “What?”
“I think that life has handed you a raw deal. I think you’re marrying Roman because he asked. I think the trauma of losing your sister has made you feel like you have no control over your life, and so you’ve fallen into a pattern of reacting rather than directing what happens to you. I think your lack of agency over your own life is the reason you haven’t been able to write as Alex Rogue since the accident. Alex had agency. She was a woman who made things happen. I think you’re marrying Roman because he’s an easy answer to your problems, but maybe you need to find your inner Alex again. You’re about to bind your life to this man. This man you hardly know. This man you don’t love.”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, my skin feeling too tight beneath her scrutiny. I’m saved when the food arrives. “I’m not one of your characters, Vivian. Stop analyzing my motivations. My reasons for marrying Roman are… complex. Far more complex than because he asked. I love the idea of having a family again. Roman is very close to his father and Donovan.”
“Who’s Donovan?”
“He’s this man who is literally always with his dad, Stefan. Roman says he’s just a friend. His father’s best friend. Like an uncle, I guess.”
Vivian cuts into her steak, suddenly wide-eyed. “As much as I am now painfully curious about the ‘very close friendship’ of the elder Cifarelli, let’s get back to you and Roman. Before I stand behind you at that altar tomorrow, I need to know that you’re not making a huge mistake. What else besides financial security makes you believe this marriage will work?”
I expected Viv would have questions. As writers and introverts, we live relatively isolated lives and aren’t the type of friends who see each other or even chat every day. Admittedly, I’ve been sparse with her on the details of my relationship with Roman because I didn’t want this type of scrutiny. But considering she flew all the way to France to stand up in our wedding, I owe her an explanation.
So I think about my time with Roman and what drew me to him. “He’s hardworking and seems to genuinely care about me. I mean, he came on strong and pursued me like no man ever has before. Oh, and he’s read all my books. That’s how we met. He recognized me in a bookstore and told me he’s a huge Alex Rogue fan. Read the entire series. I know you mean well and you want me to say I’m head over heels for this guy, but honestly, our story is more of a slow burn. You are right about one thing though—Marion’s death changed me. Since the accident, I don’t have the magic like before, not about anything. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am reacting to what’s in front of me. Maybe I’m going along with where the universe drags me. So what. I’m tired Vivian. I can’t have the type of feelings you’re talking about with Roman because I’m not capable of them right now. Perfect doesn’t exist, and I don’t have the fight in me to wait for it anymore. This is what I want. It’s what’s best for me.”
With a slow shake of her head, she studies her food, pushing it around her plate with her fork. “It’s not what I’d want for myself, but you’re an adult and you know what’s best for you. You could do worse than marrying a billionaire superfan who seems to adore you,” she says sternly. “Tomorrow you’ll be married. Once things settle down, your muse will return, you’ll finish The Milkmaid , and all the magic will be back in your life.”
I raise my glass. “From your lips to God’s ears.”