Chapter 33
VAL
“I would not have guessed you were a Billy Joel fan.”
Roman glances over from the kitchen area of his open-concept penthouse, a sheepish look on his face.
“I…” He opens his mouth, then closes it again and shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Hold up. What were you going to say?”
“N-nothing.”
I roll my eyes, leaning against the shelves and shelves of vinyl. “Bullshit. Say it.”
“Forget it.”
“Roman…”
He sighs, putting down the bottle he’s just pulled from a shelf. “Okay. I was going to make up some excuse about why I have it—”
“By ‘it’ you mean literally every Billy Joel record, including live albums and European imports. On vinyl. Here.”
He glares at me. I grin back. Then his brows raise as he runs his gaze over me.
“You…wanna put on some pants?”
I glance down at my dick.
“Not particularly. Why, do you mind?” I wink at him, loving the way his face turns red.
“Not in the least,” he says, his voice dropping as his gaze lingers on my cock.
“Good.” I grab the base of my junk and wave it at him, making him crack up. “Because I’m not. Also, this doesn’t get you out of the Billy Joel question.”
“What the fuck is wrong with Billy Joel?” he mutters.
“Nothing! But I said it, and you got all immediately defensive!” I laugh.
He sighs and pours a glass of whatever’s in the bottle. “Fine. Most people I’ve had over…” He shrugs. “Just don’t get Billy Joel.”
“And by most people,” I mutter. “You mean girls that you’ve brought over to fuck in a vain attempt at—”
“Okay, okay, we get it,” he groans. “And Billy Joel is not a guy thing.”
When I eye him, waiting for more, he finally caves.
“My mom loved Billy Joel.”
I nod, giving him a warm smile. Evie’s told me about their mom passing away when Evelina was just five. Which means…
“I was twelve when she died,” he says quietly, like he's reading my mind.
He inhales and exhales slowly, takes a sip from his glass, and walks over to where I’m standing by the records. He’s not wearing much more than me, just boxers. But somehow it makes him look…classy. And it makes me feel like a weirdo savage to have my dick out.
“I’m gonna go put on some pants,” I grunt.
“Don’t.”
I grin as my gaze drifts back to him. “Oh?”
He blushes, shrugging. “I mean… You don’t have to.”
“No no, that’s a whole other vibe than the frantic don’t of a second ago.” I grin when he blushes deeper, and step closer. “Why don’t you want me to put on pants, Roman?”
He smirks. “Because.”
“Because…e?”
“Because you have a pretty cock.”
I snort a laugh, throwing my head back and cackling.
“Pretty?”
“Fine,” he grumbles, sighing. “Handsome. Sexy.”
“Debonair? Can we throw debonair in there?”
“Sure. You have a debonair cock, and I’d prefer you didn't cover it up.”
“Done. Pant-less it is.”
Roman grins. He reaches up, and I groan when he drags his fingers along my bare chest. His eyes drop to one of my tattoos as he traces over it.
“Think you’ll get more?”
I snort. “Always. You?”
He nods. “Yeah. I like the pain and the process. It’s…”
“Cathartic?”
He smiles as his eyes meet mine. “Exactly. Same for you?”
I nod. His gaze drops back to my skin as he traces his fingers over my shoulder and down my bicep until he gets to that frenzied patch of chaotic ink.
His finger stops, and a cold shiver creeps through my veins.
“This one looks like it’s got a story,” he chuckles.
“Nah.” I shrug and pull my arm away. “Just a bad tat.”
He smirks. “For real. I’d kill anyone who put that on me.”
My throat tightens. The chill in my blood turns to ice, flaying my veins open from the inside as I fight to stay in control.
To keep my head above water, and not drown.
“Ever thought about covering it up, or—”
“Maybe,” I mange to say through the tightness in my throat, willing him to change the subject.
To reach out and grab me, to stop me from falling into the abyss.
Mercifully he does, his attention shifting to the flowers on my other arm.
“And these?”
“Lilacs,” I answer.
