60. Isabel
This afternoon when I decided to go back to Belmont Manor, Meg broached the subject of the proposed agreement I’d have with the Belmont Trust. She waited until I made my decision before admitting that Roman had sent the agreement to her two nights ago.
As I was making profiteroles, Meg took her time explaining things to me, and for once all jokes were set aside.
“I’ve had time to go over this,” she said. “And I will say this, it’s all very favorable to you. Whatever happens, you’ll be taken care of. Actually, the moment you sign the agreement you’ll be a wealthy woman. Very wealthy. Scary wealthy.”
I winced. “What’s it with these people and the money they throw around like it’s a cure-all? As if money wasn’t what plunged them into their miserable situation in the first place.”
“I’ll help you spend it if that’s your problem with it, so don’t fret.”
“Meg, it’s not about the money for me. It not like I’d leave Roman if he should become a pauper tomorrow.”
“I know. Anyway, he wants the agreement signed as soon as possible, so I’ll go over it tonight with a fine-toothed comb. And if everything’s good, we set up a meeting to sign with the ten ambulance chasers he has dealing with this. That should be fun.”
I sprinkled icing sugar over the finished profiteroles. “It’s all so surreal. I can only wonder what my mom would have thought about this. Would she have tried to talk me out of it, or would she have understood that without Roman I”d always be incomplete, forever missing my other half?”
Meg contemplated the profiteroles, ready to snatch one or three. “The Marie I remember would have been happy with any decision you made for yourself. She would have said she raised a strong daughter who knew what she could handle and what she couldn’t. And me, I think you’ve got this. Now why don’t you go and make yourself pretty because George will be here soon to pick you up.”
* * *
The fog had driftedin from the North Atlantic, enveloping Belmont Manor in a delicate shroud, a breeze softly stirring the swirling mist.
As we drove up to the mansion, some part of me knew that I was reaching the point of no return. That once I got out of this SUV and stepped into Roman’s arms, my agreement with the Belmont Trust was a mere formality.
Roman was waiting at the south wing entrance, hands in his pockets, looking every bit the brooding blueblood gentleman he was. And my heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings inside my chest. He strode to the Navigator and opened the back door for me. I climbed out, holding a small confectionary box with four profiteroles.
“Dessert?” Roman asked.
“Your favorite, yes.”
The moon cast a hazy light, shadowing his talking vein as it throbbed to the same beat as my pulse. I turned to George. “Thank you, George. I appreciate you driving me this late.”
George smiled. “You’re welcome, Isabel. Mr. Belmont. Goodnight.
“Goodnight, George,” Roman said, his hand on the small of my back as we made our way into the south wing.
Roman gently kissed me on the cheek as we took the iron gate elevator up to the apartment. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said. I touched his talking vein, unwittingly trying to soothe him. “What would you like for dinner? I could whip us up a quick cottage pie and a salad.”
He relished my touch, his hand slipping to my waist. “I took the liberty of picking up some Chinese food on the way back from the hospital. Apparently it’s Steven’s favorite haunt. Who knew.”
“Wait, did you just say hospital?”
Roman wiped a stray tendril of hair from my cheek and brushed it behind my ear, while his gaze blazed into mine. “He’ll be okay but it’s a long story, I’ll tell you over dinner. We have a lot to talk about.”
Walking into the apartment, I was greeted by a magical display of fairy lights shimmering along the walls, a bouquet of countless calla lilies, and a French ballad floating through the air. And then I saw, on the wall in the living room, the Monet. My breath caught, a whimper lodging in my throat. I felt Roman behind me, so close, so close, causing pleasure to ripple through me. “Now that both you and the Monet are here, our den is complete, honey badger. Welcome home.”
I put the confectionary box down on a table, taking it all in. And suddenly I felt this was where I belonged. I swung around. “Thank you for this. It’s amazing. You’re amazing.”
Roman pulled me into his arms. “How I missed you, Isabel,” he said, the shape of my name rolling over his lips with such devotion it made my toes curl. His finger trailed my cheek, burning a line to the hollow of my throat. And then he kissed me, wiping every last trace of doubt and misery from my mind.
