19. Elora
19
ELORA
40.7128° N, 74.0060° W
L ooking out the tinted window of the limo, I try to keep the wide-eyed look off my face as we drive through New York City, but it’s impossible. The buildings are so tall and wide that they make an imposing backdrop to the controlled chaos on the streets, which are filled with hundreds of people and just as many cars.
As many pictures and videos as I’ve seen of the city, none of them encompassed exactly how overwhelming it would be in person. Even from the car, the energy radiates through my body like a quiet hum.
When Roman’s hand on my thigh tightens, I glance at him and see the worry and stress etched into his handsome features. He’s had the same look since Jimmy showed up this morning at the hotel, and even though he’s tried to pretend he’s okay, I know he’s not. Then again, how could he be after finding out his grandmother is in the hospital and will likely need major surgery?
My eyes go to the seat across from us, and I press my lips together when I catch Jimmy looking at me. The guy rubs me the wrong way, and it has nothing to do with the way he acts as if he’s God’s gift to humankind nor the arrogant way he carries himself. It’s something else, something I haven’t been able to put my finger on. What I do know for sure is he’s a dick.
From the moment we got to the airport in Vegas, he’s made it clear my presence is unwanted, and I literally had to talk Roman into not tossing him off the plane for his snide remarks. Something I later regretted doing while sitting through an almost five-hour flight with him glaring at me between typing away on his cell phone.
As the car begins to slow on a street that isn’t as busy as some of the others we’ve driven down since coming over the bridge into Manhattan, my heart pounds, and nervous energy makes my breathing stutter.
The concept of joining Roman in New York at some point was not something I put much thought into. I never considered meeting his family, especially not under such difficult circumstances.
But as we park in front of the hospital, I know there is no way for me to avoid meeting them now. After double parking, the driver—a large older man who Roman introduced as Robert when he picked us up at the airport—exits and walks around the hood. As soon as he opens the back door, Jimmy jumps out like the car is on fire.
“Goodbye to you too,” I mutter, and Roman chuckles, getting out after him. Turning back toward me, he reaches for my hand and helps me out.
“Thanks.” I step up onto the sidewalk while he claps Robert—who is still holding the door—on his shoulder. “Take Elora’s and my bags to my place, but tell Clifford to leave them in my room and that we will sort through them when we get home.”
“Of course, sir.” Robert dips his chin before slamming the door shut and walking around to the driver’s side.
“Who’s Clifford?” I ask quietly, and Roman looks down at me.
“My house manager.” I nod like I have a clue what that means.
I don’t.
Just like I didn’t know what he really meant when he said we were going to the airport and catching a flight was that we were actually getting on a private plane where the pilots knew him by name.
His eyes roam over my face. “Ready?”
“I should be asking you that.”
“I hate being back here.” He glances at the building we’re standing in front of, and my stomach hurts for him.
“I’m sorry.” I slide my hand into his. I want to tell him it will be okay, but I have no idea what we will be walking into. Having heard his mom say she was sorry when he spoke with her on the phone, I hope this reunion with his family goes all right. I hope enough time has passed to allow everyone to heal a little and find some perspective, but you just never know how things will go. Especially when emotions are running so high.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” I lean into him as we head for the sliding doors of the hospital.
As soon as we step inside, the coldness and smell are so hauntingly familiar that my stomach churns, and my feet itch to take me right back outside. I haven’t been in a hospital since my mom passed, and I forgot the heaviness that fills the air, like the weight of everyone’s worries is trapped within the walls with no way to escape.
We don’t stop at the front desk. Instead, we head for the elevator and up to the floor his grandmother is on while they evaluate if she needs surgery—something that has been debated all day. A debate Roman wanted no part of, not after the situation with Val, and I don’t blame him. There is only so much weight one person can carry on their shoulders, and I know he’s still lugging around the weight of choosing to take Val off life support.
When we get off the elevator and start down a long hall with private rooms on each side, a group of three women standing outside of one stop talking and look in our direction. Instantly, I know the beautiful older woman in the group is Roman’s mother since she shares her unusual eye color with her son. And I’d bet money that the two younger women are Roman’s sisters. They look exactly like the woman they’re standing with, from their blond hair to their tall, slim figures.
“Roman,” his mom whispers right before she sobs, covering her mouth.
