19. Byron
19
BYRON
T here was a lot to think about on the drive home after my session with Libby.
She’d told me the growing pains of my new path were inevitable, but the rewards of living without all the anger and resentment would make it worthwhile.
Well shit, no surprise there.
What did catch me off guard, though, was her advice on how to handle my feelings for Meg.
“I’m not sure what your hesitation is,” Libby said. “Unless she’s made it clear she wants nothing to do with you, what’s stopping you from going after her? Getting to know her should tell you soon enough if this is just a passing thing.”
Going after Meg… Even if I’d considered that earlier, it dawned on me that I'd never actively pursued a woman with anything more than the goal of a few hours of fun followed by a rapid escape, the proverbial Exit Stage Left.
And never had I spent an entire night in one bed with a woman either.
To me, sleeping was as sacred as enjoying a great meal. Why share something so intimate with someone you didn’t know or care about?
But the thought of actually spending a night with Meg was an idea that hit me with more than just a warm feeling. Forget the sex for a minute…imagine the pillow talk, smart mouth that she was.
After all, wasn’t the brain the most powerful sexual organ?
Libby shrugged when I mentioned my brother’s warning about me viewing Meg as anything but a coworker.
“Roman might still be stuck on some version of you from the past,” she said. “But he’s probably too preoccupied dealing with his own life right now to care what you do other than stepping into his shoes and becoming the next CEO.”
So, here I was, left to nurture the idea of going after Meg and, God help me, winning her over. It made my heart speed up with both panic and hope.
After everything that happened today, I still had no clue how Meg would feel about being pursued by me , the guy who was partly responsible for her current woes.
For the first time in my life, the risk of being rejected romantically was a reality I didn’t expect to face. Getting in touch with your emotions like a normal human being had its perks, but it also completely messed with your peace of mind when it came to matters of the heart. And naked flesh.
Driving home to Belmont Manor, I called my brother from the car.
Of course, he didn’t answer, but I left a message, loud and clear. “Expect me in ten minutes, I come bearing gifts. And I’m also bringing dinner. I think a nice cheeseburger pairs well with a good bourbon. Unlock your apartment door.”
Roman shared my love for an exceptional Kentucky bourbon, and I happened to have a rare one tucked away in my private collection. It would be perfect to have while having dinner and a chat.
The door to Roman’s apartment stood ajar, and I stepped inside, immediately struck by the soft strains of romantic French ballads floating through the air and, of all things, twinkling fairy lights strung along the walls.
My jaw dropped to the ground.
This had to be Isabel’s influence because the brother I knew wouldn’t be caught dead listening to sentimental ballads or having anything as whimsical as fairy lights on his walls.
The rumors that no staff had been allowed inside since the night Isabel walked out, seemed to be true.
One glaring bit of evidence was the massive bouquet of calla lilies, now wilting in their vase.
Everything was as if time inside Roman’s apartment had frozen in place.
It wasn’t until I found him sitting at the dining table that I became more concerned. He was hunched over his MacBook Pro, an array of his personal and business iPhones arranged like little soldiers in a neat row beside him.
And in the midst of it all, a copy of the book, Wuthering Heights.
I wasn’t going to ask.
“Hey, man,” I said, placing the takeout bags on the table.
Roman looked up. If death had a rehearsal, my brother was its understudy. Beneath the five-day stubble, he was pale and hollow-eyed, a man who simply didn’t give a damn about anything anymore.
I lifted the bottle of bourbon. “Twenty-year-old Pappy Van Winkle. Thought we might catch up over bourbon and burgers since I’m pretty sure you haven’t eaten dinner tonight.”
It was agonizing to watch Roman attempt a smile. “Glasses are in the kitchen,” he muttered, his gaze drifting back to whatever he’d been doing on the laptop.
I wasn’t having it. It was time to take charge. “How about you go take a shower, maybe shave even if that’s not mandatory, put on some fresh clothes, and I’ll get the burgers plated. What do you say?"
Roman ran a hand over his face and briefly considered protesting, but the exhaustion won out. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. “Okay, give me twenty.”
I watched him stride to his glass-walled bedroom, my powerful brother completely defeated by this mad thing called love.
So, this was the true cost of heartbreak. It didn't just wound you, it reshaped you, rearranged your mind, and ultimately swallowed you whole in the end.
The notion of loving someone so much that it made you lose your will to go on was a strange concept to me still.
Yet, it was impossible to ignore that this new version of myself, that was oh-so-attuned to his emotions, made me a sitting duck for this kind of pain. Not that I could ever see myself falling that hard for a woman, but if it could happen to Roman, it could happen to anyone in the world.
My gaze landed on his MacBook Pro screen just as the screensaver kicked on. It was a candid photo of Roman and Isabel, and I was stunned by how happy Roman looked. Or maybe happy wasn’t a strong enough word.
These two people were ensconced in this private little world of their own, and it was clear as a cloudless day that they belonged together. At that moment, I realized how powerful their bond was, and I couldn’t help but hope I’d never have to experience anything like it myself.
