21
D ay after day, she was in limbo. Ever since Roman had moved out, more than a week ago, she felt like a shadow of her former self. Her daylight hours were spent walking around the house aimlessly, wallowing in her misery, while at night, she cried herself to sleep, wishing for it all to go away.
Alessandra had never hurt like this before—she couldn't have imagined that her happiness would become so dependent on another human being.
In her short nineteen years of life, she’d never known this passionate, intimate, all-consuming kind of love.
She, of course, loved her mother, her brother, and to some extent, even her father, but what she felt for Roman surpassed all that in a way that filled her with a sense of belonging she’d been foreign to until she met him.
She loved him.
She loved him with an intensity that set her skin ablaze and filled her stomach with butterflies whenever he touched her. It only took for him to walk out the door, angry and hurt for what he believed to be her betrayal, for her to realize it.
And it had felt so good, all the time they'd had together before her happiness dissolved in front of her eyes like a handful of coins melting in a pot of acid.
Still, it had been too little time. Her little piece of Heaven had only lasted a few weeks, and now she ached with a longing that made her want to scream in agony.
She never knew love could be so cold; so merciless in its vengeance.
She hated Luca. Hated him for what he’d done to her marriage.
Her anger was all the greater because he’d hurt her not once, but twice.
First, with his apparent indifference when her father had sold her to the Russians, and then again with his recklessness when he'd barged into her new life asking for what she couldn't give him.
Walking into the kitchen on Friday morning, Alessandra felt hollow inside.
She was tired from the lack of sleep, but also mentally and emotionally drained from crying so much over the past week.
She’d called Roman twice after Alek brought her phone back without an explanation, but when both calls remained unanswered, she knew that he wasn't ready to speak to her yet—maybe not for a long time.
The prospect of her husband not returning to her anytime soon sent her body into a terrible state of anxiety.
Her mind conjured up scenarios of Roman moving on with his life, living separately and seeing other women while she was left behind in that empty house.
Her fragile heart couldn't take it—already cracked into a million pieces she was trying to keep together with the hope of a reconciliation.
Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she poured herself some water from the sink. Her eyes wandered outside to where one of Roman’s men was leaning against his car, smoking. His gaze was shielded by a pair of black sunglasses, but she was certain that he was looking straight at her.
She drank her water and rinsed the glass.
Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn't eaten anything since the previous morning.
With a sigh, she dragged her feet to the fridge and looked inside.
There were two casseroles with whatever Nika had prepared for her, but she didn't touch any of them.
Grabbing a yogurt, some nuts and strawberries, she made herself a bowl of parfait.
She was almost done eating when the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway snapped her out of her lethargic state.
Thinking it was Alek checking up on her—he'd done it twice that week—she finished the last of her parfait and stood.
As she placed the bowl in the sink, her gaze fell on the shiny black Mercedes idling in the driveway, and her heart nearly stilled inside the cavity of her chest. Before she could compose herself, the front door opened, followed by the sound of footsteps echoing through the quiet house as they headed in her direction.
Roman paused in the doorway, stormy blue eyes finding her immediately. He was dressed casually in jeans and a white T-shirt, his cheeks darkened by a few days' worth of scruff.
Alessandra's next breath lodged in her throat. He was so handsome it hurt to look at him, and her heart bled a little more. Grabbing the countertop behind her with both hands, she fought back tears at the sight of him.
Roman stared at her for a long moment before his jaw clenched and he looked away. When he spoke, he sounded on the verge of control. “Tell me everything.”
“Everything?” she croaked, not sure what he meant.
“Your version of the truth. I want to hear it.”
A tear fell free, and she wiped it away discreetly.
“I was swimming. I didn't see him until he was seated on one of the lounge chairs, just watching me. I got out of the pool and asked him to leave, but he wouldn't listen. He told me he missed me and that he’d made a mistake when he let me go.” She watched Roman advance into the room, his gaze unseeing.
He was still furious; she could feel it from ten feet away.
Steeling herself for his reaction, she delivered the last piece of truth. “He asked me to run away with him.”
Roman stopped walking, his eyes flaying her alive with their intensity. “And what did you say?”
“That I wouldn't.”
“How did he know where we lived?”
“I don't know.”
He didn't look entirely convinced by her sincerity. “Was that the first time you'd seen him after our wedding?”
