Chapter 14 Rome
ROME
Success isn’t loud. It’s found in peace. That’s the real flex.
—Hudson’s text to Rome
Maddox
You’re ignoring my calls, and you got a reservation at my restaurant. WTF is going on with you?
Rome
Sorry, brother. Not ignoring you. Just training for a fight, and you’re about four time zones away in another country.
Maddox
It’s called a phone, asshole. Answer it and tell me why I had to hear about you and Dillan Ryan from Lilah instead of you.
Rome
We weren’t saying anything to anyone until we did, and you’ve been a little busy.
Maddox
My wife had a baby, dumbass. I could have answered a call from my brother, even if you can’t.
Rome
Did you cancel my reservation?
Maddox
Why are you so stupid? No, I didn’t cancel your reservation. Is it serious?
Rome
Dinner?
Maddox
No. Dillan.
Rome
Yeah, man. It’s serious. It’s always been serious.
Maddox
Took you long enough.
Rome
What?
Maddox
You should have done this two years ago. Don’t fuck it up, now that you’ve got her. Sit back and enjoy the magic.
Rome
Magic? What the hell? Are you five? I don’t believe in magic.
Maddox
Sit back and look at her smiling at you tonight and tell me the same thing.
Rome
Poetic prick.
Maddox
Maybe, but I’m right. Lennon and I will be home with the kids in a month.
Rome
Tell them Uncle Rome loves them, okay?
Maddox
Tell them yourself when you see them.
And Rome . . . Ignore every other voice but yours and hers. You’re the only ones that matter.
Rome
That what you were calling to tell me?
Maddox
Nah. I was calling to remind you to wrap it up. All I have to do is breathe on my wife and she’s pregnant. Same goes for our sister and her husband. Fair warning.
“Shit.”
I look up from my phone and practically swallow my tongue as Dillan fixes the zipper on her knee-high black boots.
A navy-blue lace skirt hits her mid-thigh, and the cream-colored sweater layered over it hugs every curve.
It’s sexy as hell without even trying, and the little cream lace socks sticking out of the boots make me want to see her in nothing but those damn socks.
My cock strains against my zipper, and fuck . . . I can’t find the words. “You look—”
She walks down the steps carefully, holding the railing, and makes her way across the room, stopping in front of me. Pink-glossed lips press together as she stares at me, waiting. “Good enough to be seen?”
Her tone is dry and unsure, and the insecure glimmer in her eyes has me wanting to take back every smart-ass remark I’ve ever thrown her way that could have contributed to that. “You are beautiful, principessa.”
“Always with the nicknames.” She blushes and fidgets with her purse. “We’re not taking the motorcycle tonight, right? Because I spent entirely too much time on my hair to shove it into a helmet.”
“No, baby. We’re taking the G-Wagon.”
“I’d say baby is laying it on a little thick there, psycho. No one is here but us.”
I step into her and cup her cheek in my hand, loving the little gasp that slips free as she looks up at me, frozen. “We’re going to have to touch tonight. For the sake of being seen.”
“I figured we would.”
I drag my thumb over her lower lip, realizing I want to kiss this woman more than I want to take my next fucking breath and drop my hand. “Do you have a coat?”
“No coat.”
“It’s like thirty degrees tonight. You’re going to freeze,” I grumble, grabbing my own pea coat and my keys. “Come on.”
“If we’re hoping to be photographed, I don’t want a coat on, Rome. I look better without one. Coats make me look short and frumpy.” She tucks her phone in her purse and moves for the front door. “Are you ready?”
“You could never look frumpy. Frumpy is an old lady in a house dress and rollers in her hair,” I try to reassure her, but judging by the glacial look in her eyes, it’s not working. “Fine. No coat. But don’t come for mine when you’re cold.”
“Such a gentleman. I promise I won’t steal your coat. Now let’s get this over with.”