Untangling my fingers from his so that he can go to her, I watch them embrace, feeling my throat get tight. I look at the two women, watching them with tears in their eyes, and my body relaxes when they close in on Roman, whose big body accepts all their weight with ease as they hug him too.
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I lean back against the wall out of the way of the nurses and staff while the four of them reunite. When Roman looks my way and holds out his hand, all eyes turn my way, and my knees weaken.
“Elora, this is my mom, Francesca, and my sisters, Sofia and Lucia,” he introduces me, wrapping his arm around my waist, his touch doing nothing to lessen my nerves.
“Elora.” His mom eyes me warily, and I try my best to smile as my insides crumple under her scrutiny. Even after likely spending the last couple of days in the hospital, she and her daughters look like they could walk into that hotel back in California and fit right in, while I feel out of place and underdressed in a pair of black linen shorts and a plain tee.
“It’s nice to meet you all. I wish it were under better circumstances.” I focus on his mom, meeting her gaze. “I’m so sorry about your mom.”
“Thank you.” She looks down at Roman’s fingers digging into my hip and presses her lips together. “And how do you two know each other?”
“She was with him in Vegas, and he refused to leave her behind,” a man’s voice cuts through the air, and Roman’s muscles go taut. “I’m guessing he picked her up there.”
Turning, I watch a man about a foot shorter than Roman with none of his features walk toward us, with a very smug-looking Jimmy at his side. The man’s eyes on me put the way Roman’s mom scrutinized me to shame, and I have never felt so inadequate in my entire life. I might as well be old gum that accidentally got stuck to the bottom of his shoe with the way he inspects me with disgust.
“Isn’t that right?”
What he is implying registers, and heat spreads up my neck to my cheeks.
“You—”
“We should go see your grandmother,” I cut Roman off, turning toward him and resting my hands on his chest, and his eyes drop to mine. “Please,” I mouth, and his jaw flexes while his fingers fist in the material of my shirt at my side. I’ve never once been scared of him, not even earlier today when he made bodily threats toward Jimmy. But seeing the blatant rage in his eyes right now, a shiver spreads across my scalp and down my spine.
“We’ll talk later,” he bites out, turning us away from the man who must be his father and the women who are all watching with unease.
When he ushers me into the room a few feet away, I realize my hands are shaking. “Is that your dad?”
“Not biologically, but he’s the man my mom has been married to since she was pregnant with me,” he says quietly, but even so, there is no missing the anger still evident in his tone.
I open my mouth to ask him about a dozen questions, but a soft voice weakly calling Roman’s name catches our attention, and we both look across the room at the bed. When my eyes land on an older woman with golden hair cut into a bob that looks perfectly styled and eyes just like Roman’s and his mom’s, I let out a breath. Now is not the time for questions, even though I’m starting to see that whatever I assumed Roman’s life was like, I had no idea. With my heart still thundering, I watch him walk across the room and drop to his knees next to the bed that is low to the ground.
“If you wanted me home, you just had to ask. No need to be so dramatic and put yourself in the hospital,” he tells her, wrapping both his hands around one of hers.
She gives him a lopsided smile before looking over at me and pointing with one finger.
“Diana, I’d like you to meet Elora,” he says, watching me as I walk toward them. Then he leans in and whispers something in her ear, something I can’t hear, and her gaze, still locked on me, softens.
When I reach his side, he looks up at me and smiles. “Elora, this is my grandmother, Diana Francesca King. The queen of New York real estate.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say softly, joining Roman on my knees at the side of her bed. She doesn’t speak but attempts to lift her shaking hand toward me, and I rub her leg.
“Home.” The single word filled with fear is spoken almost inaudibly, but I still grasp it.
“Soon. The doctors want to make sure you’re okay first.” He kisses her fingers, and tears fill my eyes when her expression crumples. It’s obvious she’s scared and worried, and the scene is so familiar it’s difficult not to recall being in this exact position with my mom after her surgeries or treatments that left her stuck in bed.
When Diana’s gaze goes over my shoulder, I turn and watch Roman’s mom and sisters enter the room.
“The doctors are going to be in soon to talk to us,” Francesca says. “Since this is a family situation, maybe you should take your friend home.”
“Elora stays with me,” Roman bites out, and the woman he introduced as Sofia eyes me curiously. His mom does the same but with mistrust, and Lucia just seems dismissive of my presence altogether.
