18. Cassie #3
"Imperfectly," I admit. "We're still figuring it out. But I promise you, Mia, I'm not losing myself in this relationship. If anything, I'm finding parts of myself I'd forgotten existed."
Something in my voice must convince her, because her posture relaxes slightly. "I just worry about you, Cass. After Camden?—"
"I know." I reach across the table to squeeze her hand. "And I love you for it. But trust me on this one, okay? Roman is... different. In all the ways that matter."
Mia studies Roman, who meets her gaze steadily. "If you ever hurt her," she says finally, "I don't care how many billions you have. I will end you."
To my surprise, Roman laughs—a genuine, unguarded sound I rarely hear outside our private moments. "I'd expect nothing less," he says. "Your sister is the most valuable asset in my life, professional or personal. I don't intend to squander that investment."
"Always the businessman," I tease, relief flooding through me as the tension breaks.
"Speaking of business," Mia says, her expression turning mischievous, "does this mean I get special treatment in the internship program?"
"Absolutely not," Roman and I say in unison, drawing surprised laughter from all three of us.
The moment of levity is interrupted by Roman's phone buzzing. He glances at it, frowns, and excuses himself from the table.
"Sorry," he says, already standing. "I need to take this. Board emergency."
I watch him walk away, his posture transforming from relaxed boyfriend back to CEO with each step. Mia leans forward once he's out of earshot.
"Is it always like that? The instant switch to business mode?"
"Usually there's more warning," I say, trying to keep the edge from my voice. This is the third dinner this week interrupted by "emergencies" that couldn't wait.
Roman returns five minutes later, his expression carefully neutral in that way I've come to recognize means trouble.
"I apologize, but I need to handle something at the office," he says, already signaling for the check. "Mia, it was a pleasure meeting you. I look forward to seeing what you accomplish during your internship."
"What's happened?" I ask, alarm rising. "Is it the Milan production issue?"
"No." His tone is clipped, professional. "Grant Industries filed a patent claim against one of our upcoming Lumière designs. The one with the interlocking hardware."
My stomach drops. "That's impossible. My team developed that in-house. There's nothing remotely similar in their line."
"Nevertheless, they're claiming priority, with documentation." Roman won't quite meet my eyes. "The board wants an emergency session to discuss options."
"Then I should be there," I say, already reaching for my purse. "I'm the Creative Director. I can confirm the timeline of development?—"
"That won't be necessary," Roman cuts me off. "This is a legal issue now. The board will handle it."
The dismissal hits like a slap. "The board. Not me. Even though it's my design, my department."
"Cassie." His voice softens slightly, but his decision is clearly already made. "It's precisely because it's your design that you shouldn't be involved in this particular meeting. The board needs to discuss this objectively."
"Objectively?" I repeat, heat rising to my face. "As in, without the emotional designer mucking things up with actual facts about the design process?"
"You know that's not what I meant."
"Do I?" I realize we're having our first real fight in front of my sister, but I can't seem to stop. "Because it sounds remarkably like you're cutting me out of decisions about my own work because we're sleeping together."
Roman's expression closes off entirely, CEO mask firmly in place. "We can discuss this later. In private."
"Of course. Because the boardroom and the bedroom are entirely separate." I hate the bitter edge in my voice, but Mia's earlier concerns have hit a nerve. "Go handle your emergency board meeting. I'll take my sister home."
"Cassie—" Roman begins, but I'm already turning away, pulling Mia from her chair.
"It's fine. I understand completely. Business comes first." I force a smile that feels brittle enough to crack my face. "Call me when you're done saving the company."
As we walk out into the cool night air, Mia loops her arm through mine. "So... that went well."
"Don't start," I warn, the anger already draining away, leaving a hollow ache in its place. "I shouldn't have reacted that way. It was unprofessional."
"It was human," Mia corrects gently. "And honestly? I'm glad I saw it."
"Glad you saw me pick a fight with the CEO in a public restaurant?" I laugh humorlessly. "Why?"
"Because it proves you're not just nodding along with whatever he wants." Mia stops, turning to face me directly. "You stood up for yourself. For your work. Even knowing he could fire you tomorrow if he wanted."
"He wouldn't," I say automatically.
"I know. That's why I'm less worried now." Mia squeezes my hand. "You clearly have real feelings for each other. And real conflicts. That's... normal. Healthy, even."
"We've never fought before," I admit quietly. "Not like that."