Maddox’s hostess guides us to the most premier table il leone has to offer, and I wait for Dillan to sit and slide onto the bench next to her, resting my arm above the black leather-backed booth. “Really? We’re that kind of couple?” she teases as she takes the menu from the hostess.
“Could I get you anything to drink while you wait for your server?”
“I’ll have a water,” I tell her and wait for Dillan to look up. “Do you want a martini?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’ll just have a glass of Riesling, please.”
Once the hostess leaves, she closes her menu. “Water, really?”
“Listen, we might be putting on a show,”—I drag the tips of my fingers through her soft, silky hair and love the chill I watch skirt down her spine—“but I still have a fight in a few weeks. Hudson may be old, but he’ll still kick my ass if he sees me fucking anything up between now and then.”
“Point taken. So grilled chicken for you?” Her eyes skim over a separate menu with today’s specials. “Sounds tasteless and boring.”
“Nothing tastes better than victory.” Food is fuel. I don’t need it to be delicious as much as that thought breaks my grandmother’s heart. “What’s your excuse, Dillan? You barely eat.”
“I eat,” she snaps. “I’m not even half your size, Rome. I can’t eat as much as you do or I’d be as big as a house.”
She sounds defensive as hell, and I don’t like it. I slide my other hand between us and let it brush over her thigh. “You know you’re fucking perfect, right? You’re beautiful. You don’t have to worry about what you eat or what other people think.”
Her sad laugh catches me entirely off guard.
“Yeah. Sure. That’s definitely what you thought. You know if you really wanted to be seen, we should have double-dated with Lilah and Killian. That would have brought the paparazzi out in droves. We would have been everywhere.”
I grasp her chin in my hand and force her eyes to mine. “You know, one day we’ll talk about what happened between us. But for now, I need you to hear me. I never wanted to date Lilah. You were all I saw. You were who I wanted to date. And you were the one who blew me off for fucking years.“
That last one hangs between us, a million things left unsaid when an older waiter clears his throat.
I wait until the waiter leaves and turn fully toward Dillan. “Okay, Ryan. It’s time. Tell me about the book.”
“Jesus Christ, Rome. Could you possibly pick a more crowded place to have this conversation?”
“What can I say? I love a captive audience, and you’re stuck with me for a few hours. Now, how about you start with your name,” I push, knowing this is the only way I’m getting any answers from this woman who’s become a master at avoidance.
“That’s none of your business,” she bristles and fixes the linen napkin in her lap, unfolding and refolding it.
“Wrong answer. You used my name, principessa. It’s my business.”
Fire flames in her eyes, and I can’t help but lean in, desperate to hear what she’s going to say next. “What’s the difference between princess and principessa?”
“You first.” I slide my hand along the outside of her thigh, and she smacks it away.
“It’s a pretty name. That’s it. I liked the sound and didn’t think anyone would think twice about it.” She pushes my thigh away, but it doesn’t budge. “Pain in the ass.”
“And Theia?” I ask, refusing to give up now. “You can’t tell me you decided to take those two names after that night and that it has nothing to do with us.”
Dillan’s chin lifts, and her hair spills behind her shoulders, exposing miles of her long, delicate neck. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I call bullshit,” I grunt.
“Call it anything you want, but that’s the only answer you’re getting. Take it or leave it.”
A young waiter walks up to the table. “Would you like warm rolls—”
“No,” we both snap in unison, and the poor guy basically runs away.
“Why hide it? I don’t get it,” I admit.
“And you’re not going to. So drop it.” Her eyes flash a bright, beautiful aquamarine, only I’m not sure if it’s heat or fear fueling that look, so I drop it.
Time to change the subject. “How bad is dinner going to be with your parents tomorrow?”
“Let’s see . . .” Her shoulders relax, and I drape my arm behind her again, tangling my fingers in her hair. This time she lets me. “My mom is a horrible cook, but none of us have ever told her that because we don’t want to hurt her feelings. So there’s that.”
