44. Roman
Itorpedoed down streets in the Range Rover, chasing green lights and grazing yellow ones, panic wreaking havoc inside me at the thought of Isabel being ripped from my side. And the thought of never hearing that beguiling little laugh of hers again. This blind need I had left no room for the possibility of her not being in my life.
But trust my analytical mind to try to wedge itself between panic and desperation. Urging me to get a goddamn grip. Questioning whether all this emotional turmoil was worth it and sending my thoughts back to a time when the only complications were found in my daily grind to keep the empire thriving.
Complications I dealt with efficiently and rationally, a process that made no claim on my heart or peace of mind. Now here I was, with only one woman who could temper this relentless desire coursing through my being. One woman who could soothe my talking vein.
A yellow light turned red and I slammed on the brakes, the Range Rover skidding to a stop a few feet into the crosswalk. An old couple crossing the street tossed me dirty looks, even though they couldn’t see me through the tinted windshield.
I leaned my head back on the headrest. A knock on the window yanked me out of my self-pitying trance. It was Steven. Of course. Fuck. I rolled down the window, never looking at him.
“You all right, Roman?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes.”
“Drive better,” he said. “You’re no good to her dead.”
There it was again, Steven trying to make amends in his own way. He tapped his fingers on the car. “Message if you need anything. We’ll be around.”
And then he was gone. I watched him in the rearview mirror, sliding into one of the security vehicles behind me. They’d be out of my sight in a few seconds. Even though they’d somehow still be breathing down my goddamn neck.
The light turned green and GPS led me through the streets into Isabel’s neighborhood. Normally I didn’t give my surroundings a second thought, but suddenly I found myself looking at the world through Isabel’s eyes.
This was a working-class neighborhood. There were swing sets and jungle gyms in the front yards, couples taking their kids and dogs for walks. It was all so far removed from my world, and exuded contentment. Things that made my life seem useless in the big scheme of things. Who would want to live at Belmont Manor, leaving so much life and soul behind?
My last turn was into a cul-de-sac that took me to an old house where Isabel’s apartment was. There was a huge tree in the front yard, with a hammock tied to a hook on the porch. Did Isabel spend lazy afternoons on that hammock, reading or dreaming? It irked me that I didn’t know.
I had so much more to learn about her. She was this enigma, revealing things about herself in dribs and drabs, much like me I suppose. But unlike her mind, I knew her body like the back of my hand. Every mound, every curve, the soft silky skin on the inside of her thighs. And that mouth, oh that mouth that I could kiss all night long.
Isabel’s essence was a drug, one that created a cyclone of withdrawal symptoms for which there was no cure but her presence by my side.
I found parking on the street, a little past the old house. As I exited the car, I raked my fingers through my hair, a last desperate attempt to look more together than I felt. I was already a few yards away from the Range Rover when I realized I’d left the keys in the unlocked car. Someone always took care of it. And it was just always there when I needed it again.
It took a moment to come to grips with the fact that I was in the real world for once. I strode back to the Range Rover, removed the keys, and locked the car. This going independent thing would take some getting used to.
There was a buzzer at the small, unlocked gate of the house, which I rang. The security here was dismal, to say the least.
A voice called out from somewhere above me. “Hello.”
I looked up to the second story, where sunlight shimmered off the glass windows, except the one that was open. A woman around Isabel’s age with an unruly mane of black hair leaned against the windowsill, her body half outside. This had to be the notorious Meg.
“Hello,” I said. “I take it you’re Meg?”
Meg contemplated me from head to toe, completely unimpressed. “I take it you’re the asshole who broke Isabel?”
And with that, the line was drawn in the sand. My reputation preceded me, and my honor was at stake. My guts twisted into tighter knots.
“I can explain,” I said in my boardroom voice. Commanding, yet pleasant. “Is she here?”
Meg was now pondering her nails with exaggerated focus, her voice dipping below zero Fahrenheit. “Nope.”
Something told me Meg was the person who held control over access to Isabel. She was the gatekeeper. She was to Isabel what Steven was to me. I could respect that, and it made me happy that someone was protecting her so fiercely.
And right now I needed Meg on my side. “Can I talk to you for a second then?” I asked.
She looked up from her nails. “About what?”
“How to get Isabel back to Belmont Manor,” I said, as congenially as my growing anxiety allowed. This approach was a business tactic to get someone’s full cooperation. You took a step back and made the other person feel in charge of the situation. Assuring them that their participation was vital to the venture’s success.