A groan broke from his throat and I could feel it writhing right down to the base of my spine. His hand slipped under my shirt, feathery fingertips grazing my nipples until they were furling into tight little beads, begging for his mouth and tongue.
“Do you think dinner can wait?” I murmured between kisses.
“To tell you the truth I’m not even that hungry,” he muttered in reply.
“Then why are we still talking?” I asked, unbuttoning his shirt.
He clasped me to him, a smile grazing his lips. “God, I adore you.” Then he picked me up and carried me to bed.
Later, much later, we ate our Chinese dinner. Still in bed. And we drank Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle. Talking as if all the world’s problems were ours to solve.
“My father is breathing on his own now,” Roman told me. “He’ll be back here in two weeks with a team to help with his rehabilitation. It could take months for him to be his normal self again, but so far it’s looking good.”
“I know. Emily and I have been talking.”
“Oh? And what else have you and Emily been talking about?”
“Take a wild guess. Let’s just say she was over the moon today when I told her I decided to stay.”
He took my hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing all my fingers one by one. “She’s not the only one over the moon. I can’t tell you how happy I am.”
So, over chow mein and Peking Duck, Roman told me he was responsible for his brother landing in the hospital, and how Byron had suddenly turned over a new leaf. It was difficult to imagine that obnoxious man who relished throwing a wrench into my world suddenly becoming a saint, but I refrained from saying that out loud.
“I know, it sounds too good to be true, but I believe Byron is a new man,” Roman said. “He owes you an apology and he knows that. And I for one, am willing to forgive and forget if there’s a chance of having my brother back.”
Even with the doubt about Byron nagging at me inside, it was hard not to smile at Roman’s contentment. I leaned in and kissed him gently. “You know, there’s the timeless tale of Pandora unveiling a box, releasing all the evils into the world,” I told him. “But hidden at the box”s base, beneath all the madness, was the one enduring thing Pandora could hold onto. And that, of course, was Hope. Just think with Byron pulling himself together, and Henry coming back, maybe you can have the family you always wanted.”
Roman pinned me with an adoring stare. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful. And if it weren’t for you wafting in here like a delightful summer breeze, unwittingly fixing this mess, none of it would have been possible.”
Somewhere in the living room, my phone pinged with a text message. I made an attempt to go get it, but Roman held me back.
“Later. Let’s talk first, Isabel. I sent Meg the agreement…”
“Yes, she already explained everything. But I will tell you that I’m not happy about the money. It’s too much. I don’t want it.”
“My sweet, it’s me taking care of you.”
“It’s outrageous.”
“It’s what a prenup would look like if you were to marry me.”
“But I’m not marrying you. I’ll just be your mistress.”
“Isabel. You are the woman I want to spend my life with. And as I said, as chairman and president of the board I can change the conditions to some extent.”
I couldn’t imagine a life where I had to abide by someone else’s rules and whims. But I could also not envision a life without Roman. A pinprick of panic slithered its way into my chest. “I think you should understand that signing the agreement doesn’t mean I accept any of this unconditionally. I might be troublesome from time to time.”
My primary focus became shoving the chow mein around with my chopsticks, anything to avoid seeing the way Roman stared at me. As if he’d give me the entire Milky Way if he could.
“Isabel. Look at me.”
I rammed the chopsticks into the chow mein and looked up, meeting Roman’s gaze squarely. “Yes, Roman?”
“Things might change, I want you to remember that. With some luck my father will see the world a little differently now.”
“But in the meantime what he says is law. Your life is basically his. And you’ll forever be under his thumb, whether he’s dead or alive.”
Roman winced at the bitterness in my tone. He leaned forward and cupped my chin. And once again I was trapped by his intensifying gaze. “I love you, Isabel. You’re my world. Nothing, but absolutely nothing should ever stand in the way of our being together. I’ll do anything to make this work.”
I closed my eyes for a second, scaling the edge of exasperation. “You should know better than to say these wonderful things. Seriously.”
