22. Elora
22
ELORA
40.7128° N, 74.0060° W
“ Y ou about ready?”
At that question from Roman, I look toward the bathroom door as he walks in, dressed in black dress pants and a button-down that matches. The only pop of color is the gold double-G buckle around his waist.
“Not yet.” I turn back to the mirror to finish my mascara.
“Stop stalling, baby. It’s going to be okay.”
“I’m not stalling,” I lie.
He and I both know I’ve been a nervous wreck since he told me two days ago that we would be having dinner with his family, including Ricardo, who I haven’t seen since we were at the hospital weeks ago. Even with Roman’s reassurance that things will be okay, a tiny voice in the back of my head warns me that I should stay away so that nothing gets close enough to pop the bubble of safety Roman has me in.
“You are stalling, but it’s cute.” He comes up behind me, smoothing my hair over my shoulder to kiss the crook of my neck. “Is this what you plan on wearing?” His hands fist his T-shirt that I confiscated after our shower earlier.
“Yes, this is the new it fashion of all Manhattan socialites.”
“I like it.” His smile is contagious.
“If you keep distracting me, we’re going to be late.”
“We’re already late.”
“What?” I panic and start to reach for my phone to check the time.
“I’m joking. You have about twenty minutes before we’ll be late.”
“Jerk.”
“But you love me.”
He’s right; I do. Sometime between Oregon and New York, I fell in love with him. It didn’t sneak up on me. It just happened so effortlessly I didn’t recognize what it was. “I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you out there.” I bite my lip as he kisses my shoulder, then watch him in the mirror as he wanders out of the room.
When I finish my makeup and my hair—I decided to put it into a low messy bun because there was no taming it after it got wet in the shower—I walk into the closet. Over the past few weeks, his things have been moved to one side while the other has slowly accumulated more and more pieces. All things that just suddenly appear on hangers or in drawers. I can’t say I’ve gotten used to being spoiled by him, or that I ever will, but I’ve come to realize it’s one of the ways he shows he cares and thinks of me.
Sliding through the rack of dresses, I stop when I come to the one I wore in San Francisco. It feels like both forever ago and just yesterday that we were there, with all that has happened. Pushing it aside, I pull a blue dress off the rack that has one shoulder and an odd hem at the bottom.
Slipping off his shirt, I put the dress on and walk to the mirror. The dress is sophisticated and a little sexy with the one-shoulder, cinched waist, and loose skirt that ties at a slant, showing the skin of one thigh. Grabbing the pair of heels, I wore back in California—since I know how they fit and kind of remember how to walk in them—I put them on. I take his T-shirt with me, tossing it on the bed before walking down the hall to the living room. Since he likely heard my heels clicking on the wood floors, his head is up, and his eyes are on me as soon as I come into view.
“Beautiful.”
“Not too sexy?”
“Oh, it’s sexy as fuck, but it’s perfect.”
“Thank you.” He holds out his hand, so I close the distance between us.
“I got you something.” He grabs a red box from the table next to where he’s standing, and my heart starts to pound as he opens it up. Tucked inside is a gold bracelet that looks on the outside like it has little round screws inserted into the gold.
“It’s stunning.” I watch him take it out of the box and realize it’s two separate pieces.
“Give me your wrist.”
“I’ve never seen a bracelet like this,” I say as I hold out my arm, and he clasps the two separate pieces together.
“Hold that for me.” I do, and he takes two small gold screws and a gold screwdriver out of the box and begins to lock it in place.
“It’s called a love bracelet. Unless I remove it, you can’t take it off.” He tucks the screwdriver into his pocket while his thumb smooths over the gold bracelet.
I stare at the piece of jewelry, and I can’t help but feel like there is something significant about him having my only means of escape from the piece of jewelry, which doubles as a show of possession on his end and an act of trust on mine.
“I love it,” I whisper, trying really hard not to cry.
“Good,” he whispers back, touching his fingers to my chin. “No crying.”
“I can’t cry. We don’t have time for me to fix my makeup.”
