Seventeen
I can't believe any of it. Even though we’re here, seated in a restaurant that is ironically named Giovanni’s, and Rome is across the table lifting a glass of water to his plump lips, I still can't believe that he and I are actually here together. I wonder what Sierra would say if she saw us now. Rome’s black button-up would surely have her tense—the way his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, showing off thick, striated forearms that keep grabbing my attention like cleavage. The way he looks at me over the edge of his glass would definitely make a vein pop out of her neck, and my dark green dress would probably send her to the morgue. The slit alone caused a stir between a few couples as Rome and I were escorted to our seats and men’s heads kept turning in my direction. The women they were seated with shot glares across the table that were as cold as the ice in their drinks. There would be no stopping the rumor mill at Sandcastle if anyone from there saw us now, and although we’re here to discuss business, it looks like something more.
It feels like something more.
Could it be something more?
“This is a nice place,” I say to Rome, looking around the small, cozy establishment with its dim lighting and authentic Italian feel. A large fireplace burns in the center of a display wall across the room, casting a shadow of romance over the dining area as a plethora of delicious aromas fill the air.
Rome nods and smirks. “Thank you. It has been a while since I've been here. It’s good to come back and see it still going strong.”
“How'd you find this place?” I ask. “It’s the little hole-in-the-wall establishments like this one that always have the best food.”
He nods again, his eyes dropping to the table briefly before climbing back up to me.
“It was my father's,” he replies. “He definitely always made sure the food was incredible and truly Italian.”
“Really?” I say with raised brows. “I guess that explains the name. So your father is a business owner, too.”
“Was,” he retorts quickly. “He passed away fairly recently.”
A sudden wave of guilt washes over me. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”
Emotion and pain settle into Rome’s body, sinking his shoulders and quickly erasing the aura of invincibility he’s usually covered in. I watch it all fall away and be replaced by a melancholy gloom that darkens the room.
After a moment, he shakes his head. “Don't be. So, tell me about yourself.”
My brows raise, and I may have whiplash from how fast he changed the subject from his father to me. With agony hanging from his face, it’s clear that the topic of his father is still with him, but it’s a wound he’d rather ignore than discuss.
I clear my throat, trying to move away from the topic instead of asking the morbid, obvious questions everyone thinks of when hearing a loved one has passed. How did he die? Were you two close? How are you coping? Are you okay?
“You want to know about me?” I inquire instead of uttering the questions I really want to ask. “Shouldn't we be talking about Nix and the pitch?”
“We will,” Rome answers. “But I just took over as CMO and I haven't had the chance to sit down with each employee and get to know them. I’m not some heartless asshole who only wants to get work out of the people at Sandcastle and nothing more. I'd like to know a little about everyone, but with work going on it gets hard to have a private meeting with the entire company. Since I've got you here, I figured I may as well learn who you are. How'd you end up at Sandcastle?”
So he wants to get to know me, but only because he's a boss trying to learn about his employees. As I told Jaz, Michael, and Jeremiah, every sign points to Rome not being interested in me. I'm sitting across from him in the sexiest dress in my closet, but his demeanor is still the same as when our paths cross at the office. Strictly professional.
“Well,” I start, “Marketing was the career path I chose in college, so it only made sense when I graduated to find a job in the field in which I’d just obtained a degree. There's no special story linked to a parent or how I fell in love with marketing at a certain time. It’s just the thing I chose to do.”
“So, you don't love it?”
I shrug. “I enjoy what I do and I love being creative, but I still think of it as work. It’s not like I enjoy it so much that I’m doing it in my spare time at home. Trust me, this will be the only time I talk about my job outside of the walls of Sandcastle.”
He chuckles with a barely-there smirk. “I can respect that.”
“How about you?” I ask.
“Fairly similiar,” he replies. “I got my degree for a couple of different reasons, including helping my father advertise this place, but I ultimately wanted to do my own thing. I ended up at Bell Liberty and worked my way up, but disagreements with management slowed my progress. I’m ambitious, and sometimes it rubs people the wrong way when it looks like you're going to bite off more than you can chew.”
“Wait a minute. Hold on. You're ambitious ? You? No way,” I quip.
