Chapter 11 – Roman
ROMAN
After I put Braelyn to bed last night, I sat on the floor outside her door, listening to her sleep. I told myself it was so I could make sure she didn’t vomit on her back or anything, but the truth was, I didn’t want to be far from her. I couldn’t be in her bed with her. I knew that.
But I had just married her, and I had a lot of thoughts about that.
I knew it wasn’t real. I knew she’d wake up this morning exactly how she did, with regrets and incredulity and wanting to brush the whole thing away like a bad dream. So I took that time last night on the floor, listening to her slow, even breaths, to come to grips with that.
I promised to love her forever, forsaking all others, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, until death did us part.
And I meant it. I meant every word because there is no one else I’ve ever considered marrying.
I had hoped that one day, I’d fall out of love with her and move on, but I never pictured marrying.
I’m not really the type, I don’t think. That was always Nash.
But there I was, married to my best friend, to my dead brother’s ex-girlfriend, and my current best friend’s ex-fiancée.
Not to mention, I was planning on leaving her in less than two months for another country.
Another life. As you can imagine, there was a lot to process with that.
A lot of guilt to sift through because even though it’s tied to some of my standard guilt, it was different.
After Nash died, I used to talk to him a lot.
I’d spend my nights lying in bed, staring out the window or up at the ceiling, and I’d talk to him.
A lot of it was apologizing and asking if he blamed me the way I blamed myself.
That if we had returned, would he have asked Braelyn to marry him right then and there even though they were only eighteen.
I’d ask him a million questions I knew would never be answered and then once I’d exhausted those, I’d talk to him about everything inside me that I didn’t know what to do with.
Part of that was turning into Braelyn as our friendship grew tighter, and I started to see her a little differently than I ever had before.
I’d ask him if he hated me for that, the way I hated myself.
After all, she was his girl and not mine.
That was one of the reasons I went to Europe the first time.
To escape those feelings. All of them. To try to move on and regain any piece of my life I could.
So yeah. There was a lot in my head last night and a lot weighing down my heart, but it also felt full. Stupidly, I knew better.
“Okay. We won’t tell anyone,” I manage, the words cutting like a razor as they slice past my tongue.
There is as much relief in that as there is agony. I clear my throat. In fairness, I’m not sure what I’d even tell anyone. I certainly don’t want more press or attention on me and there would be with that since my name is famous.
“There’s food I ordered from room service. I thought we might eat by the pool if you’re up for it.”
“Hell yeah, I’m up for it. Food and a day by the pool sounds freaking amazing as long as I don’t have to do too much and there’s coffee with my sports drink.”
“Always coffee.”
“Perfect. Give me five and I’ll meet you out there.”
Without a word, I leave so she can get herself together.
I do the same, methodically changing out of my sweaty gym stuff and into a clean T-shirt and swim trunks, while forcing myself not to think about the fact that she wants to pretend like last night never happened.
I’m not surprised. Frankly, it’s what I expected, so I don’t know why I’m disappointed now.
Ten minutes later, she’s walking outside to join me under the shade of an umbrella at the table by the pool.
She’s in an annoyingly distracting green bikini top.
It’s the kind that looks like a bra, and it pushes her tits up while offering me a mouthwateringly enticing amount of cleavage that bounces as she walks.
Thankfully, she’s wearing shorts over her bottoms, but I’m starting to think that hanging out by the pool wasn’t my smartest move.
“Happy birthday, husband,” she singsongs, making me crack up the way I only do with her.
Her arm swings around from behind her back to hand me a wrapped package.
“I would have wished you this earlier, but you know, hangover and remembering I was suddenly married made it difficult to focus on other things.”
She’s handling the marriage part better than I would have expected.
Probably because it’s not the least bit real to her.
She’s treating it as a practical joke, if anything.
A stupid dare she followed through with that will magically disappear like it never happened once we return to Boston and get divorced.
I take the gift, my eyes all over the silver wrapping. “You didn’t need to do this.”
“What are besties and wives for? Just so you know, you’re as impossible to shop for this year as you were last. I mean, what do you get the man who has everything or could buy it himself?”
I roll my eyes and get up to hug her. “Thank you. This is incredible.”
“You haven’t opened it yet.”
She takes the seat across from me, and I waste no time tearing at the paper.
There are two things, both of which might be the best gifts anyone has ever bought me.
The first is a travel watch holder that can accommodate up to five watches.
Watches are sort of my weakness, and I have an extensive collection, both modern and vintage.
It’s brown leather and engraved with my initials.
“I love it,” I tell her.
“You don’t already have one?”
I shake my head. “No. Really. This is perfect. But where on earth did you get this picture?”
It’s a framed photograph of the two of us.
It had to have been the summer Nash died, but it’s me holding Braelyn above my head, Dirty Dancing style.
She was obsessed with that movie and made us watch it at least a hundred times with her.
