Chapter 18 Stay
Stay
Isla
Roman’s confession was difficult for him and earth-shattering for me. A different person sat in front of me—defeated and sad, nothing like the dominant and confident man I had lived with.
None of his words made sense in my head. He burned down my apartment. He killed people.
He was in love with me.
Tears poured out of my eyes unrestrained, both from this conversation and the real fear that Sergei’s words ignited inside me. It was obvious he wasn’t joking, and I wasn’t sure what was safer, staying here or going back to New York.
How could he have fallen in love with me? Why did Roman know my ex-boyfriend’s first name? How did his poor sister die? What kind of a sadistic sicko was he to watch someone burn alive? Why did he have friends like Sergei?
All these questions intertwined with each other inside my head, but all I wanted was to shove my face into a pillow and cry. Cry, cry, cry until I had no more feelings—until I was numb.
It's like I was grief-stricken. Sergei’s threat scared me, yes, but I was sad…so incredibly sad. Because I said the words: it’s best that we don’t see each other anymore. I didn't want to do that. All I wanted was to be with him forever...just like he said.
"Can we please leave? I really want to shower and just fall asleep. I’ll decide what to do tomorrow.” My request was quiet, and all I got in response was defeat in his eyes, bringing on another wave of tears to mine.
In complete silence, Roman drove me home while my mind screamed at me with all the events of the evening.
Roman was in love with me. In love. That was shocking to hear.
Not only because I didn’t think Roman was capable of that feeling, but also because I knew, deep down, that he wasn’t the only one feeling this way.
Still keeping quiet, he helped me out of the car and walked me to my front door, like we were on some awkward date. But my heart hammered inside me, feeling like we were on the precipice of something.
"I'll have security here tonight, but we have to figure out what to do now.
That was a very serious threat." We stood outside my front door, but I had no courage to look at him.
I merely nodded, unsure of what to say or do.
The truth was that I really didn't want him to leave; I just wanted to stay with him, be beside him. ..touch him...love him.
"Okay? Sleep well and call me if anything. Okay?” He double-checked. “I'll come. Anytime. Even if it’s four in the morning,” Roman added, leaning in slightly to catch my gaze, but I kept my eyes on my shoes, nodding quickly.
Fucking fuck, I just wanted him to stay, but I had no words, my mouth refusing to open to pronounce the sentence. "Okay. Good night,” he concluded and waited a second longer before slowly turning away, taking a step toward the staircase.
It was now or never—he was going to leave because I had no strength; I was too timid, too spineless! But I could move. I shoved myself forward and ran up to him, grabbing his hand and stopping him mid-step.
I was either going to explode or pass out. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t ask him, couldn’t even look at him! So, he took charge. Ever so gently, he stepped back toward me, never letting me go. He waited, in silence, for me to find my voice, but only tears appeared in my eyes.
"You want me to stay?" He finally fucking said it, and relief washed over me. Refusing to show him the tears that wouldn’t go away, I quickly nodded, hoping that he would just somehow accept my now completely mute state.
And then, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, and I fell into him, my face against his chest and my body pressed against his strong frame, holding on for dear life. He held me so gently, just supporting me through my silent sobs—just like when we first met.
I was scared. Of everything. Of Sergei, of staying by myself, of Roman leaving...of my feelings.
His large, tattooed hand made it to my chin, and without hesitation, he lifted my face to him. I dared to open my eyes and drown in his once more.
And in that moment my whole world shifted.
I loved him too. His ocean blue eyes, so tender and loving, cemented my feelings, and I knew I never wanted to look into anyone else's eyes ever again.
"I have to do something first. I'll be back in half an hour. Or…why don’t you come with me? But you will have to wait in the car." He spoke so softly, waiting for my answer.
I nodded slowly, basking in the beauty of his smile. My hand in his, he led me back to his car, closing my door like I was precious cargo.
In the same awkward silence, as if afraid to speak to one another, we drove through the city, and I watched the scenery change outside. We sped into what looked like very rich people territory.
"Where are we?" I finally asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
"Bel Air." Roman pulled up to a stunning mansion, the size of which was hard to even comprehend.
As soon as he killed the engine, he turned to me and passed the key.
“Stay here, okay? Don't get out of the car; lock it. Here’s the key.
I'll be back in five minutes." His light smile gave me no confidence, but he was already out of the car, throwing his jacket into the back seat.
"Lock the car." He reminded me before he shut the door.
Very apprehensively, I did as I was told while I watched Roman calmly stroll to a gate and wait to be let in. The gate opened after a few seconds, and Roman disappeared down a wide driveway toward an incredible white mansion all lit up in the darkness behind the tall hedges.
Alone in the car, I wondered where on earth we were and what the hell we were doing here. People who lived here must have done something lucrative for a living. To afford a neighborhood like this?
Just as he promised, five minutes later Roman emerged from the gate, calm and composed.
But in the headlights of the car, his white shirt told a different story—it was all splattered in red.
Blood. He walked straight to the driver’s side and stood there patiently until I realized he was waiting for me to unlock the door.
As if nothing had happened, he slid back into the seat with that same smile, and that’s when I saw it—his knuckles were all mangled, raw, and bloody. His sleeves and chest were stained, large drops of crimson decorating all of him.
Holy fuck. My mind blanked. When he turned and asked for his keys, I scanned him head to toe, searching for an injury, but he was all intact. Whose blood was that?!