I giggle at my own joke, but then something else happens. As I laugh and ignore my own cringiness, both sides of Rome’s mouth lift up, his lips part slightly, his perfectly white teeth show, and he finally unleashes a full smile as he looks directly at me. I’m so taken aback by how gorgeous it is that I stop laughing. My own smile fades away and I just look at him. As if I needed another reason to find him attractive. This is the icing on a cake that was already perfect, and butterflies explode in my stomach as I realize just how drawn to this man I really am. I know he's not in the lifestyle, but I want him anyway. I don't know what that says about me, but I don't even care. Rome Giovanni may be the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my thirty years on this Earth.
“Funny,” he says, still beaming. “I know it’s obvious, but I’m not ashamed of it. My father was always on me about being an entrepreneur and having my own businesses. He wanted me to take over the two that he owned, but I wanted more. I saw a chance to fulfill a dream when Larry Thomas got indicted, so I took my shot and hit the mark. I wouldn't be sitting across from you right now if I wasn't ambitious.”
I nod along, still stunned by his smile even as it dissipates. “I hear you. Well, you're certainly shaking things up at Sandcastle.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It’s too early to tell. Trying to bring in a Nix Malone account is definitely … something. If it all works out, you're a genius. If not … well, I guess you will have bitten off more than you could chew, and Sandcastle will suffer because of it. Time will tell.”
Rome smirks as he nods, but I can't tell if it’s because he's agreeing or another reason.
“You're a straight shooter aren't you?” he asks.
I shrug. “When I don't have to worry about it getting me in trouble.”
Rome keeps nodding, active thoughts keeping his body in motion. “You're interesting, Nia, I must admit. You're honest, which is refreshing, and you have smarts to go along with your passion. When you put it all together it’s quite formidable. I can see why you've done so well at Sandcastle. I can also see why Sierra would be threatened by you.”
I roll my eyes before sipping my wine. “Ugh. I don't even know where all of that came from. Sierra has always been very robotic, but she and I have never had drama like the shit she came into my office with.”
“It came from you,” Rome says. “She must've had a thought or feeling about you before now, but your pitch, and my reaction to it, was enough to push her over the edge. Your presentation was perfect. I understand her concern for being replaced. Although it’s unwarranted, your talents being on display made her question her own. I don't like it, but I get it. You were phenomenal.”
My smile is filled with blush that reddens my cheeks. “Thank you. Jeremiah and I are a good team.”
“I see that. Did the two of you discuss how you would present the pitch if you actually won?”
“Not really. I figured we’d cross that bridge when we got there, and there was no guarantee that we ever would.”
“True, but now you're here, about to cross a very shaky and unpredictable bridge. Are you ready?”
I nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be. You'll be there with me, though, right?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Because we both know Nix’s reputation, and it wouldn't surprise me if he’s rude when he doesn't like what he hears. I imagine someone like him has no fear of acting ridiculously when he isn't a fan of something. Who the hell would ever tell him to stop?”
“I would,” Rome answers quickly, his gaze trained on me. “While I am aware of Nix’s reputation, I would never allow him to disrespect you in any way. You don't have to worry about that.”
With wide eyes I ask, “You're going to stand up to Nix Malone?”
“If I had to, to make sure you feel safe? Yes.”
A smirk crawls onto my mouth as I look at Rome for signs of joking, but he never shows any. His face doesn't twitch and he definitely doesn't laugh. He gives no indication whatsoever that he’s kidding, only a stone face and a fiery gaze.
“You're serious?” I ask.
“Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”
“Because it’s Nix Malone. He and Solomon King are the most feared people in this city. Why would you think you could stand up to them?”
“To make sure that you feel safe,” he says again, this time with emphasis to make sure I get it. He even lifts his eyebrows and stares at me, really pushing the point.
Rome is as serious as a heart attack. It’s so incredible that he would be serious about this that all I can do is giggle. It just keeps coming, doesn't it? The looks. The demeanor. The Dom vibes. He clearly has money since he bought Sandcastle and we’re currently sitting in a restaurant that his father owned. He’s polite and doesn't shy away from complimenting me, then turns around and tells me how he would defend me against the city’s most notorious villains. He is practically piling on the unfairness at this point.
As I laugh at my thoughts and shake my head, Rome’s head tilts as the waiter comes to the table to take our orders. We breeze through our selections and have our glasses of water and wine refilled, and the second we’re alone again, Rome smirks.