The gatekeeper didn’t bite. “Why the fuck would I want to do that? All you do is make her cry. Anyone who makes Isabel cry is pond scum in my eyes.”
I surmised from her reaction that she was fully in the know when it came to the unfortunate events that led to my standing there looking up at her. “And if I told you this was all a big misunderstanding?” I asked, not too proud to let a little pleading seep into my tone.
“You put your father in a coma,” Meg said accusingly. “That’s pretty cut-and-dried. What’s to misunderstand?”
“That wasn’t me, it was my brother Byron.”
“You have a brother?”
“Yes, the Antichrist.”
“And what about getting her fired because she ditched you? As Isabel’s lawyer, I was willing to file a lawsuit on her behalf that could have her sitting pretty for life. You’re lucky she’s such a kind soul.”
“Steven acted on his own accord. I had nothing to do with it.”
“That guy sounds like a psycho. Seriously. This is not the first time he’s acted like a total dick.”
“He thought he was doing his job,” I said, as if that would clear everything up.
Meg rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh please, he sounds like he plucks the wings off flies for fun on Friday nights.”
I wiped my face, exhausted, my lack of sleep to blame and the panic taking its toll ever since this morning when Isabel suddenly decided our relationship was over. Again I had to question whether it was worth all the anguish. And the answer came back a resounding yes yes yes.
The mere thought of Isabel being gone from my life caused my throat to tighten and my chest to ache. And how was any of this her fault? All the blame landed squarely in my camp.
“Look like you could use a drink though,” Meg chimed suddenly.
“You offering?”
“No, I just throw statements like that around for fun,” she said. “Get yourself up here before I recant my offer, silly man.”
I didn’t need a second invitation. If only the board members could see me now. I wasn’t Roman Henry Belmont IV, I was just Roman, a man in love for the first time in his life and with no idea how any of this worked.
As I navigated the cracked cement path to the front door, I wondered how many times Isabel had walked this exact same path. And if she avoided the cracks like I did, or perhaps bent down to pick a dandelion she blew into the breeze.
I barely made it to the top of the narrow, creaking stairs when the front door slammed open. Meg was waiting, and not exactly welcoming me with open arms.
I offered a smile. “I’m Roman.”
She gestured impatiently for me to enter the apartment. “Dude, I know who you are. Your name has been mentioned a time or five while I was drying Isabel’s tears. Come in. Excuse the mess, didn’t expect company. You good with vodka? All there is.”
I hated vodka. “Yes, sure.”
I eagerly looked the small place over as I stepped inside. This was my honey badger’s den. Fairy lights ran along the ceiling, the walls covered with an eclectic collage of real-life photos and artsy posters. The furniture was mismatched, and clearly comfort was the deciding factor rather than the aesthetic.
An inviting, warm atmosphere held sway, and it was easy to imagine myself on that couch with Isabel in my arms, reading or taking a nap. God, all these sentimental thoughts raiding me were strenuous. Who knew adoring one human being could be so taxing on the heart and mind.
I discovered a collection of pictures on the wall, dedicated to Isabel dancing classical ballet. I held my breath, hungrily inhaling them. My God, she was exquisite.
“The big black and white one is my favorite on that wall,” Meg said as she rummaged through the kitchen.
There was another wall where that picture belonged, enlarged to life-size. In my office, on the far side in front of my desk, where I could see it any time I wanted to. But I surmised that requesting a copy of that picture at this precarious moment in time was not the brightest idea.
“It’s from four years ago,” Meg continued, “when Isabel was invited to dance Giselle in Tokyo.”
A weird tingle crawled along my backbone. “Tokyo, four years ago?” I asked, trying to keep my cool. “Do you remember the date?”
“I think it was like the end of April.”
My breath caught in my throat. That was the same time I went on a business trip to Tokyo with my father. He wanted me to be in on negotiations to build a Belmont Hotel there. It was of no consequence to my father that Mr. Minoru Nakamura hated him, and would never agree to sell the land where we wanted to build the hotel. Business was business, at least to my father.
In hindsight, I believe my father wanted me to carry on his obsession to build a Belmont Hotel in Tokyo. And more specifically, on Nakamura’s real estate.
And Isabel was in Tokyo too. If I wasn’t so prejudiced against the esoteric secrets of this life, I might, for just a second, have contemplated the idea that in the big scheme of things she and I were always meant to meet. Destined, even. That it was the night at the bookshop when all the right moments led up to that unexpected kiss.
