Chapter 8 – Braelyn #2
He walks over and drops onto the sofa beside me. “You needed to get out of Boston, and I needed to come to Las Vegas. Everything in this city is over the top.” He pauses, his brows pinching. “Is it too much? Did I go too far? I can call them and get us two regular rooms in the hotel.”
“Are you crazy? A regular room when we have this?”
He laughs.
“Seriously, though, it’s amazing, and it means everything to me. You don’t act like a billionaire and sometimes I forget just how much you’re worth. I’m not used to being Fritz-level spoiled, is all.”
He grins. “I know. I plan to enjoy it.”
“Careful. If you’re too nice to me right now, I might start crying again, and then where would we be?”
“In Vegas, in a very nice villa, with plenty of alcohol to drown your sorrows. Oh, there are chocolate-covered strawberries under that metal dome.”
“Now you’re not fighting fair. I’m a woman on the edge.”
He shifts and drops his arm around my shoulder. “Maybe you just need to hit things. Punching bags with Adam’s face affixed to them. I can get you that in under an hour. I know some people.”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it, half-amused, half-broken. “I bet you do.” Then I sit up straighter. “Wait, are you doing a fight while we’re here?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m very careful where I do my fights and the Vegas underground scene is a different level. This is all work, with some fun mixed in. I’m glad you’re here. Otherwise, it would have been all work and no fun.”
He’s right. We’re here to have fun, which isn’t something he does all that often and rarely for himself. I’m here to see my best friend’s new restaurant and celebrate him, and not think about the fact that my life has fallen apart a bit and my heart has been used like a trampoline.
“Maybe it’s that I feel like a cliché.”
His brows furrow. “How so?”
“The jilted bride runs off to Vegas with the hot, tattooed bad boy.”
A smile splits his lips. “Could be worse clichés. Imagine if I weren’t hot. And it’s not like you’re doing anything all that crazy or extravagant. We didn’t bet ten grand on one hand of roulette, and we didn’t have Elvis race you down the aisle to me. It’s all good and safe. You’re on vacation.”
I snort a laugh. “True. I haven’t had random get over my ex sex. I didn’t cut or dye my hair or even get an ill-advised tattoo.”
“Ah, but once again, the day is young.” He stands and extends his hand to me. “I need to be at the restaurant soon. Do you want to shower or eat anything before we go do that?”
“I get to go with you?”
He peers at me. “Only if you want to, kid. If not, you can go shopping or to the pool or even hang out here.”
“No. I want to.” I do a little jump. “I want to see your greatness. Let’s go.”
Decision occupies a prime location in the hotel, overlooking fountains and a beautiful garden. Its entrance is marked by a sleek sign that’s all hard lines and tarnished metal. The space is still closed to the public, but staff move purposefully inside, preparing for tomorrow’s soft opening.
Roman places his hand on my back as we enter, and I can feel the touch of nerves and excitement in him.
The interior unfolds before us with black chairs and wood floors, crimson wallpaper on accent walls, matching linens, roses on the tables, and ambient vintage lighting with burnished yellow Edison bulbs creates a cool, hip, old-world yet modern, intimate space within the larger room.
The design is distinctly Roman.
Nothing flashy, nothing unnecessary, but every detail considered and perfect and badass. It’s a total vibe. “I love it.”
He turns to me. “You do?”
I nod vigorously. “Yes. It’s incredible.”
Before he can reply, a tall woman in a tailored suit approaches with a smile that brightens when she recognizes Roman. “Chef, it’s good to see you.” She gives him a warm handshake.
“Lydia, this is Braelyn Albright,” Roman introduces. “Brae, this is Lydia Chen, our restaurant manager and the reason I can sleep at night.”
Lydia extends a hand, her grip firm. “Oh, Braelyn. I’ve heard so much about you. Roman mentioned you so many times, I feel as though I already know you.”
Shocked by this, I raise an eyebrow at Roman, who suddenly becomes very interested in adjusting his sleeve. I return my attention to her. “All good things, I hope?”
“The best,” Lydia assures me. “Though he failed to mention you’d be joining us for the opening. I’ll make sure we add your name to the VIP list.”
“I’m just here for moral support,” I say, taking in the restaurant some more. “And to see what all the fuss is about,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow in the side.
“Well, we welcome the feedback,” she replies with a conspiratorial smile. “Leaf is in the kitchen if you want to check in. They’re plating some test dishes now.”
Roman nods, and I follow him through the restaurant toward the kitchen.
As we walk, staff members acknowledge him with a mix of respect and nervousness that I find both amusing and impressive.
My best friend, the intimidating culinary genius.
It’s still sometimes hard to reconcile this Roman with the one who reads classics and lets me beat him at Scrabble.
The kitchen is a marvel of stainless steel and precision, larger than the one at Roundhouse but with the same energy. A man with salt-and-pepper hair looks up from a plate he’s examining, and his face breaks into a relieved smile.
