15. Roman
15
ROMAN
37.7749° N, 122.4194° W
I hear a knock and glance at the closed bathroom door as the shower turns on. Walking from the bedroom to the living room of the suite I got Elora and me for the next three days, I open the door, and a woman with a short bob who looks to be around my mother’s age moves her eyes over my tattoos, seeming caught off guard.
“Mr. King?”
“Samantha?”
“No, Samantha is downstairs. I’m Vivian.” She forces a smile and begins pushing a cart into the room. Turning to face me, her eyes wander over me again from my tee to my shorts and bare feet. “We have your credit card on file, right? Samantha is the one who took your call and?—”
“I gave her my card over the phone,” I cut her off, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch and wait for her to question my ability to pay for the items I asked Samantha to send up. Things I don’t think Elora needs, but I never want her to feel uncomfortable for any reason, and I know the restaurant in the hotel is considered “fine dining,” which means they have a dress code in place.
“Do you mind if I have a peek at it?”
“Stay here,” I order and walk across the suite to the bedroom, where I left my wallet. Her reaction to me doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. My tattoos tend to catch people off guard. My grandfather and father were both pissed when I got my first sleeve at eighteen. My grandfather told me to my face that no one would respect a man covered in ink.
His preconceived notion only made me more determined to prove him wrong.
That year, I closed seven real estate deals and made my first ten million on my own. For a long while after that, every time I closed on a property, I got another tattoo. It’s been a couple of years since I got a new one, but my point was made. A silent “fuck you” and a physical reminder to my father and grandfather that their way of looking at the world no longer existed. Mostly, at least.
My clients tend to be younger, the majority of them born from the same old money I was or new money with my same mindset. That mindset included you can’t judge a person based solely on their appearance — not in this day and age.
Hearing the shower still going and wanting Vivian gone before Elora gets out, I grab my wallet off the dresser and take it with me to the living room. I pass her my black card, and her eyes widen slightly before I hand her my ID so she can confirm I am who I say I am.
“Thank you.” She passes the cards back, her hands shaking. “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. Whatever you don’t want, just let me know, and I’ll be back up to retrieve them along with the cart.”
“I’ll be dealing with Samantha going forward.”
“Samantha is new and?—”
“And I’ll only be dealing with her ,” I state, walking to the door and opening it up—a silent demand for her to leave.
She hesitates and looks like she wants to say something but decides better of it, hustling to the door and out. After I close it behind her, I walk to the cart.
Across the bar hang about two dozen dresses, with shoeboxes stacked on the bottom and a few small clutches tucked between them. I didn’t know what Elora would be comfortable in, but I knew after her reaction outside the hotel she wouldn’t be okay showing up to dinner in jean shorts and a t-shirt or even any of her simple dresses.
I push the cart into the bedroom and go back to my computer that I left open on the bed. It’s been a bitch trying to work while I’m on the road, but I’ve been able to keep up with mostly everything, thanks to my assistant Mickey, who’s been with me since before I started my own real estate firm six years ago.
As I’m pressing send on an email sometime later, the bathroom door opens, and Elora steps out wearing a tank top and shorts, with her hair wrapped in a towel on top of her head. Stopping in her tracks, she looks at the cart, then at me.
“Before you try to fight me, the restaurant downstairs we’re going to tonight has a dress code, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” I say quietly, watching her fingers start to tap at the sides of her thighs, something I wonder if she notices she does. “You don’t have to wear any of the dresses I had them bring up. We can both wear shorts if that’s what you feel comfortable in, but I wanted you to have an option.” I look at the rack, then her. “You can keep one thing, or you can keep everything if you like all of it. The decision is completely up to you.”
She studies me for a long time before slowly pulling her gaze off me and walking toward the cart. Tentatively, like the dresses are a venomous snake she’s afraid will strike at her, she reaches out her hand and touches the black dress hanging in front of all the others, then slides her fingers up until she can look at the tag.
“How did you know my size?”
“I checked the stuff in your bag. Did the same for the shoes.”
Licking her lips, she nods, then slides each dress across the rail one by one, carefully inspecting each of them. “What kind of dress code is it?”
“Fine dining, so dinner attire.”
“What does that mean?”
“Normally, a nice dress and heels for a woman, and a dress shirt, slacks, and a jacket for a man.”
“Do you have those things?”
“I do.”