Nash and Adam weren’t as big as I was. It took us almost a week to perfect that move, and on more than one occasion, she nearly ate sand or grass when I’d drop her or fall backward. Nash thought it was hysterical.
Back then, I didn’t notice Braelyn as anything more than my little brother’s girl. This was all just fun, and I almost miss that time. A time when I wasn’t in love with the girl I could never have. The woman I just made my wife.
“Your mom,” she explains, her voice soft, and now that I think back to this picture, I know why.
Nash took it. It was on his phone. My mom must have saved all of the pictures he had on there.
Neither of us had our phones with us that day on the water.
Maybe if we had, I might have been able to call for help when the storm came out of nowhere.
I clear my throat. “Thank you. This is my favorite gift ever.”
A soft smile tickles her lips. “I’m glad. It’s a small gesture and I’m not very good at saying thank you—”
“Really? You don’t say?”
I get an eye roll similar to what I gave her. “Har, har. Some days I’m better at it than others. Anyway, thank you. For everything that you do for me and everything that you are. You’re just… you’re the perfect guy, my best friend, my ride or die, and I’d be lost without you. I hope you know that.”
Warmth slithers through my veins, only to catch on three words. My best friend. I am that. I’ll always be that. But I’d like to add to that title if I could. Then I think of Adam, and my insides plummet.
“Is that why you married me?”
“One of many reasons.” She winks at me.
I hand Brae her food, and she immediately scarfs down her crab eggs Benedict while I pick at an omelet and sourdough toast.
“Have you checked yet?” she asks as she swallows a bite, her eyebrows bouncing.
“Obviously. Why do you think I was up before you? I couldn’t sleep.”
Her head tilts, and an indulgent smile curls up the corner of her lips. “Aw, you’re cute, but self-doubt doesn’t suit you.”
It never did, but over the past week, I’ve been questioning everything. And imposter syndrome is real, no matter how many restaurants you open or how many awards you win.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
I take a sip of my coffee, and she huffs out a breath at my evasiveness.
“Fine. I’ll do the digging myself.” She sets her fork and knife down, wipes her mouth with her napkin, and leans back in her seat, her phone in one hand, her coffee in her other.
She types with her thumb, her eyes glued to her screen, and when she finds what she’s looking for, her face lights up.
“Holy shit! Oh my god!” She sets her mug down and leans halfway across the table, which makes more of her tits spill out, and I wish she’d sit back as she was.
“This chick is practically composing a symphony to you. And that prickly ass from the Chronicle is weeping over how creative, original, and inspiring your dishes are. Dude, he gave you an A.”
“Minus,” I correct.
She flips me off, and I chuckle. “The MICHELIN guide gave you a three. Ah!” she screams. “Oh my fucking god, Roman. Seriously. This is amazing. Your restaurant hasn’t even officially opened yet, and it’s already a critical success.
It’s all over IG, with models who likely don’t eat raving about the food. ”
She chokes up, and I shake my head at her. “Why are you crying? This week is the most I’ve ever seen you cry.”
“I know.” She wipes at her face, a self-deprecating laugh tickling her lips.
“It’s like Adam broke the dam open or something.
But these are happy tears. I’m so, so proud of you.
” She gets up and comes over to me, pushing me back and parking herself on my lap.
She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly, and because I can, I hug her back, holding her to me, breathing in the scent of her hair and skin. “Please tell me you’re happy.”
“I’m happy.”
She pulls back and eyes me. “Do you mean that? Your voice is doing that Roman Fritz thing where it’s all broody and serious and a little tense.”
That’s because you’re sitting on my lap wearing nothing but a bikini top, tiny shorts, and my ring on your hand. I’m trying not to get hard.
“I’m happy. Seriously, I’m very happy. Thrilled even.”
“And it’s your birthday. This is the best. We have to celebrate this.”
“Didn’t we celebrate enough last night?” I hold up my left hand.
“Different celebrating. And it’s not like you could marry me twice. The only thing left is to knock me up.”
I choke. On nothing. Jesus, this girl.
“Gotcha with that. Please, can we celebrate you?”
“We are. This is us celebrating.” My hand on her back rubs between her shoulder blades, and I will it to stay put and not wander or caress. Dancing with her last night was the same perfect torture. Then there was everything that came after.
All of that was both heaven and hell.
It’s funny, I never had trouble listening before to the warning in my head that told me to hold back.
I always heeded its advice because it’s been a constant voice of reason for as long as I can remember.
But it’s as if something shifted inside of me, and now new thoughts are eclipsing all that reason.
Potential. Hope. Promise. And guilt. There is that too. Strong as fucking ever.
She climbs off my lap just as quickly as she sat down and returns to her seat.
“To your continued success and to your every wish coming true.” She raises her coffee mug, and I clink mine with hers.
Right now, I only have one wish left. And I hope it finally comes true without destroying everything else.