His gaze raises to mine. “Because of…?”
“Jeff Buckley.”
Roman scowls deeply. “Oh,” he mutters.
I snort. “The fuck do you have against Jeff Buckley?”
“Nothing,” he grunts. “Just never gotten a tattoo about an ex.”
I laugh loudly. “I wish,” I chuckle. “Jeff Buckley, as in, the singer-guitarist? Famous for his cover of ‘Hallelujah’?”
When he gives me another blank look, I groan. “Holy shit, we need to fix this serious gap in your musical education. How the hell do you own every single Billy Joel record in existence but you’ve never even heard of Buckley?”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, fuck.” He nods his chin at my tattoo again. “What’s with the lilacs?”
“‘Lilac Wine’ is another of his songs. I just…” I shrug. “Just love it.”
He smiles. “Play it for me sometime?”
“Count on it.” I meet his gaze. “What was your mom’s favorite Billy Joel tune?”
His mouth twists in a faraway smile. “Hang on.”
He turns and pulls a different album off the shelf before he walks over to the turntable. He puts the record on and turns the volume up before he walks back over to me as the piano notes begin to tinkle from the speakers.
“'Vienna'?” I grin widely. “That was your mom’s favorite Billy Joel song?”
He nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “She used to sing it to me when I was a kid and tell me about this trip she took to Vienna, before she met my father. She always said she wanted to take me there.”
He lifts his head, as if drinking in every note. My elbow brushes his as I slide to the floor, my back against the shelves. He joins me, and we sit there in silence, listening to the lyrics and the roll of the piano.
I wait until his mom’s song—which, by the way, I love; excellent taste, Mrs. Nikitin—ends and “Only the Good Die Young” starts before I turn to face him.
“You need to know something about tonight.”
He turns his head to look at me, then nods.
“I’m not going to go back to how it’s been,” I growl. “The hot and cold, the—”
“No, I know.”
“I need you to really know.” I lock eyes with him. “There’s two ways forward from tonight. One, this was the swan song. Good times were had, but we’re fucking done.”
Roman’s face pales as he shakes his head. “I—I don’t want that.”
“Good. Me neither. Door number two is, you and I are a couple.”
His lips twist into a wide grin. Then, of course, the fear sparks in his eyes.
“Val—”
“I’m not asking you to be suddenly out, Roman,” I say gently.
“Not if you aren’t ready. I understand that your family and the Bratva makes it…
complicated.” I put my hand on his knee.
“I don’t need you to be my out boyfriend.
But unless you pick door number one, you are going to be my boyfriend.
That means we spend time together—even if we’re not fucking, though, honestly, I’m not sure how often we could spend time together without me fucking you. ”
He grins, nodding his head.
“And it goes without saying, I hope, that option two also means you do not take slaggy cunts like Anna, or any fucking girl, out on dates,” I growl.
He nods, but then his brow furrows. “What about you?”
“Please,” I grin. “I’ve never dated an Anna. Jesus.”
He glares at me. “I'm serious. If we’re together—”
“If we’re together…” I growl, grabbing his jaw and twisting toward him.
I lean closer, and he shivers when I suck his bottom lip between my teeth and nip it gently.
“It means you’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s it.
” I tighten my grip on his jaw as I level my eyes at him. “I don’t fucking share what’s mine.”
He grins. “Good. Neither do I. So I have a request, too. No more coed changing rooms at the theater.”
I snort, giving him a look. Then my brows shoot up. “Wait, you mean it?”
“Yes,” he growls. “I know all about how you get changed with the girls every so often.” His brow furrows deeply. “That ends.”
I roll my eyes. “Roman, they’re like sisters—”
“And I don’t want my sister, or any of them, to see you naked.”
I grin. “Is that to protect their delicate sensitivities, or—”
“Nope. Pure, undiluted jealousy,” he mutters, elbowing me. “Happy?”
“Immensely,” I grin, leaning in to kiss him.
He bites his lip as I pull away. “So,” he says slowly. “That's the deal for door number two? We spend time together, we’re dating, even if I…you know.”