As I inspected more pictures on the wall, I couldn’t help but notice that the same blond man appeared in quite a few of them. Holding Isabel either very close to him or very high in the air. Effortlessly. And Christ if on top of everything else I didn’t have to battle a sharp blade of jealousy carving up my insides.
‘Tell me this is not the Russian,” I said, not even trying to keep the bitterness out of my tone. And already knowing the answer.
Meg didn’t even have to look. She volunteered a fierce grin. “Oh yes, that’s the beautiful Sergei. Don’t they make the perfect pair? Let me throw together a couple of cocktails. You want to chat, let’s chat.”
I wasn’t insecure about my appearance. I ‘d never looked at another man and felt envy. I mean, what was the use? My take was you play the hand you were dealt. And I wasn’t so foolish as not to realize I’d been dealt an exceptional hand.
But the Russian wasn’t the geeky ballet dancer I’d expected. He was a fucking god. Like this graceful and refined Cossack from the Ponti-Caspian steppe of southern Russia. My only consolation was that some people were just insanely photogenic. It didn’t help that I now had an image in my mind of this Adonis doing things to Isabel that only I should be doing.
Bottles clattered in the kitchen and Meg let loose a string of obscenities. She peeked around the breakfast counter. “You good with Tropicana in your vodka? It’s either that or drinking this vodka straight which I can’t recommend. This stuff is from the far side of the Volga. If you’re a Russian vodka virgin it might burn a hole right through your gut.”
“Tropicana is fine,” I said. Not that I had any idea what Tropicana was. But the alternative didn’t sound all that appealing. I tore myself away from the pictures of Isabel in Sergei’s arms because if there was any one time to keep it together, that would be now.
Meg threw two cocktails together in a way that defied pouring-a-drink protocol. There was no deliberation or plan. Vodka was the star and Tropicana was a bit player. Presented in coffee mugs, no less, which did have an ultra-casual and carefree feel to it, something with which I was less than intimately familiar.
It was clear from the start that when one entered through this front door, it was adapt or die from that point on. And for the nymph, I was willing to adapt.
Meg stuck one of the mugs out to me, holding my gaze with a steel grip. “God knows if I could turn back time, or if I were a psychic which unfortunately I’m not, I’d go back to the night you two met in the bookshop and have Isabel call in sick to work. But that’s just me.”
From the little I’d come to know of Meg, I didn’t expect a lot of compassion for my part in this scenario. But I wasn’t prepared for the unsettling mood raiding the air.
“I already told you this was all a misunderstanding,” I said, which earned me a raised brow and a derisive smirk.
She sauntered to the couch gulping her drink and sat down, patting the seat beside her. “Well why don’t you sit down and let’s discuss why Isabel should never have to deal with any of this bullshit for even a second again.”
I sat down on the other end of the couch, took a sip from the mug and almost choked. It was what I imagined battery acid would taste like, tempered with, well, Tropicana, whatever that was. For a palate accustomed to the silky smooth taste of the best whiskey in the world, my mouth now felt like the portal to Hell.
Meg narrowed her eyes at me over her mug. “You know what makes all of this so terrible is that I was the one insisting she go to the Belmont Hotel that night because I thought Isabel just needed to get laid. I mean it’s been a year since she called it quits with Sergei, and our girl has had no action since. Not like I didn’t try and convince her to use Sergei as a fuckbuddy in the interim, believe me I tried. He was all in too, but no dice.”
She stopped to sample more of her potent cocktail. While thoughts of Isabel and her year-long abstinence did nothing but make me want to make up for lost time.
“When she came back from the bookstore after you kissed her like you were being shipped off to war, she had stars in her eyes,” Meg continued, unstoppable. “Like the entire fucking Milky Way. And when I found that black card in her bag I pounced, telling her it was meant to be. At least she got laid, but boy what a price she had to pay. So you can see how the guilt is eating me up.”
My second sip of the cocktail burned its way down my tongue and incinerated the lining of my trachea. “I know I didn’t handle things very well,” I tried to say, but the moonshine disguised as vodka had seemingly impaired my vocal cords.
Meg, however, was still sipping and fuming at a dizzying rate. “So I feel responsible for pushing Isabel into this freakshow. I mean you know the way all of this happened is pretty impossible on the zero to ten scale of possibilities. I’m not going to lie, this whole thing threw me for a loop. I bought like ten lottery tickets. Didn’t win of course but that’s altogether another sad story, and one I don’t want to talk about.”
