Chapter 17
An hour later, Roman was in his kitchen uncorking a bottle of wine when the front desk let him know Ava was on her way up.
He let out a sigh of relief. When he’d tried to talk to Mikayla again, she’d snapped at him to “mind his business” before
sweeping off for a sleepover with her friend.
In the back of his mind, he’d worried that Ava wouldn’t show up. That she’d think coming to his home would be crossing one
of the boundaries she seemed so fond of. Or that she’d somehow guessed he was “catching feelings,” as his sister would say.
But she was here. Thank Christ .
He went to the elevator to greet her, and she stepped out wearing dark pants, simple flats, a cheery yellow blouse, and a
navy blue cardigan. With her large shoulder bag, she looked every inch the middle-school teacher. Roman was so fucking happy
to see her, he couldn’t hold back his grin.
Except Ava didn’t smile back. Her pretty face was pinched with distress, and when she rushed into his arms, she seemed to
be on the verge of tears.
“?Qué pasó, mi cielo?” The Spanish term of endearment slipped out as he noted with alarm that she was shaking. Panic tensed his muscles, and it was a struggle to keep his tone even. “Did something happen with Hector?”
Ava shook her head and clung to him. “No, nothing like that.”
He held her close, that familiar feeling of helplessness rising up in him. “Ava, please tell me what’s wrong.”
She shoved her curls out of her face and took deep breaths. She blinked fast, like she was trying not to cry. “I’m sorry.
I thought I had myself together.”
“Hey,” he whispered, guiding her over to the living room area and drawing her down to the sofa. “You don’t have to have it
all together. Just talk to me. Let me help.”
She shuddered out a sigh as she leaned into him. “Something happened today to one of my students.”
He held her while the whole story came in halting bursts. Apparently, one of her students had gone into anaphylactic shock
in the classroom. Ava had caught the child before they fell out of their seat, then upended their bag to find an EpiPen before
administering the shot. She’d called an ambulance while one of the other kids ran for the school nurse. The child was taken
to the hospital immediately and was okay, but the whole experience had left Ava and the rest of her students on edge.
“Maddie’s fine,” she said. “I know they’re fine, but watching them react like that... The trust my students and their parents
place in me isn’t something I take lightly.”
“You did everything right.” Roman rocked her and patted her hair, wishing he could do more to reassure her. “You knew the
signs, knew the child carried an EpiPen, and knew how to administer it for them. You were prepared, and you reacted immediately.
You’re a good teacher.”
She sniffled. “I know, on a logical level, that all of that is true. But I feel so responsible for these kids. I want to protect all of them from everything. And I couldn’t protect poor Maddie from a rogue peanut butter cookie Armando’s grandma packed in his lunch.”
Ava’s words struck a chord, strumming in harmony with Roman’s own protective instincts. “You did, though. They’re okay.”
“But what if...” Her voice hitched and the look in her eyes was bleak. “Roman, I don’t even want to tell you how often
we do school lockdown drills. Most days I try not to think about it, otherwise I can’t do my job. But afterward, my thoughts
spiraled, thinking of all the ways I might fail, and I barely held it together the rest of the day.”
He tried not to picture Ava or her students in the situation she described. It was a concern he had about his own sister,
especially since she’d be going off to college in a few short months, moving even farther from his protection. But this wasn’t
the time to discuss the country’s inadequate gun safety laws, so he just rubbed Ava’s back and held her.
Moisture gathered in the corners of her big hazel eyes, and Roman used his thumbs to gently wipe it away.
“I’m so sorry.” She covered her face with her hands. “I never cry.”
“It’s okay to cry.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s a release of tension.”
This was why Ava came to him, he realized. With him, she could let off steam—whether through sex, tears, or even just voicing
her frustrations aloud.
He tipped her chin up so she was looking at him. “I’m glad you came here tonight.”
Her lashes lowered, shuttering her eyes from him. “You were the only person I could think to turn to.”
Her quiet admission left him feeling honored, and a little bit awed. He should’ve left it alone, but he couldn’t. “Why me?”
She exhaled and cast her gaze around, like she was looking for the words. “You listen without worrying about me. Without judging
me.”
“Who says I don’t worry?” He slid his fingers into her hair to cup the back of her head. “But you’re right. I’ll never judge
you.”
“I think you’re the only person who doesn’t,” she muttered.
Roman had the feeling she judged herself more harshly than anyone else did, but he kept that thought to himself.
Before he could consider what to say next, her brows drew together and she cocked her head, directing a quizzical glance at
the coffee table.
“What... is that?”
He swallowed a laugh. “That’s my dog.”
The corners of her mouth tilted up. “Your dog?”
Roman picked up the toy and patted its head. The dog barked like it was smoking two packs a day.