“We don’t.” His smile is small when he leans in to touch his mouth to mine. “Come on.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the elevator and down to the front entrance, where a car awaits. Even with the traffic, it doesn’t take us long to get to the restaurant where his family is meeting us, and when we get inside, the girl at the podium lets us know the other guests are already seated and waiting for us.
A nervous flutter fills the pit of my stomach as we walk through the dimly lit room toward the table, and with everyone waiting on us, they all watch as we get closer. When we’re a few feet away, his mom stands and tosses her napkin onto the table.
“Elora.” She smiles, grabbing my upper arm and pressing the side of her face to mine, which is a shock to my system.
“Mrs. King.”
“Francesca.” She leans back with a smile, then she gives the same face-touch to her son before walking back to her seat so that Sofia and Lucia can greet us as well.
When it’s Ricardo’s turn, I try to convince myself the look on his face is just an awkward smile and not the scowl that it really is.
Roman pulls out my chair, and once I’m seated, he sits next to me, resting his hand on my lap.
“I’m so glad we could do this before you two left,” Francesca says sincerely, smiling at the two of us.
“Me too.” I place my napkin on my lap. “I wish Diana could be here.”
“Hopefully soon. The physical therapy is working, but she’s too proud to use the walker they gave her for if she leaves the house.”
“She’s stubborn like her grandson.” I look up at Roman and smile.
“Yes, well, he’s always been that way, never giving up and fighting until he gets what he wants,” his mom replies with a hint of pride in her voice.
“Those aren’t bad qualities to have.”
“They have made him very successful.”
“He’s had a little help along the way,” Ricardo inserts, and I look his way. “His grandfather left him most of his company.”
“He was successful on his own prior to that,” Lucia defends, and I catch the barely there eye roll she gives her father.
“So, you guys are going to Wyoming?” Sofia asks, obviously sensing the tension suddenly filling the air around us and taking it upon herself to change the subject.
“Yes, my mom had a piece of property I’m selling, so I need to go close on it.”
“Oh.” Her brows drag together. “Where is it located?”
“In Littleton.”
“That sounds familiar.” She looks at Roman. “Isn’t your company buying property in that area?”
I look up at him with my heart suddenly in my stomach.
He couldn’t…
He didn’t, did he?
When I got the offer on the property, we hadn’t even left Oregon yet. I didn’t even really know him—at least, not well.
“Hello.” A deep voice cuts into my thoughts, and I find a man wearing a white shirt with a black vest and slacks standing beside the table. “Did you have a chance to look over the wine menu?”
“Can we get a bottle of Chateau Lafite and a bottle of Chateau Rayas for the table?” Roman asks, and I notice his fingers have moved from just resting on my thigh to grasping it tightly.
“Of course.” He bows slightly before backing away.
“Do you have family in Wyoming?” Lucia asks, and I focus on her instead of the odd feeling that is not quite good and not quite bad swirling around my insides.
“Yes.” I pick up my water and notice my hand is shaking. “My mom’s brother and sister live there.”
“It will be nice for you to go back and see them, then.” Francesca smiles.
“Yes.” Or I hope it will. In all honesty, I have no idea how that reunion will go.
The last two times I tried to call my aunt, she sent me to voicemail. And since I don’t feel like I have anything to apologize for, I didn’t leave a message saying sorry, which I know is what she wants to hear. And I haven’t even attempted to call my uncle. We’ve never had much of a relationship. Even when my mom was alive, he was distant.
“So, how do you like it in Manhattan?” Sofia asks, leaning back so a young man can refill her water.
“I like it. It’s way different from where I grew up.”
“I’m sure it is,” Ricardo mutters, and I swallow.
“She’s adjusting.” Roman squeezes my thigh, and I look up at him. “I haven’t had the time to show her very much, take her to any shows, or half the museums she wants to visit, but she’s been finding her way around.”
“If my boss lets me have a day off when you get back, I’d love to play tourist with you.” Sofia looks at Roman and smiles.
