Chapter 46 All Mine
All mine
Isla
I hadn’t given Roman's jokes and small talk about marriage any real thought. But when I saw a thousand twinkling lights lit up the night sky, I knew something was about to change irrevocably.
And there he was, standing on one knee, visibly nervous. The snow tumbled down in big clumps, silently intruding into our bright bubble of love. I wanted this moment to last forever, and I was grateful he could barely get the words out.
I soaked it in—him, the lights, the winter, the precipice that we were approaching. I was so hopelessly in love with him. This was a no-brainer; yes, I would marry him. Yes, of course, I wanted to spend the rest of my life by his side. I wanted to have kids and get railed at night only by his dick.
"Isla? You're going to have to give me an answer, baby. I'm getting a little nervous here." His anxious chuckle woke me up from my daydreams.
"Yes.” I nodded, unable to look away from the worry in his eyes. “Yes, of course!"
He beamed, quickly rising to his feet and, with shaking hands, cradling my hand in his. I watched, as if this was a movie, a giant diamond ring slide onto my finger.
Our cocoon of love imploded when his lips met mine—soft, warm, passionate. This was the best moment of my life. In fact, the best moments of my life happened daily with him; it was impossible to choose just one.
Snuggled into Roman's side, I lay awake in the middle of the night and marveled at the sheer size of my engagement ring.
I could definitely hurt someone with this thing—it was a fucking rock.
The emerald cut diamond reflected every single glimmer of light in the dark night.
This was beyond a statement piece. This was Roman's very loud declaration to the world that I was taken.
How did I get so lucky? To meet a man who made me so happy? Who fulfilled my every wish? Whose gaze melted me? Whose touch stirred all my wildest desires?
A man who loved me for who I was, every part of me.
Yes, I was happy now, and my life had changed since meeting him, but I couldn’t forget how I felt when Roman washed the dried blood off my legs six months ago.
Like I didn't want to be alive. Alone, abandoned, depressed, and trapped in a vicious cycle of death. And Roman…he was part of the reason I ended up there. That wasn’t something I could just forget.
I didn’t know if I had forgiven him. Maybe I never fully would. But learning the truth about my mom and dad altered something in me. Roman had taken many lives, but in a twisted, undeniable way, he’d also given me mine back.
Life was strange. I met him because of death, and yet being with him made me feel more alive than I had ever been before.
I turned to look at him—his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm, his closed eyes watching dreams. A ruthless, brutal, severe, and vicious man was a soft teddy bear with me.
The thought made me giggle. He was all mine.
My chest bursting from emotions—or maybe a feeling of accomplishment—I tiptoed downstairs to get a glass of water.
My apartment was silent and cozy, filled with pleasant memories since he’d arrived back in my life.
It was a bit messy, and some more things were due to arrive next week—like the dining table—but an aura of undeniable joy permeated every corner.
I took a peek out the window before heading upstairs, itching to enjoy the winter wonderland one last time, but instead, I caught sight of a car parked right outside the building. The same car that we noticed when we came back from vacation. What the hell was it doing here again?
I told myself Roman and I had been overthinking it all. It was probably nothing, just a coincidence. The pictures set us both on edge, and ever since then, I’d been more vigilant, unsure of what I was looking for. It was easy to read too much into any small thing.
But then the driver’s door swung open, and I froze. A young man stepped out, lightly shutting the door behind him. Moving slowly, like he had all the time in the world, he leaned against the car and lit up a cigarette in a puff of smoke.
He took a long drag and lifted his head, his gaze settling right on my windows. I ducked behind the curtain, my heart beating in my throat. I peeked through the gap in the fabric, noticing that he was still looking this way. Not the building, not the entrance, my windows.
I debated waking Roman, but it felt ridiculous!
So what if some guy was smoking outside?
He probably wasn’t staring at my windows; everything just felt so much more dramatic in the middle of the night.
I waited for a minute longer, and the man tossed the cigarette to the side and climbed back inside the car.
But he didn’t drive off; he just sat there, headlights off, windows closed.
Okay, so maybe he was waiting for someone? An early morning airport drop-off? My paranoia was uncalled for; I was sure of it. Besides, I had Roman. I wasn’t in any danger.
So, I let it go, padded back upstairs, and curled up beside my future husband.
Weeks passed by in a blur of slow mornings, delicious sex, and intense schoolwork. Valentine’s Day and Roman’s birthday arrived with another snowstorm, and I worked overtime to clear my schedule for the entire weekend.
But I had no idea what to get him. What do you get a man who already had everything? So I went with an experience: two tickets to the opera. It was romantic but also an exciting place where we could sneak off somewhere and fool around.
At six in the morning on his birthday, I was already in the kitchen baking him a cake. The countertop resembled a chaotic work of art—flour and cocoa powder decorated every inch.
Just before I heard him wake up upstairs, I plated the cake on a cake stand—complete with candles, incredibly proud of myself.
“Angel?” he called out as he descended the stairs, sleepy and delicious as always.
“Happy birthday!” I sang just as he strolled closer to the kitchen, the sweet surprise in his eyes an unforgettable sight.
He froze for a few seconds as he looked over the cake and me, wearing only his t-shirt, dirtied with cocoa powder.
“Is this…for me?” he asked, bewildered, but clearly filled with joy.
I paused at that question. Had he never had a birthday cake before?
“Of course, baby. Happy birthday!” I took a few steps closer and lifted up on my tippytoes for a kiss.
Roman melted, indeed, like he’d never had candles and a birthday cake before. His smile was so genuine, so happy, so boyish—exactly the smile I’d come to admire with my whole heart.
His lips whispered dirty promises and sweet nothings in my ear all day, and his fingers worked their magic underneath my skirt as we listened to Tosca in the private opera box that evening.
The birthday gift was a success but…
I got him something else, too. Something I knew we would both enjoy in bed.