“Is your dad going to want to kill me for living with you?” Brady Ryan was always protective of his girls, even when we were young and stupid.
“Maybe. But Mom’s a romantic, so she’ll keep him in line. She basically already told him we were screwing and to get over it.”
“Seriously?” I choke. I guess there’s a reason our moms are friends. That sounds like something my mom would do.
“Anything I need to know?” I ask.
“Why?” She folds her hands in her lap. “You want to make a good impression, psycho?”
“Maybe . . .” I admit.
“We’re not real, Rome. Don’t worry about it.”
We’re not real.
She’s not wrong.
But something about those words doesn’t sit right with me.
The entire night has been an excruciating exercise in self-control.
I guess I’d fooled myself into believing I didn’t want this woman.
That I’d gotten her out of my system years ago.
But I’m not a fool, and that was a foolish lie.
Now, standing in front of the restaurant, waiting for the valet and watching Dillan shiver, her peaked nipples pressing against her soft sweater, that seems to be my last straw. I pull her back against my chest and run my hands up and down her arms, trying to warm her, but it doesn’t work.
Fuck this. Slipping out of my coat, I drape it over Dillan’s shoulders and pull her back in to me. “I told you you’d be cold.”
“And I told you I didn’t want to look like shit,” she snaps through chattering teeth just as I notice a camera being lifted. “Rome . . .”
“I see it,” I whisper and lift her face in my hands, grazing my thumb over her cheekbone. “You could never look like shit, Dillan.”
She closes her eyes like my words cut a wound open, and I tell her what I really wanted to say. “So fucking pretty, baby.”
Without thinking it through, I drop my lips to hers, and the noise stops.
The sounds of the city passing us by. The cars. The people. The music.
It all ceases to fucking exist.
And any doubt I had about the woman in my arms is obliterated right along with it.
She sighs the sweetest fucking sound, and I take the opening and push my tongue into her mouth. Savoring her taste for the first time in two years. Her body melting against mine. Small, shaking hands balled into fists against my shirt.
One word playing over and over in my mind.
Mine.
The car pulls to a stop next to us, and a horn honks, startling Dillan, who pulls back with glassy eyes.
I hear the valet get out and round the car.
Catch the keys he tosses me.
But I don’t bother looking at him.
How can I when I’m looking at her?
Swollen lips. Pink cheeks. And beautiful eyes that won’t meet mine.
Not when I open the door for her or close it once she’s inside.
Not on the ride home.
And not when she changes into pajamas, grabs her computer bag, and hurries into the office.
She doesn’t say a single word, and I don’t push it.
Why would I?
Run now while you can, princess.
Iroll over in the middle of the night and drag my hand across the bed. There’s no pillow wall stopping me, and that has me opening my eyes and checking the time because there’s also no fucking Dillan.
It’s three-thirty.
Where the hell is she?
The lights are off downstairs. All but one.
The office light is on and glowing under the closed door.
And when I crack it open, I find my princess tucked into my favorite chair, the old warm leather wingback Ma let me take from the house when I moved.
Her soft, sun-kissed hair falls in waves around her shoulders, and her pink laptop sits on her knees as her feet rest on the ottoman in front of her.
Even in her sleep, she’s fucking beautiful.
But as I step closer, I see the exhaustion lining the curves of her face.
Carefully, I move the laptop, turn off the light, then lift her in my arms, cradling her against my chest. She weighs nothing. Less than before, and Dillan Ryan didn’t have weight to lose.
“Rome,” she murmurs in her sleep and wraps her arms around my neck.
“Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.” I press my lips against her head and carry her upstairs, then lay her in bed and climb in behind her, dragging her back against my chest. “Sleep, Dillan.”
“The pillows,” she whispers, sleepy and soft.
“They’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll hate each other again.”
My heart fucking beats faster. “Probably, princess. But maybe we don’t.”
“Maybe we don’t,” she whispers back, and her breathing evens out.
Maybe we don’t.