Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

Chapter 29

29

KAIRA

T he sunlight streaming through the café window was not my friend this morning. I squinted against it, nursing my coffee like it was a lifeline while Carla smirked at me from across the table. She looked entirely too put together for me.

I was really regretting that last glass of champagne. It had all gone down way too easily. I rubbed my temple and contemplated my life choices as one did when they suffered from such a serious hangover.

“You look like shit,” Carla teased.

“Thanks,” I muttered, trying to summon the energy to glare at her. “That’s better than I feel.”

Carla snickered and took a sip of her mimosa. “Rough night?”

I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. “The best kind of rough night.”

“You said you rubbed elbows with the rich and famous,” she said. “Tell me more. Tell me all of it.”

The sunlight shifted as a cloud moved lazily across the sky, momentarily relieving my eyes from its harsh glare. I was two seconds from putting on my sunglasses. Carla would think it was my living arrangement making me feel like I could wear sunglasses indoors like the rich and famous.

I leaned back in the booth and began recounting the night before. “It was crazy,” I said. “I was so nervous but they welcomed me with open arms. The champagne never stopped flowing. Although there were plenty of other options to drink. Thankfully, I stuck with champagne or I would be in far worse shape.”

She laughed. “You’ve never done well with champagne.”

I groaned and rubbed my head. “I know. Because it’s so good and so easy to drink.”

I launched into a rundown of the evening. I knew she wouldn’t think I was bragging as I described everything we ate and the stories they told me about their travels around the world.

Carla looked truly interested. “So, they weren’t all stuck-up rich jerks?”

I shook my head. “Not even close. They were kind. Like, genuinely interested in getting to know me.” I paused, a little embarrassed. “Imagine that. Me, feeling comfortable with people like them.”

“That’s awesome,” Carla said with a warm smile. “You deserve that. I’m so glad you got to have the experience.”

“Thank you for not thinking I’m bragging,” I said.

“Are you kidding? I’m living vicariously through you.” She pulled out her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to see the pictures from last night,” she said. “You said you got papped, right?”

“Oh yes. I mean, not in those words, but yes.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh my gosh! You looked hot! That dress is just bam. Damn, girl.”

I laughed and instantly regretted it when my head felt like it was going to split in two. “Ow.”

“I can see why you blended in with the rest of the group. You look like a socialite, all hot and sexy.”

“Stop.” I smiled. “But thank you.”

The waitress set down our plates—pancakes for me and an omelet for Carla. Brunch with Carla was a familiar ritual. It grounded me in ways I needed more than ever. I knew when I moved out it was going to be hard to abandon our lazy breakfasts. I was so glad we were still getting the chance to have these moments.

Between bites of syrup-drenched pancakes, I shifted the conversation. “Roman’s birthday is next weekend.”

“Really?” Carla asked, cutting into her omelet. “What’s the plan?”

“He doesn’t celebrate,” I said, my fork pausing midair. “For good reason. But I think… I don’t know, I’d like to do something nice for him. Nothing big, just something thoughtful. Something that makes him feel like it’s okay to celebrate his birthday.”

“Why doesn’t he celebrate?” she asked.

“His parents.”

“Oh,” she said with a nod. “Harsh. Poor dude.”

“Exactly.”

“That sounds sweet. What are you thinking? B-Day BJ?”

I snorted a laugh and shook my head. “Not quite. I was going to talk to the house staff and see if they have any ideas. They know him better than I do, and—” I stopped mid-sentence, noticing Carla’s expression shift. “Hey, is everything okay?”

She shrugged, her fork picking at her food in a way that wasn’t like her. “I’m fine.”

“Carla,” I said gently. “What’s going on?”

Her shoulders rose and fell again, but this time she sighed. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you,” I pressed. “Come on, spill. I’ve been rambling. What’s going on?”

She hesitated, then finally looked up at me. “It’s just… you’ve been so wrapped up in this whole Roman thing. You never call to check in on me. You don’t ask about my life. It’s like I’ve been relegated to the background while you play house with your fake fiancé.”

My heart sank. “Oh, Carla… I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I asked if you were okay with everything. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I mean, I did, but, dammit, I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t,” she said quickly, but her voice was tight. “It’s just… I miss you. It feels like I’ve been left behind while you’re off living this glamorous new life.”

I reached across the table and took her hand. “You’re right. I’ve been so caught up in all of this, and I’ve been a terrible friend. I’m so sorry.”

She gave me a small smile. “You’re not a terrible friend. Just a distracted one. I know you have a lot on your plate. I told you to do this. We both knew it was going to be hard with you trying to live a double life.”

“I’m going to make it up to you,” I promised. “Starting today. Let’s spend the day together. No Roman, no mansion, no paparazzi. Just us.”

Carla’s smile grew. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about what we would normally do? We’re stuffing our faces and going to see a movie. I’m sure there’s a rom-com out for Valentine’s.”