"Maybe it's overdue, then." Mia flags down a passing taxi. "First fights are important. They show you who someone really is—not when things are good, but when they're hard."
As the taxi pulls away with Mia inside, her words echo in my mind. Who is Roman when things are hard? The man who shut me out of that meeting with clinical efficiency? Or the man who's spent months encouraging me to trust my vision, to stand my ground?
Both, probably. Just as I'm both the woman who fought for her professional dignity and the one currently fighting back tears over a business disagreement.
My phone buzzes with a text. Roman:
Meeting will run late. We should talk after. Can I come by your place?
I stare at the message, emotions warring within me.
Part of me wants to ignore it, to punish him for dismissing me. But that's not who we are.
Not who I want us to be.
Yes. We should talk. I type back, then add I'm sorry for making a scene.
His response is immediate:
Don't apologize for defending your work. That's one of the things I love about you.
Love.
The word jumps out at me, the first time either of us has used it directly. My heart contracts painfully. Of course he would drop that bomb via text, in the middle of our first fight, when I'm possibly pregnant with his child.
The man has spectacularly terrible timing.
The taxi drops me at my apartment, where I pace restlessly, too keyed up to work on designs as I'd planned.
Roman's meeting could run for hours, leaving me alone with thoughts that spiral increasingly toward catastrophe.
What if Grant wins this patent claim?
What if the board decides I'm a liability?
What if Roman chooses the company over me when push comes to shove?
What if I'm actually pregnant and everything falls apart before I can even tell him?
The thought stops me cold. I need to know. Now. Before Roman arrives, before we have this conversation about professional boundaries and personal feelings. Before I make any decisions about us, about my career, about anything.
Hands shaking, I dig through my bathroom cabinet until I find the box of pregnancy tests I bought months ago during a particularly stressful week when my period was late. It had been negative then, a relief I'd celebrated with wine and takeout.
Now, as I stare at the small box in my hands, I'm not sure what result I'm hoping for.
Roman and I haven't discussed children. We've just recently acknowledged that what we have is a relationship rather than an "arrangement." A baby would complicate everything—my career just as it's taking off, his business empire, our still-evolving dynamic.
And yet...
I think of the way he looked at Mia tonight, with genuine interest and respect. The way he listened to her ideas, challenged her thinking. I think of his face when he speaks of his grandfather, of the fierce protectiveness that surfaces whenever someone he cares about is threatened.
I think of how it might feel to create something together that isn't a brand or a business strategy, but a person. A little human with his eyes, maybe, or my stubborn chin.
Hands shaking, I open the box.
Some walls, once they come down, can never be rebuilt. And this wall—between the life I’ve planned and the one that might be growing inside me—is the most terrifying one yet to face.
As I take a deep breath ready to step into the unknown my phone buzzes.
Roman .
On my way. Still okay to come by?
I stare at the message. The box in my hand suddenly feels heavier.
Of course it’s him. Of course it’s now.
The test is going to have to wait.
Because whatever’s growing inside me at this moment, right now, it’s not just a maybe.
It’s anger.
It’s clarity . And he’s about to walk into both.
I stare at the message.
Then I type back:
Sure.
Short. No punctuation. No softness. Just… enough.
When he knocks, I open the door and turn away without saying anything. He steps inside like he always does—like he belongs here, like the fight he knows is coming will resolve itself if he stays calm enough through it.
“Cass—”
“You told me there’s a board meeting tomorrow,” I say, turning to face him, arms crossed. “But you also made it clear I’m not welcome in the room.”
“It’s not about being welcome.” He exhales. “It’s a strategy session. Sensitive dynamics. A volatile board.”
“And I’m what—an unstable factor?” I laugh once, dry. “You think letting me defend my team’s work would derail your narrative?”
“I think it would shift the balance of the room in ways I can’t control.”
There it is.
The thing he didn’t mean to say.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For the clarity.”
He looks at me for a long second, brow furrowing like he wants to take it back but doesn’t know how.
I don’t need him to.
“Thanks for dinner, Roman. I’m glad you got to meet Mia.”
I walk toward the door, open it, and step aside. He doesn’t move right away.
“I think you should spend the night at your house tonight. Good night.”
I don’t wait for a response.
I just stand there, calmly holding the door, until he walks through it.
I don’t close the door until I hear the elevator.
And even then, I don’t move. I just stand there, the test still sitting unused on the bathroom counter, the silence pressing in around me.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.
But for the first time in weeks, I know where I stand.