“I’m sure we could work that out,” he replies.
“You work for your brother?” I ask because that is news to me.
“I do, but I work in the office dealing with paperwork and closings. I tried my hand at selling but just didn’t have the knack for it.”
“You’re good at what you do,” he tells her gently.
“Do you?—?”
“No,” Lucia answers before I can even ask her if she also works for Roman. “I own a small boutique near Penn Station.”
“Lucia went to FIT.” Sofia rolls her eyes, and Lucia rolls hers back. The gesture that is so normal between sisters is sweet, and it makes me curious how Val would have fit in among them. Would he have been serious, like I know Roman is outside of his relationship with me, or would he have been playful, maybe even a jokester, despite how stoic Ricardo is?
The server comes over with the two bottles of wine, and Roman waves him off when he asks if he’d like to try them.
“What is your plan if you’re moving here to be with Roman?” Ricardo asks as I point at the bottle of red when I’m asked which wine I want.
Every time he talks, my muscles involuntarily tense.
“I—”
“She has time to figure that out,” Roman cuts in before I can respond.
“I’m sure she can answer for herself.” He glares at his son.
I rub my lips together as I feel everyone watching me. Waiting. “I worked at a daycare before my mom needed me full-time. I really enjoyed my job, so maybe I’ll find something like that or go to school to get my teaching degree.” I feel like an idiot saying that while sitting among them , but I’ve never really thought about what I want to do or who I want to be when I grow up.
“You want to work at a daycare?” Ricardo prompts with a hint of disapproval.
“I don’t know.” I drop my eyes from his. “When my mom was alive, my life revolved around her, and when I was working at the daycare, they always gave me any time off that I needed. And I just liked working with little kids. None of them judged or hated or cared about anything except for how you made them feel.”
“There are some really great daycares right here in the city, and I know a few of the owners. If you decide that’s what you’d like to do, I can put in a good word,” Francesca offers, and my nose starts to sting when I don’t hear even a hint of judgment in her tone, only sincerity.
“Thank you,” I tell her softly before I push back my chair. Roman stands when I do. “Sorry, I’m just going to use the restroom. I’ll be back.”
I don’t meet his gaze or look at his family. I hustle through the restaurant and make my way down a hallway to the women’s bathroom. When I get inside, I go to the sink and flip on the cold water, running my wrist under the stream, hoping it will help distract me so that I don’t cry. When I hear the door open, I look that way on instinct and watch Roman step inside.
“Are you okay?”
I don’t even bother scolding him for coming into the women’s room. As his mom pointed out, he does what he wants. “Yes. It was just your mom being nice to me. I got emotional, and I didn’t want to end up crying in front of everyone.” His face softens as he leans back against the door. “Did you… Are you buying my property?” I ask quietly, and he nods. “Why?” I whisper the question, and he just stares at me. “Roman.”
“I planned on telling you after the closing.”
“That’s too much.”
“I could give you the moon, Elora, and it still wouldn’t compare to what you’ve given me.”
“We didn’t even really know each other when you put in your offer.”
“Even then, I couldn’t stand the thought of you losing anything else, giving up another piece of yourself just to fix something you didn’t break.”
My jaw clenches as tears I have no control over fill my eyes and start to fall. Shutting off the water, I walk to one of the stalls and grab some tissue.
“Come here,” he whispers, taking a few steps away from the door when I walk out, dabbing my eyes.
“I’m mad at you,” I whisper as I fall into his open arms.
“That’s okay.” His lips brush against my ear. “I would do it all over again, Elora. Even if I didn’t have you, knowing you’d have that property, that you could sit out on that porch and look out at the mountains, I’d have no regrets.” His words cause an overwhelming number of emotions to bubble to the surface, and a fresh wave of tears spills over.
“Remember the story you told me about the Starfish Thrower?” I whisper.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not the old man. You’re the kid who believed that changing one life could make a difference.”