“Don’t pity me,” she said. “I feel ridiculous for even bringing it up.”

“You’re not ridiculous. I’m sorry I’ve been neglectful.”

“You haven’t been neglectful. I am really happy for you. And you did look hot last night.”

“Thank you.”

While we ate, I looked up movies playing. We found a romance flick and headed over for a matinee showing.

We chose seats in the middle row, far enough from the screen to avoid neck strains but close enough to catch every detail. The theater slowly filled, the murmurs of other moviegoers blending into a soft background noise.

“Thanks for doing this,” Carla whispered. “I really needed it. I don’t think I fully understood how much I was going to miss you.”

“Me too. We should do this more often. It’s not like he needs me on hand around the clock. Honestly, I don’t even see him during the day usually.”

The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the film. On screen, a clumsy meet-cute unfolded involving a stray cat and a spilled cup of coffee. As the characters on screen navigated their blossoming yet awkward relationship, I found myself thinking about romance. I wanted that. I wanted to stumble into the man of my dreams.

I could almost picture Roman as that man, but he was so far out of my league, I knew it wasn’t meant to be. I was only getting to play make believe.

After the movie, we wandered into a tapas bar. We shared a dozen tiny, delicious dishes and gossiped about everything and nothing.

“I should let you go,” she said.

“Hell no. I’m not done hanging out with you. Are you trying to ditch me?”

Carla laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not a chance. It’s just getting late, and I figured you’d have to rush off to some high-profile event or another.”

“Not tonight,” I said firmly, popping an olive into my mouth. “Today is about us. Besides, playing dress-up for the cameras gets old fast. This,” I gestured between us, “this is real life.”

“I guess it can’t be easy, living like that. Always in the spotlight, having to pretend all the time.”

“It’s exhausting,” I admitted. “But fun. Don’t pity me. I want to get some makeup. You have to help me pick some stuff out. I need that photo stuff.”

“I will help you get what you need. Let’s hit that boutique on Seventh. They always have the most amazing makeup selection. It’s all the leftover designer stuff, but it works the same.”

She helped me pick out a few pallets and a new lipstick. They were a step above drugstore brands.

From there, we indulged in some retail therapy, trying on clothes we couldn’t afford and splurging on matching bracelets we both swore we’d wear every day.

By the time Anthony picked us up, the tension between us had completely melted away. We were back to being Kaira and Carla, best friends against the world.

“Come home with me,” I said.

She grimaced. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. Last time Roman came home and saw me there he didn’t look very happy.”

I waved my hand. “Who cares? He probably won’t be home until late. And trust me, I think he’ll be happy that you’re there. Things are a little awkward between us. It will be nice to have someone to break up the tension. He’ll probably just hide in his study or his room.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

When we got back to the mansion, the idea struck me as we walked into the kitchen. “Let’s cook dinner.”

Carla raised an eyebrow. “Here? In this kitchen? After we ate tapas?”

“Why not?” I grinned, pulling open a cabinet to inspect the contents. “We’ll make our famous mac and cheese.”

“Won’t the cook get mad at us messing around in his kitchen?”

I shrugged. “It’ll be fine. I am supposed to be the lady of the house.”

She looked around the massive space. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“The staff can help us find what we need.”

As if on cue, one of the kitchen staff appeared, eyeing us warily. “Miss Kaira, what are you doing?”

“We’re making dinner,” I announced cheerfully. “For everyone. Something nice and homey. No offense, but not every meal needs to be elaborate and fancy.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “I don’t think Mr. Roman?—”

“Don’t worry about Roman,” I said, waving her concerns away. “I’ll take the heat if he’s upset. Now, where do you keep the cheese?”

Carla and I led the charge, searching through the three refrigerators and huge walk-in pantry for everything we would need.

“I cannot believe people live like this,” Carla whispered. “Seriously, this kitchen is amazing. And it’s like a mini grocery store.”

“It is very impressive.”

We got to work grating cheese and boiling pasta while the staff offered tips and occasionally stepped in to fix our amateur mistakes. The stove wasn’t like the basic stove in our condo.

It had buttons and dials that seemed to require an engineering degree to operate properly. But soon, the aroma of melting cheese filled the air.

Carla turned on her playlist while we cooked. It felt like one of our dinners in. The massive house felt like a home instead of the cold, lifeless mausoleum.

“I think anyone could be a gourmet cook with all of the fancy gadgets and gizmos in here.” Carla laughed.

I stirred the bubbling pasta and looked around the kitchen. A couple of the staff had come in and were sitting at the kitchen island, watching us.

“It’s nice to see someone other than the cook enjoying this kitchen again,” Marilyn said. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a lady in the kitchen making a meal for Roman.”

That made me feel good. I hoped Roman would appreciate it as well. It was hard to know which Roman was going to walk through the door. The Roman that tucked me into bed last night all sweet and gentle or the Roman that barely looked at me. I hoped it was the first.