“Roman.” His mom’s hands fist at her sides.
“It’s okay.” I get to my feet and rub my hands down the front of my shorts.
“Elora.” Roman reaches for me, wrapping his big hand around the back of my thigh.
“I’ll just be in the waiting room.” I can tell he’s not happy, but I don’t want to be the reason they start fighting, not when there’s still an obvious fracture that hasn’t completely healed from Val’s death. Taking my eyes off his, I look at his grandmother. “It was nice meeting you. Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.” I give her a shaky smile, then without caring if it’s appropriate or who is around, I touch Roman’s cheek, then lean down and brush my lips across his.
“Elora,” he whispers, and I shake my head.
“It’s okay. I’ll see you in just a little while.” Without another word, I walk out of the room, passing Roman’s dad and Jimmy, who are standing in the hall. Since there is no waiting room on this floor, I take the elevator down to the first floor and find an empty chair.
With the TV on the wall playing the news, I make myself as comfortable as I can as I wait. The seconds turn into minutes, and one show on TV turns into another before I feel a presence come and sit next to me. When I look to my side, I see it’s Roman’s sister Sofia, and she gives me a smile that looks unsure.
“Hi,” I greet softly.
“Sorry about what happened upstairs.”
“It’s okay. A lot is going on.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, wrapping her arms around her waist.
“Did the doctor come yet?”
“Yes, she just left. They’re going to get Diana ready for surgery soon.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I looked it up online. The statistics aren’t great for?—”
“Don’t do that,” I whisper, and her chin wobbles. “Every situation is different; every person is different.”
“Roman told us why he’s stayed gone, that you two have been traveling, and about your mom.”
“Yeah.” I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill from the air conditioner. At least, that’s what I tell myself is the reason.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. He’s made everything so much more bearable.”
“He’s the best. I hate that he thought that.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I know we made him feel like it was all his fault, but we know it wasn’t. He was right. Val would have hated being stuck here. He would have wanted us to let him go.”
“I get it. I understand accepting you’re going to lose someone is hard, even if you know that loss is inevitable.”
“Sofia.”
Knowing that voice, even if I’ve only heard it once, my insides seize. Turning to look over her shoulder, she then slumps forward after she turns back to me, whispering, “Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”
“Hopefully.” I watch her get up but don’t turn to look over my own shoulder at her father. Early on in life, I learned that people only have power if you give it to them, and I refuse to give any power to Roman’s dad—or stepdad, whatever.
Alone once more, I focus back on the TV while my mind wanders to Roman and how he’s doing. Part of me wants to go to him, just to see for myself that he’s all right, but I know my presence isn’t wanted right now, even if he did explain to his family that I’m not, in fact, some call girl he picked up in Vegas.
When my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since the lunch we had on the plane—which I barely touched with Jimmy staring at me—I take my purse and go to the front desk to ask if there’s a vending machine or somewhere I can get food nearby. Luckily, the girl working there tells me there’s a cafeteria on the second floor, so I start to make my way to the elevator but stop when I spot Roman and his family getting off.
Backing out of the hall, I go back to where I was sitting in the lobby, wanting to give them whatever time they need. Before long, Roman joins me, his body falling into the chair next to mine, and I look over at him.
“Did they come to get her?”
“Yeah, they’re prepping her for surgery. The doctors said it’s going to be a few hours, so I figured I’ll take you home, then come back when she should be getting out, so you don’t have to wait here.”
“Are you sure? I’m okay if you want to stay.”
“No, I want you to be comfortable.” He reaches for my right hand and smooths his fingers over mine, seeming to pause on the one next to my pinky. “I put in an order for a car since Robert is driving my mom and sisters back to their house.”
“All right.” My eyes roam over his face, and I ask softly, “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head, and I lean my head on his shoulder.
“It will be okay.” I hope it’s not a lie. I hope his grandmother is all right and that the surgery goes off without a hitch.
When his phone that I have never heard ring starts to buzz, he pulls it out and checks the screen. “Our car is here.” Standing, he waits for me to get up, then wraps his arm around my waist as we make our way through the lobby and out the hospital door.
Walking to a black car with tinted windows, he opens the back door for me, and I slide into the cool interior. He doesn’t say a word to the driver as he gets in, so I assume he already gave him the address to his place.