Ava’s eyes were still wet, but she let out a surprised giggle. Roman made a mental note to send Camille a gift card for her
favorite restaurant as he handed Ava the dog.
She turned it over in her hands. The shameless animal wagged its stumpy tail and whined. “Does it have a name?”
“We haven’t gotten that far. It only arrived this afternoon.”
“I see.” She gazed down at the silly toy, a smile lingering on her lips. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here and listening. For making time for me.”
A vow hovered on the tip of his tongue, something impulsive, like I’ll always make time for you , but he didn’t want to scare her away. All he said was, “You’re very welcome.”
Then he kissed her fingers before he drew her up from the sofa. “Why don’t we go out to dinner? Somewhere nice.”
He wasn’t sure how she’d react, since she’d been very clear from the beginning that their arrangement was only about sex and
nothing more. But she’d come to him when she was in distress and there was nothing sexual about the vibe tonight. Taking her
straight to his bedroom felt wrong. Would dinner at a restaurant—instead of room service in a hotel room—seem too much like
a date?
But she shook her head. “Maybe I should go. I’m not fit company tonight.”
His fingers tightened on her hand. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. Who knew how long she’d stay away now that he’d seen
her cry?
Mikayla’s words from earlier came back to him. I don’t want you to do anything!
Maybe that was the key here. Not trying to fix it. Not trying to do something.
It ran contrary to everything that drove him, but it was worth a shot.
He rested his hands on Ava’s hips and watched her expression closely. “What do you need right now, sweetheart?”
She bit her full lower lip and looked away, like she was uncertain of how he’d respond. “Would it be... well, could we
just stay in and relax?”
“Sure. You want to have a movie night?” He made the suggestion on a whim, but when her eyebrows twitched with in terest, he went on. “When I was a kid, whenever my mom or I had a stressful day, we’d splurge on a pizza and watch movies. It helped.”
Funny, he hadn’t thought about that in ages, but those were some of his fondest childhood memories.
Ava’s lips curved slightly. “What kind of movies did you watch together?”
He winced. “Well, we were at the mercy of our local Blockbuster. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but that store was
notoriously out of anything good. We once spent an entire Saturday watching four of the Land Before Time movies in a row.”
“Oh no. How old were you?”
He groaned. “ Fifteen .”
She covered a laugh. “Whose idea was it?”
“Mine, I’m sad to say. And let me tell you, nostalgia will only take you so far.” He put his arm around her and led her toward
the kitchen. “Let’s hope we find something a little more engaging than cartoon baby dinosaurs.”
The way she smiled up at him did funny things to his insides, and he found he was more excited about the prospect of a movie
marathon with her than the fanciest dinner in the world.
On their way into the kitchen, Ava stopped short. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in their surroundings.
“What’s wrong?” he teased.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s actually more comfortable than I expected.”
“Which was what? Some sort of sterile open plan living space with chrome furniture and marble floors?”
“Actually, yes.”
He snorted. “As if my Puerto Rican mother would let me get away with that. She thinks minimalism is a dirty word.”
She smiled. “To be honest, I thought you would live in one of those hundred-story glass monstrosities.”
He shuddered. “Not in a million years.”
He tried to see his home as she might. The five-bedroom apartment was located in an unassuming prewar building where Roman
was one of the youngest co-op owners—and only one of two with Latin American heritage. Art from around the world mixed with
framed family photos on the walls. The furnishings showcased a variety of textures in warm colors, with thick rugs covering
cherry hardwood floors. Bits of personal clutter—Mikayla’s purple headphones, his extra reading glasses, a pair of his mother’s
earrings—were scattered about. There wasn’t a hint of marble or gilt anywhere in sight.
“How long have you lived here?” Ava asked, examining the picture frames on the bookshelves. He caught her quick smile when
she spotted his old Little League photo.
“Five years. I bought it when my mother and sister moved in with me.” Before that he’d lived downtown in a fancy new building
full of young professionals, and he’d hated it.
“How many... ”
When she trailed off, he gestured for her to go on. Taking a deep breath, she completed the question. “How many homes do you
have?”
He almost didn’t want to answer. “A house in the Hamptons, another in Puerto Rico, and I’m looking for a place in Los Angeles.
But New York is, and has always been, home to me.”
She nodded, then moved to the windows, where the view of Central Park spread out before them.
He wanted to tell her how he’d spent his twenties living in one shitty studio apartment after another, enduring everything from roaches to poor heating to dorm-size kitchen appliances. But there was no way he could say it that wouldn’t sound defensive.
“Is it too much?” he asked quietly, worried that, like the hotels, the lavish environment would put her off. So he was surprised
when she turned back to him with a soft smile on her face.
“It’s perfect,” she said. “It feels like a home.”
And just like that, his nerves settled.