“What was so funny?” he asks.
I shake my head again, still in disbelief of it all. “It’s just … you. It’s … I don't even know how to explain it—or if I should.”
He watches me without speaking, waiting patiently for me to continue, and the silence makes me feel obligated to keep going.
“Look,” I say, my brows raised. “It’s like I told you in the breakroom the other day. I’m a submissive, and you just carry very Dominant vibes. I’m sure you're not into it or whatever, but saying that you would protect me from known gangsters and then gazing at me with that look on your face is just unfair. You're too much, and Sierra has already caught me staring at you, and I have been through the ringer with men in my private life. I … ugh … let me stop. I should've never ordered wine before dinner.”
Rome lifts his brows to the top of his forehead, a tiny smirk tempting his lips. I’m so embarrassed at how I just let all of that out, all I can do is lift my wine glass and knock back what’s left of it, wishing it could make him forget everything I just said. If only being wine buzzed came with magical powers of amnesia. Unfortunately, it doesn't, and Rome looks at me with an amused expression on his face.
He shakes his head slightly, thoughts clearly running rampant in his mind, and I’m convinced that he is about to get up and walk out. Surely this is over, and it wouldn't surprise me if he decided that I shouldn't pitch to Nix after this humiliating display I just put on. I should spare myself the embarrassment and walk out before he has a chance to say anything that will make me feel worse, but I sit and wait, my body on the tracks in front of an oncoming train.
“That’s twice that you've said that to me,” he says. “You're a submissive. What does that mean to you?”
I eye him cautiously, wondering what road he's about to take us down. I've never been asked that before, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
“What does being a submissive mean to me?” I repeat, baffled by the question. “Do you know what a submissive is?”
“Yes,” he replies flatly and with no hesitation. “I know what it has come to mean to the rest of the world, and I know what it means to me, but I want to know what it means to you.”
My brow furrows because … why is he asking me this? Even more importantly, what is my answer?
“I … why?” I stammer, the muscles in my face tensing and making me scowl. “I don't understand the question.”
“Is it really that complicated? I would think that someone who’s willing to admit to a virtual stranger that they're a submissive would at least know what it means to them.”
“I do know what it means to me,” I reply, almost defiantly.
“Okay. Then what?”
“It means,” I begin quickly before forcing myself to slow down. I don't know where this is going, but it suddenly feels important that I answer correctly. “It means I'm a woman who craves a man she can trust. When I say that, I don't mean in the typical sense. Everyone wants a partner they can trust to not cheat and to treat them with kindness and respect. That’s a given. What I want is something more than that. I want a man I can trust with my pain, both metaphorically and literally. I want someone who deserves my submission—someone who has earned it by proving themselves to be reliable, authentic, and authoritative. I want to kneel for someone who I know will always stand for me—someone willing to fight and die for me, remain peaceful and live for me, take all of my pain and frustrations away and make me forget that the world exists. I need someone whose back is strong enough to carry the weight of my emotions and concerns as well as their own. I need someone who doesn't judge me, but grows with me instead. Someone willing to explore ever-changing feelings and passions with me as we grow old together and become closer with the passing of time. I want to give myself to someone in every way possible and allow them to use me, hurt me, love me, break me—because I can always trust that they know exactly how to put me back together again. It requires someone who knows each and every single piece of me and how they all fit together, because I want to be shattered and broken apart so that I can forget the world, and then be restored by the one person capable of building me back up.”
When I’m finished talking, Rome doesn't speak. He looks at me, but not the way he usually does. Now he looks as though he is in awe. He licks and bites his bottom lip as his eyes shift downward and back up again, and I suddenly don't feel like he's not into BDSM anymore. At a minimum, he’s intrigued by what I just said. At most, there's much more to him than I thought I knew.
“That enough of an explanation for you?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, that was … you're incredible.”
My mouth was open to speak again, but his words snap it shut. What did he just say? Not it was incredible. I’m incredible. Me?
“You're so confusing,” I admit aloud, shaking my head.
“Why do you say that?”
“You're so layered, and it fills me with an infinite number of questions about who you truly are. You just asked me about submission and what it means to me. Then that response. I just don't know what to think about you.”
Rome releases a sigh and sits up straight. “You want to know more about me?”
“I'd love to,” I answer.