“Chef,” he says, straightening. “Just in time.”
“Leaf,” Roman replies, shaking his hand before panning it toward me. “This is my friend Braelyn.”
“Leaf Gomez. I’m the head chef here. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
Finally? I blink, surprised again at being known. “Likewise,” I manage.
Roman clears his throat. “What are we tasting today?”
The redirect is obvious, but I let it slide, curious about what exactly Roman has been saying about me to his staff. Leaf leads us to a preparation table where several dishes are arranged in various stages of completion.
“Each course has a wine pairing except for the dessert, where we have a cocktail to go with it. Allow me to present roasted heirloom tomato and burrata with crispy prosciutto, topped with a pea and walnut pesto, and an aged balsamic glaze. Homemade fettuccine con fungi with shrimp, lobster, and scallops in a black truffle cream sauce. The Wagyu preparation you were concerned about, and finally the almond indulgence cake with a chocolate and coconut glaze paired with an espresso martini.”
Roman examines each preparation with the intense focus I’ve seen him apply countless times over his own dishes.
He’s meticulous. A control freak through and through.
He tastes, considers, and makes small adjustments.
A sprinkle of salt here, a repositioning of a garnish there, a change in the wine pairing with the pasta. When he’s satisfied, he turns to me.
“Your turn. And be honest.”
I approach the tasting with the seriousness it deserves, though I’m hardly a foodie.
I’m also spoiled by Roman’s cooking. The tomato and burrata explode in my mouth, the pasta melts on my tongue, and the Wagyu is, well, it’s fucking fantastic.
It’s cooked to a perfect medium-rare, with a crust that creates a textural contrast to the buttery interior. I legit just had a food orgasm.
“Well?” Roman asks, a touch of uncharacteristic impatience in his tone, and I notice both him and Leaf watching me intently.
“It’s…” I search for words that won’t sound hyperbolic. “Extraordinary. I mean, I’ve had your food more times than I can count, but these dishes are fun, with unique twists that take my mouth on an adventure, and the wine complements them all. And this cake and martini are scrumptious.”
“Yeah? No bullshit?”
“No bullshit. I swear. This might be my favorite of your restaurants.” I finish off the martini because hello, alcohol and caffeine in one.
“I’ve been very intentional with this menu,” Roman tells me, sipping at some of the wine.
“Yes. We wanted it to be a journey,” Leaf agrees. “We really stretched our creative minds with this. Sort of old and new Roman.”
“Explain that to me.”
“All my menus are personal,” Roman states matter-of-factly. “I pick every dish on them. Some are fun for me. Some are challenging for both the chef and diner. But Decision has a journey to it. Choices I’ve made along the way. Things that have happened. Some I’ve won and some I haven’t.”
“You don’t lose, Roman, and you fail at nothing.”
His lips twist down. “That’s not true, kid. I’ve lost plenty, and I don’t always get what I want.”
The weight of those words hangs between us, laden with meanings I’m not sure I’m able to fully decipher.
“But I’m excited for this,” he finishes.
I beam at him. “Me too. And you’re very nice to the people here.”
He laughs, and so does Leaf. “I see she knows you well.” Leaf turns to me. “Trust me when I say, this is a rarity, and it must be because of the company, so thank you for coming. Otherwise, we’d get Chef and not Roman.”
Roman simply shrugs, unapologetic as he always is.
“Show me the rest?” I ask, gesturing to the broader kitchen.
“I want to see everything.” Roman takes me on a tour, showing me every last detail.
When it’s done, we’re back where we started in the kitchen.
“I think you’ve created something remarkable,” I tell him honestly.
“Not just the food, but the whole experience. It feels like you. Precise but not cold. Thoughtful but not pretentious.”
His eyes move to mine for a long moment, an expression I can’t quite read crossing his features. “Thank you. That means everything. Your opinion is the one I value most.”
“Other than the critics,” I quip.
“No. It’s yours.”
Heat floods me, sending sparks of pleasure across my skin.
The moment stretches between us until he suggests we take a walk, and I don’t know what’s happening or why my heart is beating like this today.
I think of Adam, of the life I thought I was building that’s now collapsed.
I think of Roman, always there, always solid, even as he pursued his own dreams across the globe.
I think of us, standing here in Vegas, both unmoored in different ways.
I feel a lightness I haven’t experienced since finding Adam with that woman. It’s not happiness exactly. I’m still too raw for that. But something adjacent to it. A reminder that even as some doors close, others stand open. That some decisions aren’t as final as they feel.
I don’t know where I’m going to live yet or how it will feel not to have Adam as a fixture in my life. I don’t know how my heart will heal or what scars I’ll carry from this.
But right now, I don’t have to stress about it.
I can just be in the moment as I said I wanted to do. Vegas glitters around us, a city of second chances and new beginnings. And for the first time since I saw Adam with that woman, I’m excited to believe that both are possible.