“Okay,” she says quietly but doesn’t say more before she walks to her bag and squats to unzip it. After some digging around, she pulls out a small bag, the green bottle she used for her hair last night, and a round brush. She takes everything to the bathroom with her but doesn’t shut the door. A few seconds later, I hear the blow dryer start.
Thirty minutes later, if not longer, I hear the dryer cut off and set my laptop aside. I get off the bed and walk into the bathroom.
Her hair is dry, not a curl in sight. It looks beautiful like it is now, but I instantly miss her wild curls. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror and follow me as I walk up behind her and capture her waist in my hands. Her cheeks are flushed, probably from the heat of the blow dryer and whatever she did to straighten her hair. My dick starts to harden, imagining her looking the same way last night when I had my hands on her. Something I missed out on seeing with the lights off.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Are you going to shower?”
“I am, but I can wait until you’re done.” The urge to move her hair and kiss her neck is excruciating to deny. Never in my life have I felt the desire to show someone physical affection, but the urge to touch her and have her close is a constant itch under my skin. In the beginning, I chalked it up to my attraction to her, but it’s something more, something bigger than just me wanting her.
“I’ll finish getting ready in the bedroom.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Moving my hand up, I capture her jaw. Once her face is tilted back toward mine, I press my lips against hers, and she sighs like she’s been waiting for me to kiss her all day. When I pull back, I let my eyes wander over her face for a long moment.
I didn’t lie earlier. Every feature of hers is etched into my brain. But there are still tiny details I find that I missed before, like the freckle under her eye that is in the shape of a heart and one on the edge of her lip.
Giving her hip a squeeze, I press my lips to hers one more time, then let her go and step over to the shower while she picks up the bag she brought in here and walks out.
When I get out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my hips after half-ass drying my hair with it before leaving the bathroom. Not seeing Elora in the bedroom, I go to my bag, grab a pair of boxers, and put them on, then drag out my suit bag and take out my pants. As I’m putting them on, I hear Elora mumbling from the living room and wonder who she’s talking to. I walk across the bedroom to the open door and stop, my heart suddenly feeling awkward inside my chest.
The dark-green, slim-strapped, body-hugging dress she chose from the rack fits her perfectly and ends mid-calf, with a slit up the side exposing a good amount of thigh. The color looks stunning on her, and with her hair still mostly down except for one side that she pulled back with a clip and her makeup light but still more than I’ve ever seen her wear, she looks breathtaking.
Leaning against the doorjamb, I watch her walk across the carpet in heels that make her wobble slightly. Her head lifts when I laugh after hearing her curse under her breath.
“I haven’t worn heels since my prom, and that was a hundred years ago,” she tells me, and I smile.
“You look beautiful.” I let my eyes slowly wander over her, and she smooths her hands down her sides.
“It’s not too much?”
“Not even a little.”
“You might have to carry me around. I’m not sure I’m going to master walking in these shoes before it’s time to leave.”
“I’ll carry you wherever you need to go.”
“That’s going to make our entrance into the restaurant for dinner really awkward.”
“I don’t fucking care,” I tell her quietly, watching her teeth dig into her bottom lip. I push off the doorframe and walk toward her, seeing her pupils dilate the closer I get.
“Don’t you need to finish getting dressed?” she asks softly when I reach for her and pull her close.
“I will.” I smooth my hand up her back, her skin so fucking soft beneath my palm. Wrapping my hand around the back of her neck under her hair, I slide my free hand up along the silky material covering her side. Up close, I can see the glimmer of shadow she put on her eyelids, the dusting of blush on her cheeks, and the stain of color on her full lips. Nothing hides the freckles I’ve grown obsessed with.
Lowering my mouth to hers as she starts to lift on her toes, I stop when I hear her cell phone ring—something it rarely does, and not because it’s constantly on silent like my own.
“That might be Kandi.” Her fingers dig into my sides.
I don’t kiss her like I want to. Instead, I brush my mouth over hers, then let her go and follow her into the bedroom. When she grabs her phone from the top of the dresser, I can see her expression change to one filled with unease before she clicks the button on the side, silencing the call.
“Who was it?”
Her eyes come to me. “Tyler.”
“Your ex?”
“Yeah.”
Ignoring the jealousy that wraps around my throat, I grab my shirt and shrug it on. “You don’t want to talk to him?”