There was a long pause as Meg contemplated me. I’d been in all-out-war board meetings where the atmosphere was less tense. But this was no board meeting, and Meg wasn’t an executive against whom I could wield the silent treatment until they relented.
Isabel had the right idea making Meg her lawyer. I made a mental note to see if Meg’s legal knowledge matched her fiery attitude. Belmont Trust needed new blood. A few of my personal lawyers were retirement age, and not keeping up with the new world.
And even if I wasn’t going to admit it out loud, giving Meg a job could help keep Isabel close. Yes, I had become that man who would engage in shady tactics to keep the woman he adored by his side.
I sat back and forced more of the toxic concoction down my throat, hoping to escape it with no brain damage, and let Meg rant. Which she did.
“Our girl Isabel is a little more complicated than the rest of us. You and I, we’re cut from the same cloth. We see a good-looking person to have sex with, we dive in there, no strings attached. Not Isabel. She’s just not put together like that. Even Sergei who, going by his reputation, is the lover of the century, couldn’t get her to fall in love. And here you are, a total stranger, effortlessly getting her to give you her body and soul. You have no idea what a privilege that is.”
“Oh, I’m beginning to get that,” I said. “Believe me.”
“So you can see how she doesn’t deserve any of this bullshit.”
“Yes, I can see that. It’s also not as if I planned for any of this to happen.”
“Well, then maybe you should think carefully about whether you want to pursue this, because there is no half-measure with Isabel. It’s all or nothing.”
“Same here,” I said. “Besides, I can’t just walk away from her. Who’s to say Isabel and I weren’t supposed to meet. It just happened to be that night in the bookshop.”
Meg rolled her eyes as if I wasn’t sitting right there. “Where else could you have met?” she asked. “It’s not like you move in the same circles. Or the same orbit for that matter.”
“I was in Tokyo four years ago, the last week in April.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch. Lots of people go to Tokyo in April.”
“Says the woman who sent Isabel on her way to the Belmont Hotel because of Destiny and Fate.”
“Like it’s not enough that you meet, kiss, meet again and have mind-blowing sex,” Meg said, “and then you end up living in the house where she got her new job. Now you want Tokyo too?”
I grinned into my mug. “You’re going to make a great lawyer. You argue like one. All doubletalk and borderline nonsensical but at the same time it kind of makes sense.”
For the first time Meg smiled. “You bastard, you’re making me blush now. But coming from a millionaire like you, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“Billionaire,” I corrected her.
“Make it gazillionaire,” she countered. “I saw that damn house you live in. It’s like you need a GPS to get from one end to the other. God it must suck green donkey balls to clean all those windows, let alone vacuum or polish what I assume is a massive square footage of floors.”
I used her more congenial tone as a chance to worm my way into her good graces. “Now that you’ve had your say, why don’t you tell me what I can do to get Isabel back to Belmont Manor?”
Meg tipped the mug back and I assumed she’d emptied it because she peered into the mug as if looking for a drop of salvation left inside.
Then she cast her disappointment toward me. “Jump the gun much? First I want to know what it is about Isabel that has you scrambling around like a lovesick teenager. And I swear to God if you tell me it’s because she fucks like a porn star I’m banishing you from her life. And if you doubt I can do that, try me.”
I laughed despite the insult. “Don’t mince words.”
An impatient glare slid across Meg’s face. “So?”
How could I possibly put into words what I felt for Isabel? It wasn’t even something I understood myself, let alone something I could explain to someone else. Yet Meg was waiting, now tapping her fingers on her empty mug and clearly impatient to fill it up again.
I let the thought percolate until the schmaltzy realization suddenly unfurled in my chest. “Isabel makes me whole. She’s the part of me I’ve missed my entire life. It’s that simple.”
For a second I doubted that my melodramatic confession would have the same impact on someone else that it had on me. Meg dropped the empty mug onto her lap. “Jesus, that’s so cornball. You have it as bad as she has. Okay, this calls for another drink.”
She’d barely finished the sentence when her phone beeped. She read the text, jumped up from the couch and grimaced. “Isabel’s on her way.”
I stood up too, suddenly terrified of what the next twenty minutes would bring. “What now?”
“Go to her room and wait there until I talk to her.”