Without a word, he drove us back to my apartment, his jaw tensing and relaxing every few seconds. But when I unlocked the door and he stepped inside, I caught it—a stifled groan he tried to hide.
"Are you...hurt?" I asked timidly, not sure how to approach whatever the hell just happened. Whose house was that, and why did he need to do this?!
"No. I'm not. Are you alright?" he lied, changing the subject immediately. We were mere inches apart, and I gained enough courage to grab his hand and bring it closer, inspecting his busted knuckles and broken skin. Fuck. Touching him like this—on purpose—was a whole experience in and of itself.
I wanted more. My trembling fingers found the top button of his shirt, and I gulped as I popped it open. One, two—five, I unbuttoned the bloody shirt, his strong and tattooed body being revealed to me with every passing second. He took a small step closer and whispered, “What are you doing, Isla?”
What was I doing? My eyes took in the sight, greedily, like I was starved. A bruise was taking form on his ribs, and I reached for it, my fingers brushing his warm, tattooed skin. He took a sharp breath in and stepped closer, taking all the light with him again.
As discreetly as he could, he smothered a groan, his muscles tightening and shifting underneath my fingertips. Good Lord. In an instant, an image flashed in my mind—him above me, body pressing into mine, his energy consuming me.
He smelled so fucking good. It wasn’t cologne, it was him. God, he smelled fresh, clean, mouthwatering. Like sin.
Like lust.
"I forgot that you're almost a doctor.” He chuckled through his obvious pain.
"I studied psychiatry.” I straightened out, catching the hungry look in his eyes. "Go take a shower. Really freeze your ribs. I…” I contemplated whether to tell him the truth, but there was no use hiding anything. “I…stole some of your clothes so...I can give you something to change into."
His jaw dropped in mock surprise, so overdone it made me giggle. I nudged him toward the bathroom, then returned with a towel, his black t-shirt, and a pair of gray sweatpants I’d pulled from his closet. Roman didn’t say a word—just watched me with that enigmatic smile that I so loved.
I stood at the foot of my bed, letting the dress pool on the floor as I stepped out of it, my mind spiraling. What was my plan, exactly? I’d brought Roman home. I had one bed. And I had the hardest fucking time resisting him.
And he was in love with me. The words rushed inside my head, once more stunning me to my very core.
Confused and shaken from my own ruminations, I pulled on my pajamas, shivering with real fear at what was happening between us.
What the fuck was I doing?! A logical thought broke through. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know what he did or what he just did. Who did he beat up, and why?!
Roman emerged from the shower looking like some kind of forbidden candy. His black hair was slicked back, and large drops of water collected at the ends, right at his nape—the exact place my fingers ached to touch.
My gaze slid to the gray sweatpants, and the sight of him—casual, comfortable, at home in my apartment—was almost too much. I bit back my own groan as I brushed past him on my way to the bathroom. I washed off my makeup, brushed my hair, and found some cream.
Roman was at the window again, somehow looking larger than the last time he was here. "Lift your shirt up.” I spoke from behind him, doing my best to avoid looking him in the eyes.
I smoothed the cream over his ribs, literally salivating at the proximity. Hot, I was hot just at the touch.
"What is this?" he asked, watching me closely.
"Stuff we used to use for sore muscles."
"Who's we?"
"When I danced…I used to practice everyday.
For hours. And then compete on the weekends.
So everything hurt. But this is some kind of natural remedy.
Wild yam or something. Works really well, actually.
" I screwed the aluminum cap back on and forced myself to step back, busying my hands with a Ziploc bag and ice.
“But ice works great too." I threw him a smile as I pressed the bag to his side, pushing a yelp out of him. I couldn’t stop my little giggle at his reaction.
"Damn it, Isla!" He accused me as he breathed through the shock of the cold.
Ugh. Say my name again.
"You hungry?" I blurted, trying to fill the silence since we just stood in my kitchen, looking at each other. "I don't have a dining table, but look, I have a couch now."
"At this rate, you'll have the place fully furnished by Christmas." He spoke quietly, putting a nervous smile on my face.
I suddenly regretted everything. Bringing him to my apartment, this whole evening, moving to L.A. I was feeling something so deep, so raw, it alarmed me. I wasn't fucking ready for any of it.
"You still have that champagne I brought you?” His grin widened, flashing his perfect dimples at me. “Let's celebrate your second new apartment. I won't burn this one down. I promise."
Like a professional sommelier, he popped open the champagne and poured it into my water glasses, since I had no champagne flutes.
Literally shaking inside from nerves, I clinked my glass with his and took a sip, reminding myself to breathe. Timidly, I motioned toward my modest couch, and he followed me, sitting down on the opposite side.
After minutes of awkward silence where he merely watched me, I took a huge gulp for courage and finally asked, "Whose house was that?"
His expression hardened immediately. He raised his glass to his lips, taking a slow drink before he told me the truth and scared me to the bottom of my very soul. “Sergei's."
My breath stalled right then and there. My gaze traveled down toward his mangled knuckles, and I assessed the damage, realizing I forgot to bandage them.
What kind of injuries did Sergei have…if Roman’s knuckles were skinned raw?
"W-why? What did you do?" I squeaked out, unable to fully formulate my thoughts.
Roman watched me silently before pinning me with his gaze, delivering his next words without hesitation. "He touched and threatened what was mine, Isla. Did you really think I was just going to let it slide?"