“The last time I took his call, he was drunk and wanted to explain all the reasons I ruined his life. That talk didn’t go too well.”
“Why did things end between you two?”
“Because he told me that if I left to take this trip, we were done. He obviously didn’t think I would call his bluff, and he clearly didn’t realize an ultimatum would just push me further away.” Picking up a slim green bag that was brought up with the dresses and shoes, she tucks her cell phone inside. “But hindsight is always twenty-twenty, and looking back, I can see there was a multitude of reasons between us that had us ending. Me leaving was just one of them.”
She looks at me as I slide my belt through the loops of my pants, then continues, “The truth is, I shouldn’t have agreed to marry him in the first place. Especially when one of the biggest reasons I did was because I knew my mom was worried about what would happen to me after she was gone, and saying yes to him would give her a sense of relief. Which it did. It was one less thing for her to worry about.”
She studies me for a long moment, then asks softly, “Have you ever had a serious relationship?”
“I had someone in my life on and off for years, but that’s a conversation for another time.”
She doesn’t push for an explanation, which is good, because I’m not ready to explain Molly to her. Not yet. After putting on my shoes, I grab my cell to check the time and find a text from Jace waiting for me. Judging by the time, he and Penny should be here any minute.
“Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” She picks up the clutch, and I take her hand. When we reach the area downstairs where the restaurant is located, I spot Jace immediately. Like me, he stands a foot taller than most of the people around, and his tattoos are visible with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. My eyes go from him to the woman tucked protectively under his arm. Her head is tipped back as he talks to her, saying something that’s making her smile.
As we get closer, his head turns our way, and he grins. “Roman.”
“Jace.” I don’t let Elora go as he wraps one arm around me, bumping his chest against mine. “It’s been a long time.”
“Too fucking long.” He looks from me to the woman I curl into my side. “You must be Elora.”
“I am. Nice to meet you.” She takes his outstretched hand.
“You too.” He jerks up his chin, then dips it down to his woman. “This is my wife, Penny, and our daughter.” I watch him move his hand to Penny’s stomach.
“Or son.” She rolls her eyes at him, then looks at me. “It’s nice to finally meet you two.”
“You too, and congratulations,” Elora says softly.
“Thanks.” Penny smiles, covering her husband’s hand with her own.
“Should we go in and get our table?” Jace asks, looking toward the podium inside the restaurant.
“Yeah.” I slide my hand from where it’s wrapped around Elora’s hip and take her hand.
When we’re seated a few minutes later, Jace’s eyes meet mine from across the table. “I know I told you over the phone, but I’m really fucking sorry about Val. He was a good guy.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, feeling Elora move her hand to my thigh, and the tension that had instantly wrapped around me at the mention of Val loosens.
“What are your plans while you’re here in town?” Penny asks, looking at Elora.
“I want to walk across the bridge,” she answers, glancing up at me quickly as I wrap my arm around her just to have her closer. “What do you recommend we do while we’re here?”
“You definitely need to take a boat over to Alcatraz, and you have to have a sourdough bowl with clam chowder from Boudin’s down by the water.” She looks between the two of us. “We would also love to have you guys over to our house for dinner before you leave.”
“Roman pointed out where you live when we were driving across the bridge coming into San Francisco. Your view must be breathtaking.”
“It is, so you have to add seeing Goldie from the beach in front of our house when she’s lit up at night to your list of things to do while you’re in town.”
“We would love that,” Elora says softly, leaning into me. As dinner continues, the girls talk about Penny’s job as a teacher and a little about why Elora and I have been traveling while Jace and I catch up. It’s odd to see him so content and hear him talk about possibly selling his company so he can enjoy his family after Penny gives birth to their baby.
He and I have known each other for years, and I’ve never seen him so happy. And I know that happiness doesn’t have anything to do with his multimillion dollar company or any of the shit he owns. It has to do with the woman at his side. A woman he wasn’t looking for when he found her.
As we’re walking out of the restaurant after finishing dinner, Elora’s laughter hits my ears, and when I look down at her just in time to catch the beautiful smile on her face, I get it. Because nothing else seems as important as being able to hear her laugh and see her smile.
For the first time in my life, I think about what I want in the future, the family I might someday have, and my life outside of my business.
“You good, man?”
The quiet question from Jace has me coming out of my head, and I focus on him. “Never been better.”