A greasy cheeseburger and a few glasses of Pappy Van Winkle later, Roman seemed a little better, though it was hard to say by how much.
Dinner had been filled with business talk, but now I needed to push the limits, to get Roman to open up. Chatting with Libby reminded me just how powerful it could be to let things out.
“So, is there anything you want to talk about?” I asked, testing the waters.
Roman didn’t bite. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”
“You know exactly what I mean.” I leaned in a little. “Case in point…guess where I was tonight?”
“Please don’t make me guess. Why don’t you just tell me, Byron?”
“I was at a two-hour session with Dr. Libby Philips.”
A dry chuckle escaped Roman. “You’re not obligated to see her anymore. Unless you two are having an affair, you can stop sleeping with her.”
“You knew about that?” I stared at him, caught off guard. “Oh shit.”
“No, I didn’t know…but I do now.”
I shook my head, laughing. When was I going to learn never to underestimate Roman?
“Well, it won’t happen again, and I apologized to her for being such a jerk.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t as if you had to blackmail her into doing it…” Roman added, the shadow of a smile in his eyes.
“Anyway,” I said, picking up where I left off, “we had a good session. She let me
talk. Let me confront all the stuff I’ve been holding onto and get it out of my system. Not a miracle cure, but it helped. It was a start.”
“I’m glad it worked for you, but what does that have to do with me?” Roman asked.
He wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Maybe you should try it too. No judgment. You’re obviously going through a tough time, and talking about it might help. Just a thought.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Roman griped, but even as he said it, something inside him faltered. I saw it the moment it happened.
And I knew he just needed some time.
I poured us another bourbon and handed him the glass. Roman downed it in one go and raked his fingers through his hair, looking like a man teetering on the edge.
It took a long while, but finally, he started talking.
“Do you remember when I told you there were two kinds of trouble? And how crucial it was to recognize which one you were facing? I had all the happiness in the world right in the palm of my hand. And what did I do? I destroyed it and ruined both my life and Isabel’s by making one reckless choice, believing I was untouchable by the consequences. I stepped into this knowing the risks, knowing the consequences could be devastating. She was ready to give up everything for me, everything, and still, it wasn’t enough.”
He tipped the empty glass to his mouth to drain the last drop. When he spoke again, his tone was even bleaker than before. “I know what I did, and it wasn’t like Steven didn’t warn me. But I did it anyway. And yes, I take responsibility, I’m paying the price. But what fucking kills me is that Isabel is paying the price too, and for all the power I have, there’s nothing, absolutely nothing I can do to take her suffering away.”
The pain in his voice staggered me. Where did you even begin to deal with this kind of heartbreak?
“What if you gave it time, Roman? Time might heal wounds, for both you and Isabel.”
Roman was unfazed by my attempt to soothe him. “Like I said before, you don’t know Isabel. But if nothing else, let it serve as a warning. If you ever find this kind of love with someone, don’t fuck it up by being a jealous possessive bastard. It will only get you to where I am now.”
I might have smirked a little. “Probably no danger there. I can’t even say I know what real love is.”
The moment hung there, an invitation for Roman to indulge me with the meaning of real love. To make me understand what happened when you met that one person who changed your world.
“You’ll know when it happens,” Roman said. “Love finds you when you expect it the least. And then it slowly seeps into you and becomes the essence of who you are, like the marrow in your bones, and the blood in your veins. It fills a space you didn’t even know was empty, and it remakes your soul into something better than it ever was.”
Pardon the hell out of me if I couldn’t find anything meaningful to say after that.
I poured each of us another bourbon, and we quietly enjoyed our drinks before I suggested to Roman that he get some sleep. Which he agreed to without protesting too much.
On the way to bed in the north wing, I went past Meg’s office, and on impulse, I popped inside. She hadn’t wasted any time getting comfortable and making the space hers, no doubt with Nelson’s eager help.
Lush plants filled the corners, a vibrant, oversized rug covered the floor, a cozy Bohemian throw was draped over the couch, and on the walls were colorful prints.
Everywhere, there were bits of rebellion against the archaic tradition reigning at Belmont Manor. And it was clear Miss Belfiore wasn’t going to be tamed into following rules even if her choice of décor contrasted with Belmont Manor’s general ambiance.
It was a bit unsettling that the mere thought of her pushing back against the century-old establishment fueled a smile I couldn’t remove from my face with a sharp chisel.
A few framed photographs on her desk caught my eye, almost as if they were inviting me to get a glimpse into Meg’s life.
They featured people I figured to be family, along with Isabel, and a big, scruffy dog with a questionable lineage.
The biggest picture was all of them posing in front of a two-story house that seemed in need of some fresh paint and probably a new roof, too.
I stood there, lost in the images, wondering what it must be like to have such a warm, happy life. It only confirmed that no amount of money could buy the joy I saw in those images.