Chapter 3 #2
“Roman, let your brother help,” Elizabeth says it like she was scolding Roman. Reluctantly, he passes Liam his luggage.
We all move across the courtyard to enter the house.
The air inside feels expensive. This is not a house scented by cheap aerosols.
No, it smells of fresh pine and something floral.
The foyer opens up to a glossy brown and cream marble floor.
The sweeping staircase curves perfectly, with green garlands curling around black wrought iron scrollwork.
Of course, the Christmas tree looks like it belongs in Rockefeller Center. What is it, fifteen feet tall? Every inch of this house exudes wealth and restraint. No clutter, no chaos, no life. It was well-curated, but despite all the glam, it felt…cold.
“Let me show you all to your rooms. Take this, Cliff.” Elizabeth passes the flowers to her husband. She smiles and turns to Tessa. “See how lovely it is to get flowers from guests upon arrival?”
Wait a minute. Was that a dig at Tessa? I don’t get to think as Elizabeth, Liam, Roman, and I ascend the stairs.
“Who would think that my boys are both engaged?” Elizabeth voices as we walk down the long hallway.
We stop at the end. “This is Roman’s old room. We are not so conservative that you have to sleep in separate rooms. You’re engaged after all,” Elizabeth says as she opens the door.
“Conservative is such a facade, right, Mom?” Roman murmurs.
When I step into the room, I expect a bed with maybe WWE posters on the wall.
No, when the door opens, there are large windows with valanced dark blue velvet curtains, a huge four-poster bed, and shelves with trophies and medals.
The walls were decorated with Roman’s past achievements.
On the other side of the room, there is a sectional and a TV and near the window, two chairs are set up for chess. This is not a bedroom; it’s a suite.
“I had Jarvis give the room an extra cleaning,” Elizabeth says like she was waiting for Roman’s approval.
“Thanks, Mom.” Roman drops my luggage. “Thanks,” he says to Liam. His mother stands, twisting her hands nervously, her smile dying. Her eyes are only for Roman.
“I absolutely love the room, Elizabeth,” I say, trying to break the tension in the room.
“Good. Well, I will let you get your rest and get tidied up. Remember, pictures are at 6:00 sharp, then we will have dinner.”
Liam groans. “Do we have to?”
“Yes, the dress code is cottage casual. Now, let’s go. Oh, and your cousins are coming in tonight.” Elizabeth grabs Liam’s arm, and they both leave the room, leaving Roman and me standing in the middle.
He stands with his hands on his hips and his eyes closed.
“You okay?” I don’t touch him because he looks like he needs a minute.
“Yes, just being here. I get…” He breaks off as he searches for the word.
“Anxious?” I add, walking to his side.
He doesn’t reply. He clenches his jaw, looks around, and his shoulders drop.
“The bathroom is through there.” He points to the door on the far right of the room. “Everything you need is most likely in there, knowing my mom.”
I smile. “Okay.”
Roman bends to unzip his luggage and begins digging. I take the chance to look around his room. My eyes drift to Roman’s trophies. Some were for track and field. The others were for various sports.
I chuckle when I see a small Roman, gangly and thin with a cowlick, holding up a trophy. The small plaque under it reads “Spelling Bee. Roman, age 10.”
“Wow, Roman, smart and athletic. Who would have thought?”
My view lands on a picture of five people around age 16 and under. I can see handsome teenage Roman, a smiling Liam, and Tessa, looking up at Roman with love. I feel a twinge of jealousy.
“Here, I forgot to give you this.”
I turn just in time to see Roman standing with a diamond ring between his fingers.
“My God. That’s huge.” I take the ring.
“It’s a pear diamond ring, platinum,” he replies, watching me as I look at the ring.
“I love the halo of the smaller diamonds. I love it; thank you.”
Roman frowns. “What’s there to love? This is not a real engagement.”
I smile. “You’re right.” I slide the ring down my finger. “I always imagined a beach with candles for my proposal. A girl can dream.”
He turns again, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the chair.
“Hey, should we practice hugging or kissing? Just in case?” I ask. I don’t know why the hell I ask, but I do.
“There is no reason for that. I already planted the seed that we are not a touchy couple.” Roman walks to the window and looks out.
“I have a question, Roman.” I feel a need to know.