“Okay,” he says, then his eyes find mine and never leave. “I asked what submission meant to you, and the answer is important to me … because I’m a Dominant.”
Five seconds tick by before I breathe, blink, or think.
“What?” I say.
“Since I was twenty-one, so it has been a while,” he says. “That’s why I asked about what submission meant to you. I understand it. I’ve dealt with it and nurtured different variations of it more times than I could count. I understand it more than most, so when you mentioned it the other day in the breakroom, it took me by surprise. I'd been pushing it down while I recovered from the tragedy of my father's death, but you … hearing you admit it openly and proudly ignited it again.”
My heart feels like it pumps it off-beat, the rhythm confused by this admission. I should have known. From the moment he walked through the doors of Sandcastle—the way he dressed, the way the entire building seemed ready to bow and kneel for him, the intimidating way he carries himself and looks at people, his ability to be brutally honest before flipping it over and dishing out compliments without shame. It all points to this. He’s a Dom. I should've known it and now I do, and yet I still can’t believe it.
I try my best to not let this new information get the best of me. Yes, he’s stunningly attractive with all of the characteristics I look for in a Dom, but I can't let him know that I’m lusting for him from across the table. So I push my astonishment down into my belly, swallowing it while it tries to wiggle its way back up my throat like a live worm.
“Interesting,” I force myself to say. “In that case, I played your game. Now play mine. What does being a Dominant mean to you?”
Rome smiles wide, stealing the breath from my lungs in an instant. I even let out a tiny gasp from the sight of it, but thankfully he doesn't hear it.
“A submissive making demands to a Dominant. That’s interesting.”
“You're not my Dominant,” I reply, grinning like the devil.
“Well played,” he says, nodding in agreement. “In that case, it means everything to me.”
“Wow,” I exclaim with raised brows. “That’s about as vague as it gets.”
His smile slowly fades away, and I swear the room darkens.
“It’s all of who I am,” he says. “Every bit and piece of me, from head to toe. The control I crave on a daily basis, the way I conduct my business, the way I speak to people, the way I look at people—I can't help any of it because being a Dom is who I am on the inside. I couldn't turn it off if I tried, and trust me, I've tried.
“I want to be trusted to take the control I so strongly desire. I want it given to me, handed over like a delicate flower that will die if I don't care for it perfectly. I want to know someone so thoroughly that I’m just as knowledgeable on who they are as they themselves, if not more. I want to inflict pain. I want to cause damage and bruise skin, and I want to nurture it all back to perfect health so that it is stronger than it was before.
“Submission is the greatest gift I can ever be given, because it means I've earned the right to be someone’s entire world, and entrusted with the honorable task of caring for it in whatever way they need. I’m their protector. I’m their deviant. I'm their god. I’m their devil. I am the air they breathe and blood that flows through their veins. To my submissive, I am everything. Therefore, being a Dominant is everything to me.”
My lips slowly part as awe takes over my body. The words in my brain float around and rearrange themselves into unintelligible sentences, so I don't dare try to speak. I can only stare, dumbstruck by Rome’s response.
“You shouldn't do that,” he says, lowering his head and cutting his eyes up to meet mine.
“Do what?” I manage to ask in a breathy tone.
“Stare at me like that,” he answers, throwing my own words from the breakroom back at me. “You're not the only one who is affected by a gaze. If you keep it up, dinner will not be what I want to eat.”
Did he just fucking say that?
I don't change my facial expression. I can’t. I've lost all control of my body, especially what it desires. I know it’s unprofessional. I know what everyone in the office will think and surely talk about. They will drag my name through the mud and stomp on it. I will become a villain to them, while Jaz, Michael, and Jeremiah will sing my praises as my life becomes a rollercoaster ride with the highest of highs and lows that sink to the depths of hell. I know how crazy it will be, but I don't care. I can't. Because I've never wanted a man as much as I want Rome. So I keep staring at him until he knows it just as much as I do.
He sees it in me. I can tell from the way he locks eyes with me, his tongue rolling against the back of his bottom teeth while he thinks things I wish I knew.
“Should I take you home?” he asks, but we both know he’s not requesting to end the night. He’s asking to start it.
All rationality goes out the window. I don't think about the pain of the past or the pressure of the future. I am only in the now, and right now he is all I want.
“Yes,” I reply. “Please.”