As we roll down street after street, I’m able to make out a few landmarks, and even though there’s a lot of traffic, it doesn’t seem to take very long before the car stops in front of what I first believe is a department store… until I get out of the car and look up, and up, and up. The building is so tall I feel dizzy, even with my feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Come on.” Roman takes my hand and leads me toward a set of glass doors.
“Mr. King, glad to see you back.” A man in a suit with a cap on his head opens the door, and Roman dips his chin in greeting before escorting me inside.
As we stop at the front desk, a pretty blonde comes out of the back room and smiles at Roman. “Mr. King.”
“Jess, this is Elora Barlow.” He smooths his hand up my back. “She’s going to be staying with me for the foreseeable future. Can you please get her set up in the system?”
“Of course, Mr. King.” Jess smiles at me. “Do you have an ID on you, Ms. Barlow?”
“Umm… yeah.” I drag my bag off my shoulder and dig out my wallet, handing over my driver’s license.
“You’re from Wyoming?”
“Yeah.”
“My family is back there.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She laughs. “Small world.”
“It really is.”
“I’m just going to pop into the back and make a copy of this really quick.” Just like she said, she heads into the back and returns less than two minutes later, handing me my ID. “The next time you come down, just stop here at the desk, and everything should be ready, so you will have full access to the building.”
“Great, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Have a great day.”
“You too, and nice meeting you.”
“You too, Elora.” She smiles as Roman starts to drag me toward an elevator.
When we get inside, he presses a button with a PH on it.
“What is PH?” I ask as the elevator begins to climb.
“Penthouse.”
Of course. I should have known that, even having never been in a building with a penthouse before.
The doors open, and we’re greeted with elegant carpet and beautiful cream wallpaper. Stepping out of the elevator, he urges me forward with a hand on my lower back, then opens a door across the hall. He holds it open while I freeze in place.
“You live here?” I breathe in disbelief, poring over a living room that looks like something out of a magazine, with a view of Manhattan out the floor-to-ceiling windows that people would pay money to see because the photos of it would be spectacular.
“I do,” he says, and I look up at him.
I assumed he was pretty wealthy, but after today, I’ve realized he has the kind of money most people, including me, could never even comprehend. I know no one who owns a private jet with a personal steward to wait on you hand and foot, a limo driver who knows you by name, or a house that overlooks Manhattan, and he has all three. “Are we going inside?”
“No,” I tell him quietly, and his fingers clamp around my waist.
“It’s just a house, Elora.” He’s wrong. This is not a house. I don’t know what this is, but it’s not a house.
“Who lives here with you?”
“It’s just me unless Clifford is around, but he and his family live in Bronxville, so he’s just here Monday through Friday.”
Hesitantly, I step over the threshold as a handsome gentleman with silvering hair wearing a nice button-down and slacks comes around the corner.
“Roman.” The quiet affection in the man’s voice doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Clifford.” Roman walks to him and pulls him in for a hug that seems to be filled with much more emotion than even the one he gave his mother and sisters at the hospital.
“I’m glad to have you back, kid.” Clifford pats his back, then lets him go, and his eyes come to me.
“Clifford, this is Elora. Elora—Clifford.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say softly, getting the feeling that it might not have mattered to Roman what his sisters, mom, and father thought about me, but this man’s opinion is important to him.
“You too.” His eyes are soft on me. “I ordered you two lunch when he said you were coming from the hospital and that you haven’t eaten much today. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” I tell him, and his look fills with approval before he glances at Roman, then back at me.
“I know he doesn’t cook, but if you want me to order any groceries, just let me know.”
“Sure.” I shift on my feet, and he smiles.
“All right, you two go eat. I’m taking off.” He looks at Roman. “Unless you wanted me to stick around?”
“No, go ahead and tell Sade I said hi.”
“I will. She was happy to hear you were back.” He claps Roman on the shoulder, then grabs a sling bag I didn’t notice by the door before giving the two of us a smile and leaving.
When the door closes behind him, Roman turns his attention to me. “Do you want a tour or food first?”
“Food,” I say, and he holds his hand out toward me. I take it without hesitation and follow him to the kitchen, where there’s a bag with containers inside waiting on the counter. “Clifford didn’t want to join us?”
“No, his daughter, a doctor, has him on a strict diet, so he brings his own food with him every day.” He looks at me and smiles. “She doesn’t know about the twenty dollars in pastries he buys once a week, and I haven’t told her because it’s only once a week.”