“What?”
“What is your goal for the end of this trip?”
He pauses and frowns. “I don’t get what you mean.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “What do you want to accomplish at the end of this trip?”
“Mind your business. Get ready…maybe rest, I don’t know.”
He turns and walks out of the bedroom, leaving me all alone.
ROMAN
No fucking touching; that’s what I told her.
It’s in the fucking rule book. Now look at me, walking through my parent’s home with a hard-on.
I pause at the top of the stairs. Honestly, I don’t know who I am angry at.
Her for jumping on me or myself for holding her close, enjoying her soft body pressed against mine.
Every part of her felt soft especially her ass cheek that I held on to firmly. I wanted to squeeze her hard, bury my face in her neck. Fuck, she is turning me inside out, and it’s only day one.
“If you are thinking about rolling down the stairs, Son, I would advise you to bend lower and dive.” My father’s voice breaks my thought.
I smirk, stuffing my hands in my pocket, and jog down the stairs.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“I’m hiding from your mother and her Balsam Hill ornaments. Join me in the study?” My father gestures for me to follow him.
Side by side, we walk in silence through the hallway, passing the sitting room, the dining room, and then reaching the study.
My father opens the door, and memories come at me. It still smells of cigar smoke and bergamot.
There is a picture on the wall of my dad on the phone and me under his desk playing with a train. My mother liked to call it the JFK picture. I look around, seeing a picture of Big Daddy Voss, my grandfather.
“You didn’t come back for his funeral,” my dad comments.
The smug look of my grandfather stares down at me. “I didn’t want to be here for it.”
“Son…”
“Why do you have his picture in here?” I ask.
My father pushes his hand in his pocket. “He is my father.”
The statement was so final. I exhale, feeling the old wounds wanting to reopen, but looking at my father’s posture, I know this is not the time nor the place.
“How has it been?” My dad asks as he opens the cigar box on his desk.
I shrug. “I can’t complain; work is work.”
I look back at the door. I want to leave. Everything about this house is making my skin crawl.
“I like Noelle. She looks like a good girl.” My dad brings my attention back to him.
“She is.” I think about her dancing around the room, the vase she threw at me. “Fun. Smart.”
My father cuts the cigar and nods. “Not really your type.”
I chuckle. “I have learned that my type wasn’t for me.”
“Same. But Noelle, she looks at you with love.”
I almost tell him she is a paid actor, but I hold back.
He cups his hand around the cigar as he lights it. “You need a woman who looks at you with love, Son.”
We both go silent. It’s like we have so much to say, but we don’t know where to start.
“I’m going to go get ready. See you at dinner?” I ask as I back away from the door.
“Yup.”
That’s all he says. I open the door and leave him behind. Just like I did three years ago.
***
After leaving my father’s office, I wander through the hall of the home I once knew.
My legs take me to a place that I had no interest in being.
The crisp air blows across my cheek. My eyes are locked on the white French doors of the pool house.
Years ago, they were brown. I guess my mother replaced them.
I can still hear my grandfather screaming at me, telling me to come back.
The warmth of a jacket covers my shoulders. I look around and see my mother standing in a long, tan winter jacket.
“You don’t want to catch a cold,” she says.
I can tell that she was waiting patiently for me to reply.
“I had the doors done over and the interior,” she says.
“You should have burnt it down to the ground,” I reply, feeling an age-old rage rising in me.
“Roman, I can…”
“I am going to get ready. I don’t want to be late for our happy family dinner.” I shrug my jacket off, letting it fall to the floor.
“Roman,” she calls out to me. I continue walking.
“Roman Voss, you stop right there!” she shouts in that motherly tone that makes you stop no matter your age.
I hear the crunch of the gravel as she approaches my side.
“Whether you like it or not, I am your mother.”
I look down into her eyes. “I can’t ever forget. That’s why I stick to the rules so I will never be like you.”
The slap burns my cheeks. We both remain silent. I rub the side of my face.
“I am sorry, Roman.” My mother’s hands tremble at her mouth; her eyes fill with tears.
Rage bubbles inside me, but a good man is always in control of his emotions. My jaw tightens as I walk away. I don’t bother to look back when I hear her crying. It wouldn’t be the first time I walked away from her while she was in tears.