That truth is a hard pill to swallow because I know what led me to this moment, what led me to Elora, and the future I’m now thinking about.
“You know I’m here, even if you just want to get a beer to catch up.” He takes my hand and pulls me in for a one-arm hug.
“I appreciate that.” I pat his back, then let him go and find Elora’s hand after she hugs Penny.
“Let us know about dinner.” Jace’s wife smiles, looking back and forth between the two of us.
“We will,” Elora replies, then leans into my side, and I let go of her hand to slide my arm around her back.
We stand like that as we watch the two of them walk toward the front doors of the hotel.
“I really like them.”
“Yeah.” I drop my eyes to hers, then bend my head down to touch my lips to hers. “How are your feet doing?”
“They hurt.” She laughs, and I grin.
“You want a piggyback ride up to the room?”
She looks around at the people mingling, then shakes her head.
“Come on.” I let her go and turn my back to her. “Hop on.”
“Roman.”
“Elora.” I look at her over my shoulder, and she sighs before hiking the slit of the skirt up a little, then putting her hands on top of my shoulders. When she jumps onto my back, I ignore the people watching and grasp her thighs as her arms come over to hang loose around my neck. I listen to her bouncing laughter as I not only carry her but gallop toward the elevator. And I don’t let her go until we get to the door of our room.
Two days later, I stand on the beach with my arms crossed over my chest, watching Elora with her head tipped back as she takes in the Golden Gate Bridge and the lights reflecting off the fog that started rolling in after the sunset. When she looks over her shoulder, and her eyes meet mine, I know exactly what she’s thinking.
This is the spot.
For the past two days, she’s carried around the small bottle of her mom's ashes as we traveled across the bridge, to the piers down by the water, lunch at Boudin’s, the boat ride to Alcatraz and the tour of the old prison, and the never-ending hills we walked up and back down as we explored the city. So much walking that each night, by the time we got back to the hotel, we fell exhaustedly into bed. At no point did she ever give me the look she just gave me or even touch the pocket where I know she’s kept the bottle.
As she walks toward the water, I follow her, then stop at her side and wait. I’ve never asked how she’s chosen each place she’s picked to leave the memory of her mom, nor what she’s thinking as she dumps the ashes out, but I know for myself I think about Val. I think about the things left unsaid and the time I missed out on. I was a shit brother, a shit friend, and until he was gone, I never realized that I was the embodiment of every quality I despised in our father.
After watching Elora’s mom’s ashes float away in the wind, I drag her into my arms and hold her against my chest. She doesn’t cry this time. Instead, she clings to me with the side of her face pressed against my chest as the wind picks up around us.
When her hold on me starts to loosen, I kiss the top of her head and let her go so I can take her hand. As we make our way back toward the steps that lead to the deck of Jace and Penny’s house, I notice they’re no longer outside where we left them on the deck so Elora could see the bridge from the sand.
Walking up to the back sliding door, I see Jace and Penny standing in their kitchen, the two of them laughing. When they hear the sliding door open, they look our way, and Penny’s face softens as she glances at Elora.
“Wine?” she asks, and Elora nods as Jace comes my way, holding two beers.
“I’m going to hang with Jace outside for a bit,” I tell her, and she tips her head back my way. Her eyes have no tears, but the leftover sadness from what she just did is etched into her features. I cup her cheek and watch her lids slide closed. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her lashes flutter as she opens her eyes. She leans up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to mine before moving farther into the house.
As she joins Penny in the kitchen, Jace passes me a beer, and the two of us take a seat at the table on his deck.
“I like her,” he says, and I see his attention is focused inside his home and on the girls standing next to each other at the island. Elora is sipping wine, and Penny is eating the cake she made for dessert.
“Me too.” I take a pull from my beer and focus on him across the table. “I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to convince her to come back to New York with me and stay there after she meets my family.”
“I don’t think she’s going to need much convincing.”
“Um… you’ve met my family.”
“Your grandma is cool.”
I smile at that. My grandmother is cool, and she’s going to love Elora.
“When do you plan on going back?”
“I’m not sure. The next stop is Vegas, then she wants to go to New Orleans. We haven’t really talked about what comes after that.”
“It’s probably a conversation you should have sooner rather than later.”
“I don’t want to rush her.” And the truth is, I’m not excited about going back to my life. I’m scared as fuck she’s going to jump ship the moment she figures out what a shit show my life is.