In the kitchen, they raided his sister’s stash of snacks—Doritos, Reese’s Pieces, and gourmet popcorn—and Ava insisted on
ordering pizza for them to be delivered. She hadn’t brought an overnight bag, so Roman gave her one of his own T-shirts to
change into before they climbed into his king-size bed.
It occurred to him that he probably could’ve found pajamas for her in either his mother’s or his sister’s closets, but there
was something satisfying about seeing Ava in his old University of Miami shirt.
“What’s your favorite comfort movie?” he asked, turning on ScreenFlix.
She busied herself opening the Doritos. “We can watch whatever you want,” she said, then shot him a grin. “Except The Land Before Time .”
“Ha. I noticed you didn’t answer the question.”
“It’s really okay—”
“Ava, please . Whatever it is, it can’t be more embarrassing than what I’ve already told you.”
She searched his face for a moment. “ Pride & Prejudice . The 2005 film version,” she hurried to add. “I mean, I love the 1995 BBC miniseries too, but we’d be up all night and you
have a flight tomorrow.”
Roman had never seen it, and even though Ava told him at least a dozen times that he could pick a different movie, he put it on.
It wasn’t so much about the movie as it was learning what made her tick, to see her reactions and hear her memories from past
viewings.
Snuggled together in bed, they cuddled, joked, ate pizza, and spilled Doritos in the sheets. They didn’t touch the wine.
“This Mrs. Bennet is a trip,” Roman commented, as the woman on screen had another attack of nerves.
“Mm-hmm. I can relate to having a matriarchal relative with no filter.”
At the description of Mr. Darcy, he said, “Are they talking about me?”
Ava squinted at him. “I’d say you’re in conveniently rich.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Only to you. I suppose Darcy’s a step up from Darth Vader, at least.”
She tossed a piece of popcorn at him, then settled her head against his shoulder and continued to watch.
“My cousins and I used to debate who was who,” she murmured. “They argued over who got to be Lizzie.”
“Who were you?”
“They always said I was Jane.”
He noticed that she’d said “they,” not “I.” “Is that the blonde one?”
“The perfect one.” After a moment, she added, “Deep down, I feared I was Charlotte.”
“The one who marries that boiled potatoes pendejo?”
She sighed. “The one who sacrifices her happiness for the sake of her family.”
Ah. He gave her a gentle squeeze and stroked her arm in soothing movements. “Who do you want to be now?”
“That depends.” She peered up at him from under her lashes. In the dark bedroom, the light from the TV flashed across her face, highlighting the sweet arches of her cheeks, her pretty eyes, her supple mouth. She’d piled her curls into a bun on top of her head and washed the makeup from her face. She looked younger, softer, like the embodiment of vulnerability and quiet strength, like the answer to a question he’d never dared to ask.
She was the most beautiful being he’d ever seen.
“On what?” he asked, nearly breathless at the wealth of affection threatening to swamp him.
A smile quirked the corner of her lips. “Are you Darcy or Bingley?”
He lifted a hand to stroke the curve of her jaw. His answer came out husky and full of honesty. “I’m just Roman,” he said.
“And you’re just Ava. That’s all we need to be. Not perfect, not cool, not a martyr. Just us.”
The look in her eyes was so wistful it broke his heart. “I like that better.”
“Me too.”
She fell asleep three-quarters of the way through the movie with her head resting on his chest. He held her and watched until
the end, needing to know why this was the movie that had so captivated her when she was young. He could see how the story
of a woman finding love despite her wacky and dramatic family would appeal, and why she still turned to it for comfort now.
Tonight, though, she’d turned to him for comfort.
A deep sense of fulfillment permeated his soul, and suddenly, their arrangement wasn’t enough. He needed more .
More of Ava. More time with her, more insight into who she was and what made her tick. He wanted to know what she’d been like when she was younger and understand how she’d become the amazing woman she was today.
He wanted strings, damn it.
He thought about his visit with Ashton and Jasmine, about the indefinable connection he’d witnessed between them. Together,
they were more than just the sum of their parts. They were a family .
When he pictured coming home and finding Ava here, maybe grading homework at the dining table or reading in the living room,
he got a weird sort of thrill he’d never felt before, and he wanted it more than he ever could have imagined.
But he needed to go slow. Ava would need to think about it, to take time to get used to the idea of more . He’d have to ease her into it, expanding her boundaries inch by inch until they included him in all aspects of her life,
not just when she needed some kind of release.
So he wouldn’t bring it up right away. He’d stick to her rules for a while longer. But he needed to talk to someone . The good feelings were bubbling up inside him, yearning to be let out.
Heart pounding, he grabbed his phone from the bed and texted Ashton, opening the door to what was sure to be an avalanche
of questions.
Roman: I’ve met someone.