“How long have you known him?” I ask when he pulls out a stool for me.
“He started driving for my family when I was three. When I started making my own money, I tripled his pay and brought him on to run my house. Most days, he just hangs out in front of the TV in the loft, but it gets him out of his house and gives him something to do since he refused to just accept the money I first attempted to give him.”
“So, he’s like family to you.”
“Yeah.” He meets my gaze, and then asks, “Do you want a turkey sandwich or a Reuben?”
“Which one do you want?”
“Whichever one you don’t.”
“I’ll have the turkey then.” I roll my eyes, and he passes me the container before walking to what I think is a cabinet until he opens it. I see a huge fridge with only a few bottles of water and a small lunch bag inside. “So, you really don’t cook?”
“No.” He walks back over to me, holding two bottles of water. “We had a chef growing up, and when I moved into my own place, I was working so much that I just did takeout whenever I was hungry. That kind of stuck over the years.”
“What about if you want a snack in the middle of the night?”
“This is the city that never sleeps, and Clifford keeps the pantry stocked with stuff.” He takes a seat next to me and gives me his full attention, the look on his face making me feel uneasy. “About what Ricardo said and how my mom treated you?—”
“It’s okay.” I should have known that he would bring that up.
“It’s not, and it won’t happen again,” he says firmly, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck. “After the talk I had with my mom, she gets how important you are to me and is going to make that information known to Ricardo.”
“All right,” I agree. My chest feels funny, like my heart just got too big for the space behind my rib cage. “You never told me that?—”
“Ricardo isn’t my dad?”
I nod, and he lets out a breath.
“He’s the only father I’ve ever known. I knew he treated me differently, but I thought it was because I was the oldest. It wasn’t until I turned fourteen that I found out the truth.”
“Which is?” I ask because he has a tendency to keep everything to himself.
“My mom was seeing a guy her parents didn’t approve of and wound up pregnant. She was going to run off and marry him, but before that could happen, he died in a motorcycle accident. At that time, she was two months pregnant with me. My grandfather—who was old school in his mentality—immediately found her a replacement so she wouldn’t embarrass them. Enter Ricardo.” His eyes drop to my lips, and I know my mouth is gaping in disbelief. “Arranged marriages among the wealthy happen pretty often—a lot more often than people think.”
“You all have the same last name.”
“One of the stipulations of Mom marrying Ricardo was that he take the King surname since my mom didn’t have any brothers to carry on the family name. Not that he minded. His family might’ve had money, but not like Mom’s, and the King last name holds a lot of weight in this city and around the world. My great-great-grandfather started King Real Estate, and each generation has grown and expanded the empire into what it is today.”
“Does your mom love him?” I ask because I can’t imagine it was easy for her to go from planning to run away from her family to be with the man she loved to losing him and being forced to marry someone else.
“I don’t know that she loves him, but they’ve been together for the last thirty years and make it work.”
“Do you know anything about your biological dad?”
“Not much. He grew up in the foster care system, and they didn’t have a lot of information about his life before that. I know he worked nights at a bar my mom liked to go dancing at with her girlfriends because that’s where they met. During the day, he worked construction. Mom gave me a few pictures she had of him several years ago, but she doesn’t like to talk about him, and I don’t push.”
“Can I see the pictures sometime?”
“Sure,” he says softly before leaning in to brush his mouth across mine. “Eat. After we’re done, I’m going to give you a tour, then hop in the shower before I head back over to the hospital. I don’t want Diana alone when she comes out of surgery.”
“Why do you call her Diana?” I ask, picking up my sandwich, and he laughs.
“She’s always said she’s too young to be a grandmother and refused to allow any of us to call her Grandma. Once, Val did, and she made him suck on a bar of soap in front of us. None of us dared to test her again after that,” he explains, and I laugh.
“Where is your grandfather?”
“He passed away from a heart attack when I was sixteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be too sorry. Giorgio was an asshole who made Ricardo look like a saint.”
“That bad?”
“Worse,” he mumbles around a bite of his sandwich.
Feeling like I’ve gotten more than enough information out of him, I lean into his side and eat. When we’re done, I don’t make him take me on a tour of his house. Instead, I climb into the shower with him, then let him wrap me in one of his shirts before he kisses me goodbye and takes off, leaving me alone in his penthouse apartment in the sky.