“Are still in the closet, yes.”
He makes a face. I grin as I cup his cheek. “Don’t worry, wreckage, I get it. It’s cozy in there. I’ll come visit you and bring snacks.”
He smiles as he turns to kiss my hand. “Okay. I think I can work with that—”
“There’s one more thing.”
And it’s a fuckin’ doozy…
He frowns, bringing the drink in his hand to his lips. I reach for it, closing my hand around his wrist and stopping him. When he frowns in confusion and glances at me, I nod my chin at the glass.
“That stops.”
His brow knits. “What stops?”
“Your less-than-ideal relationship with alcohol.”
He starts to smile, like I’m kidding.
I’m not.
Half a second later, he realizes it too.
“Hang on,” he frowns, still half-smiling. “You’re serious?”
My mouth twists. “I don’t remember my childhood. But I know what addiction did to my parents, and to me and my brother. So, you want the sugar-coated version or the brutally honest one?”
Roman scowls. “I’m a big boy, Val,” he grunts. “I don’t need to be coddled.”
I shrug. “Okay, brutal honesty it is. Remember, I gave you the choice.” I look him dead in the eye. “You’re an alcoholic, Roman. Full stop.”
His face darkens, his brow furrowing as his jaw grinds. But he doesn’t try to insist I’m wrong, and that might be the most telling sign of all.
“I…” He shrugs. “I’m Russian, Val.”
“Don’t.”
He looks away. “It’s not a big deal. I just like to—”
“Drink,” I finish. “Daily. In large quantities.”
His mouth purses as his eyes stab into me. “Why are you making this into something?” he growls. “Why are you making this part of your fucking conditions for you and me to—”
“Because I like you, asshole,” I mutter, poking him in the chest. “I like you a lot more than I probably should. That means I care about your well-being. And I'm saying…” I shake my head. “It has to stop, man.”
His mouth sours. “And if I refuse?”
“Door number one it is,” I say flatly as I go to stand.
Roman’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back down. He exhales slowly, looking at the rocks glass in his hand, twisting it in the low light.
“How…” He swallows. “What you mean by stop.”
“You have a shitty relationship with alcohol, and I don’t see that ever changing because it doesn’t for literally anyone with an addiction to alcohol. So for your own health, and for us, I want you to stop.” I lock eyes with him. “Completely.”
Roman inhales slowly, looking at the glass in his hand again. “I’m not an alcoholic.”
“Prove it. You get to pick: booze, or me.”
Anger flashes in his eyes. “Fuck you, this isn’t fair.”
“Personal boundaries are perfectly fair,” I throw back. “Remember, I’m giving you a choice.”
Roman sets his glass down softly on the ground, lets go of it, and turns to me. He inhales and exhales slowly again, his throat working.
“It’s booze, or you?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Roman suddenly grabs me, and before I know what’s happening, he’s kissing me hard even as he starts to tremble and shake.
Fuck.
“Hey,” I growl, wrapping my arms around him. “You’ve got this.”
“I’m scared,” he chokes, his breath hitching as his forehead presses to mine. “Val, I…I’m fucking scared. I…alcohol is my—”
“I know,” I whisper, holding him tight. “But I’m going to help you. I’m going to be there.” Our foreheads are still pressed together as I raise my eyes to his, cradling him. “I’ll always be there, wreckage.”
His body trembles again. Then he nods, exhaling slowly.
“I—I don’t know where to start—”
“You start with me becoming your new drug of choice,” I murmur.
He smiles weakly, his eyes misty as they lock with mine. “And after that?”
I smile as I pull him into my lap, letting his knees go to either side of my hips as I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight against me. “After that, wreckage, it’s one day at a time. And I’ll be there with you for every single one of them.”
He swallows, shaking as he takes another halting breath. Then his eyes lift to mine, and stay there.
“Okay then,” he whispers. “Door number two.”
“Buckle up, boyfriend,” I growl, searing my lips to his. “You’re fucking mine now.”