“Fuck.” He sighs, gripping me so tight it’s almost hard for me to breathe. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” And that’s exactly what these all-consuming, needy emotions are that are wrapped in trust. It’s a reminder that I’m alive, have so much to be thankful for, and so much to look forward to with him.
“Sorry,” a woman’s voice breaks into the moment. I pull back enough to look in her direction just inside the door, and her eyes wander over my face, which I’m sure is a mess. “I just need to use the restroom.”
“Of course.” I wipe my face. “Sorry.”
“I’ll meet you at the table.” Roman grabs my attention by cupping my cheek. “Unless you want me to make up something and take you home?”
“No, I’ll be okay,” I assure him. With a nod, he smooths his fingers down my cheek, touches his lips to mine, then lets me go and walks out the door while the woman goes into one of the stalls.
Walking to the sink, I look into the mirror and let out a shaky breath. I probably should have told Roman to take me home, but it’s too late for that now. Grabbing a paper towel from the stack next to the sink, I wet it with cold water. As I press it under my eyes, hoping to get rid of some of the redness, the door opens again, and my heart sinks when Roman’s mom and sisters come inside.
“Hey.” His mom gives me a soft smile.
“Hi.” I return her smile, but mine is shaky.
“Roman said you might need some help,” Sofia says, joining me at the sink with Lucia. “Let’s get you fixed up.” Gently, she takes the paper towel from me, and my stupid nose starts to sting when I realize they really are here to help.
“Part of making this work is you have to stop crying.” Lucia gives me an eye roll while opening her purse.
“Sorry.” I laugh, forcing the tears back.
“It wasn’t something we said that upset you, was it?” Francesca asks.
“No.” I shake my head as Lucia dabs something under my eyes. “Your son is just very kind.”
“He is,” she agrees with a proud but demure smile.
“Done,” Sofia says less than three minutes later after applying something on my lips that I rub in as I turn to look in the mirror.
I look like myself again and doubt it would be obvious to anyone but me that I was crying. I can only tell because my lips and under my eyes are still slightly puffy, but there is no helping that.
“You two are miracle workers.”
“No, we’re just girls who cry a lot,” Sofia corrects.
“Speak for yourself,” Lucia mutters, and I laugh.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Sofia grins.
“I’ll see you at the table.” Lucia picks up her purse and walks through the door, and I bite back another laugh. Obviously, Roman isn’t the only King who can’t handle gratitude.
“Ready?” Francesca asks, looking back at me while following her daughters.
“Yeah.” I drag in a breath, then let it out slowly before I leave the bathroom a few steps behind them. When I reach the table, Roman stands to hold my chair, and I glance Ricardo’s way as I take my seat. I don’t know what I expect the look on his face to be, and never in a million years would I have thought I’d see respect in his gaze, but there it is. I don’t know what it means or if I will ever really like him, but if he can respect me, then I can return that gesture.
“Better?” Roman whispers against my ear after taking his seat once more.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He presses his lips to the side of my head, then threads his fingers through mine.
Thankfully, the rest of the dinner is uneventful. There are no tears, no family drama. It’s just a delicious meal with small talk that feels a little uncomfortable, like it doesn’t happen often enough.
By the time Roman and I make it home, it’s almost ten, so I wander right to the bedroom and strip out of my dress so I can put on his T-shirt, which has become one of my favorite parts of the day, every day.
“Did you have—” My words end on a gasp as I’m tackled to the bed by a solid body. Shoving my hair out of my face, I look up at the man hovering over me with an elbow on the bed and half his body pressing mine into the mattress.
“Are you still mad at me?”
“No.” I smooth my fingers down his jaw as I look into his eyes. “And I’ll find some way to pay you back.”
“Marry me, give me babies, and make us a home. That’s all the payback I need.”
“How many babies?” I ask, moving my fingers into his hair.
“I don’t know. It’s not something I ever thought about before you.”
“At least two.”
“At least two,” he agrees, leaning down to kiss me, and I kiss him back, pouring everything I feel for him into it. Maybe it was just chance that he and I met, but it feels like something bigger was at work, something that the human mind is too small to even comprehend.