And then Roman gave me that smoldering smile of his that made me feverish and needy, oh so very needy. “But if I didn’t say these things, how could you possibly know that I like you a little,” he murmured.
I threw my head back and laughed, my fingers trailing over his hardening cock. “Only a little? I’d hate to see what you’d do if you liked me a lot.”
His hand found my waist. “Well, if you play nice there’s only one way to find out.”
My mouth curled into a scandalous smile. “Why don’t you pour more champagne while I get the profiteroles. I’ll do anything for you to like me more.”
I slid off the bed, and strolled toward the living room, very aware of Roman watching me. When I peeked back he shared a beautiful smile, the one that said I’m all his and he’s all mine. And the molten lava burning through my veins settled into a very needy ache right between my thighs.
I scooped up the small confectionary box, my plans for the profiteroles already in place. I remembered my phone dinging earlier with a text, and checked my messages. There was one text. It was from Sergei. And it was a very lengthy text. I put the confectionary box back down and started to read.
From the first sentence, it erupted into a storming rant, accusing me of destroying everything he and I had cherished, inviting darkness into our lives and allowing the ruthless capitalist to destroy all we had built over the last twenty years. His words pelted me like mortar shells, twisting my stomach into tight, painful knots. And when I read more, Sergei told me what Roman had done, and what Roman would do if Sergei didn’t take the offer.
I buckled, the world around me dissolving into a haze of excruciating pain. The kind of pain that left me numb and empty and unable to move even if I wanted to run and scream and break walls.
Sergei’s final words hit me like a freight train. “I regret the day I ever met you, Isabel. I regret ever loving you. I regret it with all my heart.”
I crumpled under the strain, sinking into the couch, trying to still my thoughts and stop the dull thumping in my ears, and it was all I could do not to throw up all over the living room floor.
It could have been ten seconds, it could have been a few minutes that passed but suddenly I noticed how the North Atlantic, always ruthlessly roaring, had gone completely silent. How the gossamer clouds dimmed the stars and the moon hid from the world. How the gloom from outside spilled into this home, infecting the light and eclipsing all hope.
I decided then that there was nothing left for me at Belmont Manor, absolutely nothing. I didn’t care about these walls holding all my memories captive, or the love it ruthlessly stole from me, because I never wanted to think about any of it again. I got up from the couch and texted Steven.
Me:You know what he did. I need to leave now.
He texted back almost immediately.
Steven:Be there in 5.
Behind me, Roman cautiously padded across the giant space. “Isabel?”
I turned around and walked past him to the bedroom where I got dressed and carefully folded up my quilt. I looked around but there was nothing else I wanted here because everything would remind me of the terrible decisions I’d made. Decisions that cost me my 20-year friendship with Sergei.
Ice filled my veins.
When I entered the living room again, Roman was holding my phone, having read Sergei’s text. I didn’t care that he seemed as if he was on the verge of collapsing, or that he’d become as pale as winter morning mist. I didn’t care about any of it anymore. I took my phone from him and met his gaze, unfathomable heartache filling the air between us.
“I was prepared to give you everything and get back nothing of what I deserved,” I said softly. “And you destroyed the one thing that I cared for outside of this house without thinking twice. You’ll never see me again.”
Roman didn’t try to argue, didn’t try to coach me back into his arms. He knew what he’d done was unforgivable, and that he didn’t deserve an ounce of my grace. No doubt he hoped this would eventually blow over like everything else. But this time he was wrong, dead wrong. I was done.
There was a sharp knock on the door. I scurried to open it. Steven stood there in his bespoke suit, ready to rescue me from Belmont Manor. For a few fleeting moments his gaze met Roman’s and held it in contempt. Then Steven drew me outside the apartment and shut the door behind us.
“Where do you need to go?” he asked gently, as we walked down the hall.
The knot in my throat made it difficult to breathe, and even more difficult to speak, but finally I managed a hoarse whisper:
“To France. I need to go to Abbey Chatoise.”