“Yes. I swear it.” Before she could stop herself, she had already taken two steps toward him. They were closer now, but not close enough. “I don't want Luca. I was upset when my papà told me I couldn't be his wife, but only because I didn't know you and I was scared. I never loved him.”
Roman's gaze scrutinized her face, dark and brooding, but for a fleeting moment, she could see the promise of forgiveness in his eyes.
Why else would he come to the house after a week of staying away?
Emboldened by this thought and feeling a little desperate, Alessandra closed the remaining distance between them, bare feet almost touching his black sneakers.
Not giving herself enough time to change her mind, she uttered the three words she had been agonizing over from the moment he'd left.
“I love you.” She met his gaze and held it. “There is no one else for me.”
He watched her, unmoving, for what felt like a long time. Alessandra stood there frozen, fearing she might have screwed up.
Without warning, his hand shot out to grab her nape. He pulled her so close their lips were an inch apart. “Say it again,” he demanded.
“I love you, Roman,” she whispered, her eyes watering again with the confession. “Just you.”
Before she could take another breath, his mouth was crashing down on hers, rough and urgent.
She opened up for him, swirling her tongue around his and moaning into their kiss.
His hands grabbed her hips, lifting her up and placing her on the island top.
She was still wearing her short cotton nightie, and he hunched up the material around her waist to expose the plain cotton thong underneath.
The nightie's thin straps glided down her shoulders, exposing the tops of her breasts.
He moved the thong to the side, wasting no time to free himself from the confines of his jeans and push inside her in one firm thrust.
Alessandra let out a breathless groan, every muscle beneath her navel tightening from the sudden intrusion. She was already wet from their kissing, but not wet enough for his impatience .
“You're mine,” he rasped, fisting her hair and pulling on it to expose her throat. “Say it.”
“Yours,” she panted, nails digging into his biceps. “Only yours.”
Pulling out, he gave her a few hard thrusts before slowing down and kissing her throat. “I'm so fucking pissed I can barely keep myself from going after that prick.”
“Please don't. You'll start a war.”
“I know,” was all he said, his mouth finding hers again. His thumb rubbed slow circles around her clit, powerful strokes increasing their pace with each passing second.
His possession of her body was exactly that.
Rough, unyielding, almost violent . Alessandra took everything he gave her, entranced by the look of volatile passion carved on his face.
Before long, she felt the onset of an orgasm wash over her.
As soon as she came, he pressed his forehead to her temple and spilled inside her with a harsh breath.
When they managed to catch their breaths, Alessandra straightened her nightie and stood on unsteady legs as Roman worked on his pants.
“Do you believe me?” she found herself asking quietly, watching him with apprehension.
He met her gaze, his still dark and turbulent. But when he finally answered, she nearly sagged with relief.
“I do.”
???
Roman was gone for most of the day, handling business, but by the time he returned to the house that evening, he had his suitcase with him. Alessandra breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight of it. Their relationship was on the right track again.
After dinner, they settled in the living room to watch a movie together. Head resting on his chest, Alessandra had almost dozed off when the rumble of his voice made her alert again.
“I meant what I said.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “What’s that?”
“Don’t ever talk to your father about us. I hope you haven’t.”
Her brows pulled into a slight frown. “I haven’t, I promise.”
He looked at her. “I’m not saying I don’t trust you, but I sure as fuck don’t trust your family.”
“I understand.”
He nodded once, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then he raised his hand and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Missed you.”
“Missed you, too.”
“Was I too rough earlier?”
“A little.”
Roman pressed his lips to hers softly. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“You can make it up to me.”
“Yeah?” He smiled slightly.
“Uh huh,” Alessandra said, her heart feeling a thousand times lighter now that she was in his arms again.
“I think I know how.”
“You do?”
Instead of answering, he got up, hoisting her over his shoulder at the same time. Alessandra let out a squeal of surprise as she suddenly found herself hanging head down and ass up.
“Roman!” she cried, fisting the back of his T-shirt.
“Yeah?” he responded casually, starting to walk in the direction of the staircase.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you upstairs so I can make it up to you.”
She had a pretty good idea what that meant. It was the exact same thing she’d had in mind a moment ago. The past week of suffering disappeared into nothingness as a sense of peace took over Alessandra’s mind.
They were going to be okay.